Running Deer drew in a deep breath that tasted of dust and summer sweat. The hot, dry August wind sighed through the golden ocean of prairie grass. Ripples coursed along the waves of earth, tracing the progress of the air currents. The feathers of his hunting bonnet twitched, as if impatient to be reunited with the great bird from which they came; to soar endlessly on the thermals of summer.
Running Deer’s cragged face twisted as he screwed up his eyes against the glare of the sun. The breeze felt good against his sweat slicked skin, and his bow felt light in his hand. The dust on his lip was not of his own making. It drifted on the breeze from a source miles upwind, somewhere under that burning fire in the heavens.
Time was his now, and Running Deer heeded his body’s call for rest. With a grunt that betrayed his advancing years, the hunter squatted down and then sat on the hard baked earth. He had few possessions with him. A knife and medicine pouch, a small bag of food, his water skin, and of course his father’s bow.
The hunter’s tool was a magnificent piece of work, and as he waited for his quarry to come into view, Running Deer cradled it in has lap and ran his callused hand lovingly over the smooth wood. It was made from an old Yew tree that had grown near the winter campground ages past. When the tree finally succumbed to age, Running Deer’s father had requested the wood from its spirit. Permission had been given, and the tribe’s skilled bow maker had carved his greatest work.
Everything about the bow reflected the man who made it, from the colourful markings of his tribe and family, to the neat precision of the riser and limbs. It was balanced to perfection, and fitted his son’s hand as if it were made for him. The string was decorated with golden eagle feathers and the tooth of a grizzly bear. These were additions made by Running Deer, proof of his prowess as a hunter.
As his fingers traced his family’s story etched onto the surface of the bow, Running Deer’s mind wandered the misty paths of memory. He saw his father chase his brothers around the camp to the howls and laughter of the women. He saw his mother cry over the death of one of those same boys, two winters later.
Ice had formed on the lake near the winter campground, and all the boys were out skating and sliding across the slippery expanse. Running Deer’s brother, Bull with a Temper, had raced ahead of the rest in a bid to be the first to cross to the other side. The ice cracked under his weight, pitching him into the deadly grip of the lake.
Running Deer’s mind pulled away from the memory that still haunted him some nights, though the incident happened many years ago. Running Deer had become the eldest son that winter, and his carefully nurtured jealousy had become his most vilifying shame.
Dust coated fingers found where he had taken a wife and fathered sons himself. A small flower marked his greatest joy though. The mysterious treasure of a daughter. She confounded him at every turn. She could delight him with a smile, or drive in into a frustrated rage with a few clipped words. It was hard to say which of his children he loved the most. A father was supposed to love his fine strong sons, but Running Deer suspected his demon of a daughter would always be his favourite.
Dust tickled into Running Deer’s nose causing him to sneeze violently, and to lose the thread of remembrance. The dust cloud was thick now, with great wisps rising from the sea of waving grass like dirty water spouts. Small dark hills moved in the sea, parting the gold and leaving a silvery wake.
Running Deer picked up his belongings and dusted himself down. He raised the precious bow to his lips and kissed the mark of his father. Then with a light heart he started down the slope towards the swimming hills in the golden sea. The buffalo had finally come, it was time to hunt.
I hope you like my first short story on Steemit.
I have a whole bunch more that I'm hoping to upload as I get time.
Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think.
And now you can find out how Running Deer fared in the hunt.