Weayaya: The Sunset Woman

Chapter 22

Yvonne
1868?

Kimimela waved her hand on the air excitedly as some men on horseback rode closer. They were directed toward the village. She smiled sweetly and in the closing distance, I could see a man waving back at her.

I assumed this was her brother. Who else would she wave at...her husband had died and she didn't seem involved with anyone else.

"Yvonne, come!" She smiled wider as she gestured for me to follow her and assist her with carrying the heavy pot.

She walked triple pace and I struggled to keep up with her. The iron pot swayed and swung, nearly pulling all 110 lbs of me with it. I couldn't tell if Kimimela was any bigger than I was...but she sure was stronger, or at least she seemed to be.

Brother! She shouted suddenly as we crossed into the circle of teepees that made up the village. We passed by small groups of others and the entire time I tried to avoid hitting any smaller humans with the pot.

Without saying anything she turned sharply, and I couldn't help but squeal as I was somewhat forced to turn with her. It took everything for me not to fall forward.

She dropped the pot on the side of a teepee and I released it just in time to avoid it falling on my feet.

"Yvonne!" She called suddenly, grabbing onto my arm gently. She tugged ever so lightly on me and led me further into the circle and closer to the men arriving on horseback.

Hanska! She shouted a bit, waving.

A youngish man appeared at her beckoning call, his skin was only slightly darker than her, but lighter than the other men. His eyes were hazel colored, his hair was jet black. His features were sharp, but there was something about him, that made him seem more European. His nose was not as long, and his eyes were a bit more rounded. His face was also an oval, but not as sharp as others. He did, indeed, seem taller than the others as well...only one other seemed to match him.

Sister! The young man who had come at Kimimela's call dismounted his horse and strode over. I like Kimimela, his features were clearly those of a mixed person. Hers were Hardee's to discern.

Well then! Who's this shiny flower? Hanska hugged his sister and then turned his attention to me.

Hanska, this is...she turned to me. "Yvonne."

He raised an eyebrow. Her name is what? He asked.

"Yvonne." Kimimela responded.

She's white? His eyes cut to me.

Yes, Kimimela shook her head, she belongs to Cheta.

I could see Hanska surprise laughter as he turned around.

Cheta! He chuckled, you have a woman! And what is this?! A squaw woman, too!

It was then I saw Akecheta in his full presence. He was big like Hanska, but darker skinned and of sharper features. His hair was windblown out of the braids he had had, and a bow and arrows sat on his back.

Shut up Hanska! He grumbled as he passed by the tall man. You know nothing!

I know some! Hanska shouted as Akecheta stalked toward me.

I felt my heart quiver and my hand reached out to Kimimela. It was too late as Akecheta grabbed onto my outstretched hand and yanked me with him.

I felt pain as soon as his grabbed on, his grip was like steel.

"W-wait!" I tried to stop and turn back to Kimimela and Hanska.

"No." He turned around and yanked me close. "Come. You." He spoke slowly and in a near whisper as he dragged me with him.

I bit my lip as he pulled me behind him. I had sight of Maka and Clara as well. Maka was holding her hand as she led her toward the men on horseback. Another youngish man went up to Maka, who seemingly presented Clara to him.

Clara turned her eyes to me as Akecheta slung me forward into the teepee. I fell forward onto my hands and knees and made a guttural noise. It didn't hurt...it was more shocking. I had not expected him to shove me.

He climbed in after me and closed the door flap thingy.

He walked past me and then gestured for me to join him.

I stalled as I stood.

"You. Come." He gestured with his finger for me to join him and hurry up.

At least he could say a few words in English...old Maka didn't seem to know any really.

I crawled by his side and he set a bowl down beside us. He poured some water into it, then passed me an old cloth.

I looked at him with wide eyes as he removed the bow and arrows from his back and pulled off the shirt.

He was...lean...but muscular. He has scars on his body too, but he seemed covered in a thin layer of dirt.
"You." He took the rag from my hand and dipped it in the water, "clean." He shook the rag at me and wiped a bit on his arm then shoved the rag into my hands.

I stared at him with wider eyes than before. "What?"

"You." He pointed at me, "clean," he pointed between the rag and bowl, then point to his upper body.

I took a shaky breath, "you...you want...me...to clean...you?" I could barely speak.

He shook his head at me, apparently having understood my shaky words.

I stared at him for a moment, unable to move, but then he growled a bit and I was quick to wring out the rag and gently start to wash him off. It seemed like two or three layers of dirt came off of him. The more the dirt came off, the more scars showed up on him. I could not even count the number that littered him from head to toe.

I let my consciousness slip, and suddenly the rag fell a bit...right into his...special area.

He eyed me for a moment, and gestured for me to get the rag.

I shakily reached for it, but before I got very close, he grabbed my wrist, dwarfing it in his large hand.

As my eyes met his, I could see a fire in him, a passion, that I did not know how to meet.