As the men left the meeting, word spread quickly throughout the makeshift village. The decision had been made. At daybreak, the men would ride across the plains to bring war to the Sioux. The Sioux had been attacking the tribe’s hunters, groups of ten or more Sioux killing one or two hunters at a time, and their numbers were dwindling quickly. The only hope was war-to drive the murderers back. They had been edging closer and closer, riding and hunting on land that had been the tribe's for years. The men of the tribe had finally held counsel to decide what to do. Now that it was decided, there was no turning back, no more discussion. They knew they were hugely outnumbered, but this seemed the only way. If they were to be killed, at least they could take some of the Sioux to the Darklands with them. The men left the meeting solemnly to gather what weapons they had, and spend one final night with their families.
Singing with Longfeather sat in her hut, quietly waiting for her man to return. She knew that when he finally came he would be deeply troubled by the events of the night, by the decision to shed blood and make war. Silent Windfoot was young to be a part of the counsel, but he was a great hunter, steady and calm. It was an honor that the elders had asked him to join them for the meeting, and he had taken it very seriously. He hadn't yet seen thirty-three summers, but he possessed the wisdom of a man twice his age. Longfeather was so proud that Windfoot was her man, but was sad that he had to help make such an important and terrible decision.
The sounds around the camp grew as the men each made their way back to their huts. There was little weeping-the people knew this was a decision that had to be made, and were resolute now that it was done. There was the sound of talking, and then couples making love quietly, then the fires began to go out and the sounds of slumber filled the camp. Still, Longfeather was alone. She assumed her man was off somewhere, considering his decision, lost in his own world. She stood for a while at the entrance to their hut and gazed at the stars, then lay down in the pelts to await his return. She dozed fitfully, dreaming of horses riding across the plains, running and running, never stopping.
She awoke some time later to silence. Windfoot still had not returned. She didn’t want to leave the hut to look for him. She knew she could wander in the dark for hours and never find him…especially if he didn’t want to be found. She wondered, briefly, if he was going to spend the whole night alone, and began to grow sad. She decided to start packing his belongings so that, if he did come back, he could rest as long as possible before they left.
As she shuffled his things about she heard a strange sound from outside the hut, as if something were sniffing around outside. She was instantly on her guard-wolves had been known to be about, as well as bear. She reached for Windfoot’s dagger and pulled it from the sheath. She began to tiptoe towards the door when suddenly the furs flew back to reveal what seemed at first to be a giant wolf, standing on its hind legs and panting heavily. Then he stepped inside, and Longfeather gasped to see it was Windfoot before her. His hair, which was always neat, was disheveled and tangled. His face was dirty and his eyes wild, as if he had lost all reason and succumbed to some madness. He looked about the hut as if he didn’t recognize anything within. His eyes finally settled on Longfeather, with the dagger still at the ready, and he shivered, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. He gave a low growl, and she gasped again.
“Windfoot,” she whispered in awe, “you have been with the Wolf, haven’t you?”
His spirit guide was the wolf, and he often spoke to Wolf when times were troubled, hoping the spirit would succor him when he was in need. She had never seen him like this before, though. She was at once greatly fearful, and deeply curious.
“I have been with Him. I sought Him out to this night, looking for guidance, hoping that we had made the correct decision. We have spoken at length, and I believe that the decision we made was right…
“He is still with me, though,” he said, looking into her, and through her. “His spirit is still inside me. He will join me for our battle. He will help us bring justice to the murdering cowards who haunt us.”
He stalked across the hut and grasped her by the shoulders.
“This may be the last night we see each other in this world, Longfeather. I want to lay with you, but I fear that I may hurt you. I am not myself.”
“You will not hurt me,” she said. “You are my man, and you love me. I am a strong woman. Come to our bed, and we will share our last night together as best we can.”
“Never mind the bed, then,” he growled softly. “I don’t want to wait a moment longer for you!” With that, he tore the top of her furs open, revealing the soft dark hollow of her neck. He growled, then he sunk his teeth into her. She cried out, writhing against him. The pain was intense, but the pleasure came too. She had always known him to be a gentle lover, but seeing him like this made her tremble with anxiety and anticipation like nothing ever had before. He moved then to her shoulder, biting her, clawing her clothing from her, running his ragged nails over her back. She moaned, pulled him closer, and stretched her head back, exposing her neck to him again. He was wild, growling and snarling, clawing at her like a feral animal.
He turned her around roughly, biting into her right shoulder and cupping her breasts. She could feel his manhood rising, pressing into her buttocks. He began to move down her back, biting her shoulder blades, the curve of her waist-all while digging his nails into her breasts and squeezing her nipples. She moaned, trying to be as quiet as possible in her rising excitement. He made his way back up, and continued biting her neck and shoulders as he kneaded her breasts roughly. Soon both of them were panting fitfully. She tried to turn around, seeking out his mouth, but he instead threw her on to their furs, then he climbed atop her. He held her arms down and stared into her eyes. He kissed her, finally, and they wrapped their arms around each other and held each other tight. She spread her legs for him, and he positioned himself between her thighs as they kissed. With a snarl he plunged his erect manhood into her. She gasped, and drove her hips up to meet his thrust.
He felt like a shard, like a dagger piercing her, and she groaned as he impaled her. She was wet and warm as she had never been before, and he took his time moving in and out. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, as if in deep concentration. As he pushed himself into her, she felt the muscles inside herself contract involuntarily, pulling him in deeper. With each thrust he growled a little, softly, in the back of his throat. She felt the flush rising, the blood flooding her body. They moved that way for a while, his thrusts slow and methodical, her body arching up to meet his, until she began to wonder what had happened to Wolf-the snarling animal that had thrown her down only a moment before.
Then, suddenly, his eyes flashed open, and he paused mid-thrust. He stared at her, boring into her eyes and straight into her mind. She stared back at him, puzzled. Then, just as suddenly, he began to thrust into her, hard, making her suck in breath harshly. He continued to stare at her, all the while jamming his body down into hers.
“I have to ask something before I go,” he said, raggedly, between his thrusts.
“What?” she gasped.
