A Short Story

The Kill

The spider came out, after the storm, and watched as the great bull wallowed in the mud - rolling over and over until it was covered in thick cakes of earth. With his web sparkling in the late afternoon sun, the tiny spider stood still - feeling the vibrations of the earth as the bull strode by and the damp breeze moved the short prairie grass. Above glided the meadowlark with his eye keenly trained on the patterns on the earth. Then, flushed by the bull, the grasshopper clicked and buzzed as the wet grass swatted at his resting place, his brittle wings rapidly sawing at the heavy air until, forced down by the weight of the breeze, he found himself snagged by the spider's web. The lark, not waiting for a moment to past, swooped to snatch the flailing pray from the spiders web leaving the spider to sway in his web.

Éwi remained motionless in the damp grass. His thighs and belly itched. The mud-covered bison swaggered nearby, tossing his head from side to side. Éwi knew the wind was in his favor. He could feel his body tighten – he wanted to run, but he knew better. He thought about the meadowlark and how it glides overhead with the wind. He could hear the song of the lark and he knew he had done everything his father had said. Éwi continued to lie in the wet grass behind a large clump of sage; his arrow knocked and ready, he closed his eyes and waited.

He was playing, along the creek; Turns in the Wind was standing high on the bank - ready to jump in the cool waters. Barely audible, and strange popping sounds could be heard in the distance and nobody paid any interest at first - then Turns in the Wind looked over his shoulder towards the popping, and a strange expression slowly spread across his face. Éwi, sitting half in the shallow waters near the opposite bank, watched and teased his friend to jump. Then Turns in the Wind slowly turned his gaze frontwards and looked down at Éwi. Turns in the Wind was blank, expressionless, there was a vacant look about him as he slid off his feet and down the bank into the calm waters. Limp, he drifted face down as the current carried him down stream. Éwi shook the image from his memory and tightened his face to hold back the tears. He noticed his hand going numb and he loosened the grip on his bow. The bull sneezed and grunted and continued to cut and pull on the wiry grass as it ambled across the prairie.

At nearly the distance from one side of his grandfather’s lodge to the other, Éwi knew the prairie beast was at its most vulnerable. The bull raised its head, sniffing at the wind – then snorting again it resumed its grazing. Éwi knew this would be his only chance - his chest tightened. From behind the sage he rose slowly to his knees and drew back his arrow. He could hear the slight creaking of his bow and the bison stopped and looked back. Éwi, just of the bull’s flank was motionless, his heart was throbbing and the palms of his hands were sweaty. The beast once again was sniffing the damp air and it raised its tail. Éwi could hold no longer. The waxy sinew slipped from his fingertips and the arrow was launched.

The pungent order of grass and sage soon gave way to the smoke as Éwi stood by his mother and watched the body of his friend; raised on the scaffold, burn on the hilltop. The hot southern winds whipped the flames and Éwi turned to look away. There was humming and a few older women chanted words that would accompany Turns in the Wind as he left the flaming bundle and made his way to the spirit world. Overhead, a pair of Red-tailed hawks circled once or twice and, carried by the hot southern air, quickly disappeared on the northward horizon.

His mother noticed Éwi’s puzzled expression – she pulled him close. Éwi did not cry but continued daydream. The popping sound grew louder and now screams could be heard. Then, almost instantly, swarms of people jumped from the riverbank into the water – some running towards the willows and tall grass and some falling dead and drifting along with Turns in the Wind.

Éwi looked about and watched other families standing, weeping, and watching other bodies burn on dilapidate scaffolds. And as burning bodies fell to the ground, mothers and fathers cried out in pain. He ran from his mother's side towards what was left of his village and helped the Camp Chief pack for the move.

The bull turned and instantly bolted towards the ravine. The arrow had lodged snuggly in his side and before long the heaving prairie beast disappeared into the tall grass and sapling choke cherry shrubs. Winded, the beast slowed and bellowed out. Turning his huge head the bull licked at the wound.

Éwi rolled over and took a deep breath – his eyes now fixed on the shapes of the clouds. Éwi watched the formations as horses turned into bison and then into puffs of smoke rolling above a thousand tepees. The words of his father and uncle rang true – patience could the rewarded, but grasping the prize too soon could be a fault.

The grass gave little away in the form of clues but the trail was clear – at least until it disappeared into the brush. Éwi grew more cautious and backed way from the heavy shrubs. Still, with his eyes on the ground looking for tracks and trying hard to listen for any sign that danger was near, Éwi searched. He was sure he had heard the bull give its final roar – but what of the lack of blood. And the tracks – they vanished. “What did I miss”, he whispered to him self. Then pausing he whispered again, “Was this a dream, Amok?”

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