Free Wolf Shadow by Madeline Baker Page B

warrior hadn’t grabbed
her from behind and covered her mouth with his hand. She stared at Wolf Shadow,
at the blood dripping down the side of his face.
    She tried to go to him, to see if he was dead, but the
warrior behind her refused to let her go. Moments later, she was laying face
down over the withers of one of the Crow horses, her hands and feet tied
beneath the horse’s belly, unable to see what was happening behind her.
    She heard the sound of hoof beats and knew with dreadful
certainly that the Crow were going to attack the village. There was silence for
what seemed a very long while and then a blood-curdling war cry rent the
stillness of the early morning. The sound seemed to vibrate within her and she
closed her eyes. From deep within her memory she heard a voice crying, No!
No! La non mia ragazza piccola! Non prendere la mia ragazza piccola!
Teressa!
    Teressa! She opened her eyes and the memory faded. Though
faint, she could hear an occasional scream, a gunshot, the terrified wailing of
a child. She tried to block out the sounds of the battle but to not avail. Her
thoughts turned to Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance. Hot tears stung her eyes.
Even if her parents survived the battle, she might never see them again. If the
Crow were victorious, she would be their prisoner. They would take her to their
village where she would be killed or forced to be a slave.
    She looked over at Wolf Shadow, and fear wrapped around her
heart. He lay so still. Was he dead?
    She lost track of time. Her wrists and ankles ached. Her
back ached. She closed her eyes again and her mind flooded with images of
paint-streaked warriors swooping down on her, of golden brown eyes filled with
fear and concern. Confused, she opened her eyes. Spots danced before her eyes.
She was trying to work her hands free when she realized the sounds of battle
had ceased. It occurred to her that it had been quiet for some time.
    She felt her blood run cold when she heard a high-pitched
cry of victory.
    The Crow had won the battle.
    * * * * *
    Chance groaned softly as consciousness returned, bringing a
wave of pain and nausea. He opened his eyes and quickly closed them again.
Where was he?
    Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. The
world spun out of focus and he groaned again as pain slashed through the side
of his head. A Crow warrior jerked his arms behind his back and bound his
wrists together, then dropped a noose around his neck and pulled it tight.
    What the hell had happened? Squinting against the sunlight,
Chance slowly looked around. At first, nothing made sense. Not the warriors
painted for war. Not the bloody scalps tied to their horses. Not the thick
black smoke spreading like ink across the sky. And then it all came back to
him. The Crow war party. The club swinging at his head.
    Gradually, he realized the battle was over and the Crow had
won. Where was Winter Rain? Had they killed her? And what of Kills-Like-a-Hawk
and Dancing Crane? What of Bear Chaser? Were they all dead?
    He took a step toward the village, grief welling up within
him, only to come to an abrupt halt as the warrior holding the rope gave it a
sharp jerk, nearly knocking Chance off his feet. Muttering an oath, he
stumbled, barely managing to keep his feet as the warrior urged his horse into
walk. Chance shuffled along in the horse’s wake, every step sending shards of
pain lancing through his skull.
    By midafternoon, his head was throbbing incessantly. Sweat
stung his eyes, ran down his back, his chest. His shoulders ached from having
his arms drawn tightly behind his back.
    A short time later, the war party stopped near a shallow
stream to rest and water their horses. Chance stared at the water. He moved
toward the stream. Just one drink, he thought. He hadn’t taken more than half a
dozen steps when the rope around his neck brought him up short, the rough hemp
cutting into his skin.
    He heard the sound of laughter behind him. Slowly, he turned
to find a trio of