Free Lakota Honor by Kat Flannery Page B

wooden chairs and a makeshift counter—a plank on top of three tree stumps.
    Another bang followed by a pleading moan. Ina! He crawled around the bed to try and see what was going on, even though he already knew.
    The warm glow from the fire cast the room in welcoming shadows, but the beast standing over his mother turned it into a nightmare. A meaty fist raised high in the air and rushed toward her as she lay on her side, bleeding from the temple. The thud of flesh meeting flesh sent his stomach rolling. He squeezed his eyes shut, tucked his head into his chest and prayed it would stop.
    The dull sound continued. He covered his ears, tried to shut it out. If he were taller, stronger he'd be able to help her. Guilt consumed him, and a tear slipped past his black lashes.
    A low whimper came from his Ina, and he wanted nothing more than to go to her. He needed to hold her in his skinny arms and tell her he loved her.
    Tears wet his face, but he didn't bother to wipe them. More punches came. When would it end? How much more could she take? His chest heavy, the air seized within his lungs, as he muffled a sob into the straw-filled bed. His fingers gathered the blanket, gripping it tightly.
    He needed to help her. He rubbed his cheek against the mattress, the straw poked through, cutting his skin. He searched the room for something—anything that he could use as a weapon. There was nothing. No gun, no knife, no magical spell to cast like in the stories he'd been told.
    Silence. The room held an eerie stillness, and he strained to hear any sign his Ina was alive. He opened his eyes. The swine still stood above her, a bottle of brown liquid in his hand. He took a long drink and spat it all over her. She didn't move. The brute nudged her with his boot. Still nothing.
    Rage bubbled hot and feral inside of him. Ina lay beaten and bloodied on the dirt floor while the monster, the beast—his father kicked her! He dug his hands into the dirt floor and squeezed, feeling the black residue filter through his clenched fingers.
    A warrior's cry burst from his mouth as he bolted toward his father. Arms flailing, he punched and kicked trying to kill the wasichu. A large hand clipped his chin, dazing him, but he wouldn't give up, he couldn't. He had to save her.
    He scratched and bit puncturing the skin, on his father's arms. Another backhand across the head sent him sprawling into the counter, breaking dishes and toppling it over. His arm was cut, and the side of his head pulsed with pain. A knife bounced to the floor and he grabbed it.
    Arm held high he charged at his father. With one swing the knife was knocked from his hand, and thick fingers dug into his throat. He struggled for air as his feet left the ground. He kicked at the space around them, his vision blurred.
    When he came to, it was still dark outside and his father was gone. His throat sore and swollen, he winced as he swallowed. He crawled toward Ina. Each move he took sent spasms throughout his scrawny body. By morning he'd be covered in bruises.
    He would never forget these moments. The punches, smacks, kicks permeated his mind and stole to the very depths of his soul. His brother was awake. Three winters old, Little Eagle clutched the tattered blanket close to his mouth and stood over Ina. Little Eagle's round face was damp with tears.
    He struggled to get closer. His tongue fatter in his mouth, he tasted blood when he licked his lips. He knelt beside them and held his little brother's hand.
    "Misu, iyunke—Brother, lay," he said and guided him down to lie beside their mother.
    "Ina, Ina?" Little Eagle whimpered.
    His breaths came in quick puffs as his heart pounded in his throat. He placed their mother's head onto his lap. How was he going to fix her? Old bruises mingled with new ones coloring her face. A nasty scrape bled from the side of her head and into her blue-black hair. He ran his hand along the soft tresses, something he'd done since he was little. The motion had