Free Spirit's Song by Madeline Baker

the saddle horn, wondering how she could get close enough to the horse to get it.
    The Appaloosa eyed her warily as she took several slow steps toward it. It was a big horse, all black, save for a patch of white sprinkled with irregular ebony spots across its rump. It had a short thick mane and a scraggly tail.
    “Please,” she murmured. “Please, horse, just stand still.”
    Surprisingly, the Appaloosa did just that. Eyes wide, ears twitching, the gelding stood poised for flight as she lifted the waterskin from the saddle horn.
    Returning to Ravenhawk’s side, she knelt beside him. As gently as she could, she eased his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Removing the sash from her waist, she soaked one end in water and began washing the blood from his side. The sash, made of thick red wool, had been a gift from Mo’e’ha.
    A low moan rose in Ravenhawk’s throat as she dragged the cloth over the wounds. Looking at them made her stomach queasy. They were red and ugly, the edges looking raw and painful.
    She cleaned the wounds as best she could; then, remembering something she had seen one of the Indians do, she packed the wounds with damp tree moss to stem the flow of blood. Removing Ravenhawk’s headband, she made a thick square pad and placed it over the wounds. She used her sash to hold the bandage in place. It took all her strength to lift him enough so that she could wrap the sash around his middle. She was perspiring by the time she finished.
    Now what? She glanced around. At least he had picked a sheltered place to stop. Rising, she gathered an armful of sticks and twigs and one good-sized branch. She dug a shallow pit and laid a fire, then looked over at the horse.
    Smiling, she walked toward the Appaloosa. “Hey there,” she said quietly. “I bet you’d like to get rid of that heavy old saddle, wouldn’t you?”
    The gelding snorted softly as she approached, but didn’t back away. Taking up the reins, she tethered the Appaloosa to a tree, removed the saddle and blanket. The blanket was soaked with sweat and she spread it out on the ground to dry; then, remembering Jesse’s admonition to cool his horse, she untied the Appaloosa and gave a gentle tug on the reins. To her surprise, the gelding followed along behind her, as docile as an old dog.
    A short distance from the streambed, she found some berry bushes heavy with fruit. She would come back later and pick some, she thought.
    When the horse was cooled out, she led it to the stream and let it drink, then went back to their makeshift camp. Replacing the bridle with a horsehair halter, she tethered the Appaloosa to a tree where it could graze on the sparse yellow grass that grew beside the shallow stream. She patted the horse on the shoulder, then, knowing she had stalled long enough, she picked up the bedroll and walked back to where she had left Ravenhawk. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved while she’d been gone. His breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps. His face and chest were sheened with sweat. She laid her hand on his chest. His skin felt warm. What if his wound got infected? What would she do if he died? Even though she had learned a lot about survival from the Indians, she didn’t think she would last very long out here on her own.
    She spread one of the blankets beside him, pushed and tugged until he was lying on it. Using a knife she found in one of the packs, she cut a small square from the edge of the second blanket, soaked it in water and began to sponge him off.
    It seemed an odd time to notice such a thing, but she couldn’t help noticing that his skin was a beautiful shade of copper, that his shoulders were incredibly wide, that his stomach was hard and flat and ridged with muscle. His arms and legs were also well-muscled. To her chagrin, she found herself comparing Ravenhawk’s body to Yellow Thunder’s, remembering the way Yellow Thunder had looked dancing around the Sun Dance pole, the spider web of faint