The Foundling

The Foundling
 
I stood in silence a hollow man with no one or nothing to live for. My father’s farewell opened a deep pain. The great kindness was denied me. I'm alone, even my imagination has withered, and the voices of my people grew silent. I am not grateful for the mercy mother bear showed me.  
 
My father’s name was Spotted Elk, but now in death, I call him Two Bears. For some reason unknown to me those I love now wear a death name. I guess it is my way to stay connected with them, even though they are a world away. The little breeze pushed against my back telling me to load up and move on.  I broke camp and chased the sunset. A silent forest gave no sign of Dog. Unseen fingers prickled the hairs on my neck. Then Fear whispered to me "lost, lost, now you must walk alone".
 
Time has no meaning when there is no one to share it with. I sleep too much and walk to long but who shall complain? Just ahead a rich meadow full of black-eyed flowers. The ones my wife loved so well. My gaze moved beyond the field, I refused to linger on its fullness. The little breeze danced among these bright yellow blossoms. While a flock of sparrows milled through. With the rage of a beast, I bellowed, "dam you, why won't you let me die!" The little breeze paid no mind to my fit and danced the day long.
 
Soon, I could hear a stream and smell its goodness. Sweet water carries a fragrance that’s good to smell. Someday men will capture its beauty, and visit that aroma simply for pleasure, and to my surprise it made me feel good. The water snaked along the edge of the woods, damp pine needles filled my nostrils. My stride became longer, I drew in a deep breath and felt refreshed. The babbling waters spoke of a tasty meal. The thought of a spotted trout smoking over an open flame caused a rumbling. Again, I called for Dog. He gave me no answer. So, dinner for one it would be.
 
Clearwater flowed over small stones shining in the fading sunlight. A large bolder revealed a plump speckled trout. I would not consider the sharp bite springtime water gave and focused on my treasure. A golden sky colored the water richly.

 I laid hold of my dinner, I admired the beauty of the setting sun, that was now swirled in reds and pinks. A small frog jumped from his log as I passed near. A shadow shaded his path. I could imagine my young son Little Leaf, scooping down to lay hold of the frog, and I laughed. 

My fish smoked over the fire and wondered if its aroma would bring Dog home? The moon spiked a great pine that I leaned upon. A lonely dove sang nearby, and my meal satisfied my hunger. The trout’s head rested on a rock, just in case Dog returned to me. I longed to pass the pipe, but to who so I stretched out instead and tried to put my people from my thoughts. My mind started to drift when Dog called out, so the search for him began. 
 
I let out a long call, and his sorrowful reply filled the night.  Many pines opened up to a rocky ridge lined with blue moon blossoms. I climbed for a better vantage point, and there he sat. My chow, coyote mutt, sitting by his mate, her front paw snared in a trap. 

I worked my way down to them.  Dog came to greet me. I patted his head as he brushed against my leg, but the newest member of our band a pale cream coyote bared her teeth at me. Her snarls and quivering lips told me she was not ready to make friends. 
 
I sat just out of reach, removed my flute from my sash and played.  Dog perched his ears even before the music began. His long looping tale wagged with approval, and I started the “wooing lovers” song. Dog began to sway.  He stood in place his hind legs never moving and bobbed his head from left to right. While he double pumped his front paws left, left, right. Right, right left. Shaking his head the opposite direction of each step. The young coyote seemed perplexed, but our performance relaxed her. I laid down the flute and continued to chant the tune. Dog danced on she could not take her eyes off him. I drew my blade and quickly cut the snare. She sprang to all fours. Her attention entirely on me, with ears pinned back, tail tucked and teeth exposed. Dog leaped between us. They nuzzled each other. She relaxed her ears, he came to me and stood. I rubbed his fur and began the walk back to camp with my dog beside me and our wild coyote lurking just out of sight.
 
Once at camp I tossed our new wild friend the fish head. “Sorry old dog, but ladies first.” hunger gave way to caution, and the trout head was no more. 

The moon had stretched a crossed the stars and morning was close at hand. I laid down for a small rest. Dog curled up next to his new friend, and we all slept. A loud protesting chipmunk yelled at us from its tree. Dog stretched and yawned while I grumbled at the commotion. Our wild friend could not be seen, but certainly, she was near-by.  

The chipmunk retreated to its den but the balance of morning was not restored. In the distance, I heard the cry of a child. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed my long-gun and headed that way.

For almost the full cycle of the moon, I had been without a human companion. Many emotions washed over me as I closed the distance between this wailing child and myself.

Once in the depths of the vale, I could not tell from where the sound came. The little breeze pointed to the water. I carefully considered which way to go. A dead oak caught my eye. Standing next to it was the image of the Willow Woman. Her long shaw drug the ground and her long gray hair billowed in the wind. She motioned for me to move along the river bed. 

Seeing the images of my people were now just a part of my day. I could not tell you if the spirits are real or birthed out of my need, but I trust them and head down to the water. 

 The child’s cries had not let up, and I pushed on. The river seemed the closest path to take, and I kept moving. The smell of death filled the air, and I made ready my weapon. 

Soon my father and older brother stood by my side. Surely a battled waited for me. How I longed to reach out and touch them. However, an unspoken rule told me I may not. 

A trapper jumped down from a boulder knocking my gun from my hand.  He landed on top of me. The white man looked much older than me with a long-salted beard. A deep scar ran the length of his face over his left eye.  The trapper’s hands were firmly attached to my neck. I kicked free and rolled to one knee with my knife ready. 
 
The old trapper had turned feral. A wild man that will kill or be killed. A drive pushed me to win. I could still hear the babe and needed to defeat this brute. A stone like fist struck my jaw. As his fist retreated, the clean edge of the blade drew first blood which flowed freely down his arm and he howled like a wolf. 

I did not want his tainted soul walking with me for the rest of my days but what else could I do. With three fingers I gripped the sharp tip of my knife and let it fly. The fight ended as he fell to the ground dead. I placed my blade back in its sheath and returned to my search. 

 The rotten stench told me my search was over. I spied a man and his son dead on the ground, and there sat the weeping toddler. He was holding the hem of his mother’s dress. Her cloudy white eyes stirred a harsh memory, and I turned my gaze back on the boy. I’m guessing him to be three. 
 
“Hello, little one,” I reached for him, but he would not let go of her apron.  Do I force him to let go? No, I do not think so. I cut a piece away. Once the connection was severed, he looked at me. My face is still painted in sorrow, and he doesn't look happy to see me. 

Big brown eyes swimming in grief looked at me. I moved the child around the corner, to a spot where he cannot see his family then call for Dog. The boy’s cries grow louder. The old mutt placed his head on the child’s neck and whimpered. The boy latched on to his new friend, and like a little man, his cries stop.
 
 “Stay, I’ll be back.” I’m not sure if I was talking to the boy or the dog, maybe both. I buried his people, then scooped him in my arms. The spirit of the trapper stood with me, He shaded my steps and I crused him. Then we all headed back to camp.

Author's Note

1st draft
Next chapter The Changeling

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful chapter. I liked the story line, the characters and the names used. You shared some history and I wanted to know and read more dear Cherrie. Native American tales. Is nature/life. Seeking of truth. You did. Thank you for sharing the amazing chapter.
Coyote

[Cherrie]

Thank you, I'm not sure how this chapter will fair after I edit.

[Coyote Poetry]

Editing. I need this skill and you are welcome Cherrie.

[M. J. Smith]

It's quite a story. I know little if native beliefs beyond popular culture. But I do recognize my own ancestral spirits when they pass by. A haunting tale, Cherrie.

[Cherrie]

You would think what a writer believes about life and the world that follows would influence their pen. However that is not always the case and this story has a life all its own that hovers over ancient thoughts.
I really enjoyed writing ✍ this story and letting it unfold.

[M. J. Smith]

Some stories, poems, and characters take on a life of their own. Never did I dream that The Drifter, a man buried in my past would become an alter ego. He speaks through my verse, often more clearly then I do. My time on the road was short. Sometimes I miss that long year. Mostly, I cherish the memory. And the man who once gave a young boy a handful of change. Never saw him again after that night. Likely never will.

[Cherrie]

I think that is what takes our writing beyond our own little life. It is the ability to see and blend the unseen.

[barleygirl]

This is such brilliant writing. Often your sentiments are so universal, strong sentiments about today's world harken, too: "Time has no meaning when there is no one to share it with" . . . and . . . "I could not tell you if the spirits are real or birthed out of my need." Your pacing is superb & you use excellent modulation/balance of descriptive passages with dynamic action ones (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Cherrie]

Well I won't spoil the ending. I do hope to work on this story soon.

[Shep]

Excellent chapter, I don't know how I missed it a good thing I went back to make sure I read it (HE, HE). I felt bad for the kid's parents bad cheered when you killed the old murderest trapper... I think Dog needs a name and now he has a friend. Awesome write as always.

[Cherrie]

I had a pup once named Dude. He was always in trouble so it wasn't long I started calling him Dog.
I thought what a great idea for his name.