Night of the Wolf

As the men left the meeting, word spread quickly throughout the makeshift village. The decision had been made. At daybreak, the men would ride across the plains to bring war to the Sioux. The Sioux had been attacking the tribe’s hunters, groups of ten or more Sioux killing one or two hunters at a time, and their numbers were dwindling quickly. The only hope was war-to drive the murderers back. They had been edging closer and closer, riding and hunting on land that had been the tribe's for years. The men of the tribe had finally held counsel to decide what to do. Now that it was decided, there was no turning back, no more discussion. They knew they were hugely outnumbered, but this seemed the only way. If they were to be killed, at least they could take some of the Sioux to the Darklands with them. The men left the meeting solemnly to gather what weapons they had, and spend one final night with their families.

Singing with Longfeather sat in her hut, quietly waiting for her man to return. She knew that when he finally came he would be deeply troubled by the events of the night, by the decision to shed blood and make war. Silent Windfoot was young to be a part of the counsel, but he was a great hunter, steady and calm. It was an honor that the elders had asked him to join them for the meeting, and he had taken it very seriously. He hadn't yet seen thirty-three summers, but he possessed the wisdom of a man twice his age. Longfeather was so proud that Windfoot was her man, but was sad that he had to help make such an important and terrible decision.

The sounds around the camp grew as the men each made their way back to their huts. There was little weeping-the people knew this was a decision that had to be made, and were resolute now that it was done. There was the sound of talking, and then couples making love quietly, then the fires began to go out and the sounds of slumber filled the camp. Still, Longfeather was alone. She assumed her man was off somewhere, considering his decision, lost in his own world. She stood for a while at the entrance to their hut and gazed at the stars, then lay down in the pelts to await his return. She dozed fitfully, dreaming of horses riding across the plains, running and running, never stopping.

She awoke some time later to silence. Windfoot still had not returned. She didn’t want to leave the hut to look for him. She knew she could wander in the dark for hours and never find him…especially if he didn’t want to be found. She wondered, briefly, if he was going to spend the whole night alone, and began to grow sad. She decided to start packing his belongings so that, if he did come back, he could rest as long as possible before they left.

As she shuffled his things about she heard a strange sound from outside the hut, as if something were sniffing around outside. She was instantly on her guard-wolves had been known to be about, as well as bear. She reached for Windfoot’s dagger and pulled it from the sheath. She began to tiptoe towards the door when suddenly the furs flew back to reveal what seemed at first to be a giant wolf, standing on its hind legs and panting heavily. Then he stepped inside, and Longfeather gasped to see it was Windfoot before her. His hair, which was always neat, was disheveled and tangled. His face was dirty and his eyes wild, as if he had lost all reason and succumbed to some madness. He looked about the hut as if he didn’t recognize anything within. His eyes finally settled on Longfeather, with the dagger still at the ready, and he shivered, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. He gave a low growl, and she gasped again.

“Windfoot,” she whispered in awe, “you have been with the Wolf, haven’t you?”

His spirit guide was the wolf, and he often spoke to Wolf when times were troubled, hoping the spirit would succor him when he was in need. She had never seen him like this before, though. She was at once greatly fearful, and deeply curious.

“I have been with Him. I sought Him out to this night, looking for guidance, hoping that we had made the correct decision. We have spoken at length, and I believe that the decision we made was right…

“He is still with me, though,” he said, looking into her, and through her. “His spirit is still inside me. He will join me for our battle. He will help us bring justice to the murdering cowards who haunt us.”

He stalked across the hut and grasped her by the shoulders.

“This may be the last night we see each other in this world, Longfeather. I want to lay with you, but I fear that I may hurt you. I am not myself.”

“You will not hurt me,” she said. “You are my man, and you love me. I am a strong woman. Come to our bed, and we will share our last night together as best we can.”

“Never mind the bed, then,” he growled softly. “I don’t want to wait a moment longer for you!” With that, he tore the top of her furs open, revealing the soft dark hollow of her neck. He growled, then he sunk his teeth into her. She cried out, writhing against him. The pain was intense, but the pleasure came too. She had always known him to be a gentle lover, but seeing him like this made her tremble with anxiety and anticipation like nothing ever had before. He moved then to her shoulder, biting her, clawing her clothing from her, running his ragged nails over her back. She moaned, pulled him closer, and stretched her head back, exposing her neck to him again. He was wild, growling and snarling, clawing at her like a feral animal.

He turned her around roughly, biting into her right shoulder and cupping her breasts. She could feel his manhood rising, pressing into her buttocks. He began to move down her back, biting her shoulder blades, the curve of her waist-all while digging his nails into her breasts and squeezing her nipples. She moaned, trying to be as quiet as possible in her rising excitement. He made his way back up, and continued biting her neck and shoulders as he kneaded her breasts roughly. Soon both of them were panting fitfully. She tried to turn around, seeking out his mouth, but he instead threw her on to their furs, then he climbed atop her. He held her arms down and stared into her eyes. He kissed her, finally, and they wrapped their arms around each other and held each other tight. She spread her legs for him, and he positioned himself between her thighs as they kissed. With a snarl he plunged his erect manhood into her. She gasped, and drove her hips up to meet his thrust.

He felt like a shard, like a dagger piercing her, and she groaned as he impaled her. She was wet and warm as she had never been before, and he took his time moving in and out. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, as if in deep concentration. As he pushed himself into her, she felt the muscles inside herself contract involuntarily, pulling him in deeper. With each thrust he growled a little, softly, in the back of his throat. She felt the flush rising, the blood flooding her body. They moved that way for a while, his thrusts slow and methodical, her body arching up to meet his, until she began to wonder what had happened to Wolf-the snarling animal that had thrown her down only a moment before.

Then, suddenly, his eyes flashed open, and he paused mid-thrust. He stared at her, boring into her eyes and straight into her mind. She stared back at him, puzzled. Then, just as suddenly, he began to thrust into her, hard, making her suck in breath harshly. He continued to stare at her, all the while jamming his body down into hers.

“I have to ask something before I go,” he said, raggedly, between his thrusts.

“What?” she gasped.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes,” she said, wondering at him.

He pushed harder, if it was possible, and it seemed as though her breath was stolen from her. His brow furrowed in concentration. He continued his hard, quick thrusts, still staring at her, still boring into her soul. She held his eyes, and realized then that this was not some idle question asked in the heat of passion, but something he needed to know before he left her, some point that he needed to make her realize before he could leave with a clear mind.

“Do you love me, Singing with Longfeather?!”

Thrust

Thrust

“Yes!” she cried.

“Do you know that Silent Windfoot loves you?”

Thrust

“Yes!”

“Do you know that I will think about you…

Thrust

“…every day that am I apart from you?”

“Yes.”

Thrust

“And do you know that if I die…”

Thrust

“…if I die, my last thought in this world will be of you?!”

“Yes!”

They continued on like that for what seemed like an eternity. He kept asking his questions, determined to make her believe in his love of her. All she could do was gasp her replies as he slammed into her again and again. She would come close to her finish, and he would speed up, forcing her over the edge again, making her cry out with her release, then slow and begin with his litany of questions once more. It seemed as though he would never let himself finish.

The elder awoke to the sounds coming from Windfoot’s hut. He was bewildered at first. An old man awakened in the dark to wild sounds. He thought at first that some animal had invaded their camp. When he recognized Longfeather’s voice, he realized what was going on and put his head back down next to his woman’s. He didn’t know what was causing Windfoot to sound as he was; he only prayed that maybe Windfoot had been with the Gods, and that their favor would be with them tomorrow. Though their fates were decided, the favor of the gods might make their passing easier. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

It had been a long time-what seemed like hours-and still he continued on. The sweat stood out on Windfoot’s forehead and ran down his back. Longfeather looked up at him and their eyes locked.

“Please, my love,” she begged. “You will need to rest. Let yourself go!”

At that, he began to thrust as fast as he could, tearing into her. She cried out. His growling rose to a fevered pitch, and as he filled her with his seed he howled, filling the camp with the sound. Their bodies locked together, singing as the blood coursed through them, as their muscles flexed and they joined in one sound and one movement. He immediately collapsed on top of her, sweating and shaking. For a moment, their panting was as one breath, then almost immediately her body began to acknowledge the wear and strain of the night. She stroked his shanks as she felt sleep slowly begin to take hold of her. Mentally she willed him to relax and be at peace, and to let go. He raised himself on his lean arms, looked at her, then fell beside her into the pelts. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, then closed his eyes. When she knew by his breathing that he was finally gone, she too allowed herself to sleep, and for the first time in many nights her sleep was deep and dreamless.

The next morning everyone was awake early, even the children. The men were kissing their women goodbye, holding their children for one last time and then they mounted their loaded horses one by one. Windfoot seemed more himself this morning, but Longfeather could still see something seething within him, just below the surface. They gathered his things then stopped together as he stood beside his waiting horse. The pale pink of morning was just beginning to touch the plains to their east. Windfoot gazed off across the swirling grasses toward the sunrise, then turned to look at Longfeather.

“The journey ahead of us will be long, and many of us will not return.”

“Yes, I know,” she said.

“My first duty is to the tribe, and I will fight to my death to protect it.”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Yet I will do what I can to return to you,” he said as he touched her face.

“I know you will. But if you do not return, I will remember that you love me, and that in your last moment in this life you thought only of me, “ she murmured, reaching up to stroke his hand. “I know you will be waiting for me in the Darklands if you do not return.”

He kissed her forehead and then climbed atop his horse. “Hopefully, my love, our meeting in the Darklands will be far from now, when we are both old and gray,” he said, trailing off as he looked across the plains again.

He looked at her one last time. “I will always be with you,” he said.

“I know,” she murmured. “I love you.”

He glanced at her one last time, drinking the sight of her in.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye.”

With that, he rode away to join the rest of the warriors. The chief looked about and saw that all were ready. He spoke but a single word and, without a glance back, they began their trek.