[X]I ll Know ll Something[X] {Forte} [[Open]]

[shifujin]

Cherokee stood, back to the wind as his owner, Mountain Mist dipped her hand in paint, and gently pressed it against the side of his hindquarters, after drawing a lightening bolt below it. She then came to his head. He perked his ears. The wind blew, tugging at his mane and tail, as if playful. The Lakotas were settled in for the evening. Now, they could only hope for a peaceful night tonight. After all, it had been nearly 4 months since the last raid by the U.S. Army. The longest they had ever gone was three months. This beat that record.

The Lakotas were having it hard lately. The U.S. Army was driving all their food away, so many had died. Mist was one of the 15 female Lakotas to survive the epidemic. But, they had started the hunt for fish, which they found was much more abundant.

Cherokee put his head down as Mist tapped his neck twice, bringing his eyes level to her as she asked it. She put three perfectly straight lines across his nose, being ever so gentle, and a ring around his eye. She seemed worried. Those were her true feelings. Yes. Those were. Cherokee could feel it. But she tried to hide it, by being her gentle natured self. But, she couldn't. Not from Cherokee.

Mist owned Cherokee's bloodlines, but Cherokee was by far her favorite. Mostly because, he was the only born of his color into the tribe. And that made him special. He was named Cherokee after Mist befriended a local Cherokee Indian Traveller, whom was well on his way now. The indian had healed Cherokee during his foal hood, after he'd stepped on a trap set up by the U.S. Army. What did they have against the Lakota anyway? Noone really knew.

As Mist tapped Cherokee's back, he knew she was done, and the indian paint was dry now. He turned, face to the wind as it blew his mane and tail back. He walked with a low head through the tribe to where the other indian horses were. He lowered his head even more to graze. Eager to eat his fill before Mist had to use him to get water later. And, that was a lot of work, considering the fact that the jugs were quite heavy when filled, and they had to make many sneaky trips into U.S. Army territory. Hopefull Samuel would be the Army man on patrol. He was the only one that had no problem with the Lakota. But, if he wasn't? Well, they couldn't eat tonight. Or drink for that matter. Because the river water wasn't clean enough. That was where the Lakota bathe. Dirty dirty water.

And really dirty now, considering the fact that, well, the horses seemed more comfortable after a nice wash to remove all the durbis from their coats, and leave them gleaming like U.S. Army horses. Cherokee then lifted his head and turned to look to the right. Something wasn't right. He took a step back. All the others sensing his tension looked at him, almost as if he had lost his mind. No. Today the Lakotas would not sleep in peace.

Cherokee turned on his haunches and galloped back into the tribe. Neighing and rearing. Ears flat. The other horses had followed at a trot to see whats going on. The indians began to come out to see what all of the commotion was about. Mist, was the last out. "Cherokee, my boy. What is it? Is something wrong?" She asked stroking the horses neck, with one hand on his muzzle. Her voice was gentle, and beautiful. I wish you could understand me! Cherokee thought. But all you hear is neighs. I wish there was someway to make you understand.

He looked back at the other Lakota horses. They seemed uneasy, and all their attention was facing the way Cherokee had been looking earlier. "I told you I'm not crazy! Something's wrong. Far too wrong. And I don't want Mist here. They'll either kill her or kiddnap her. And she's so gentle. She won't fight back. No. Not her." Cherokee begged to the other horses. Of course, all the indians heard was a series of whinning, neighs, nickers, grunts, and groans. No words. How was he to get Mist to safety? What were they going to do? What was coming?