Chapter 18 #2
“I know. I hear it.”
“Then please, do hurry.”
“I am. Perhaps it would be easier if you simply stepped out of these petticoats.”
“I…I…I am afraid that modesty would not…” she stammered. “Just hurry.”
“Haa’he.” He glanced up at her. “Brace yourself.”
She did.
Reaching out for the bodice of the garment, he tore at her dress with such force that the linen chemise, as well as the petticoats, ripped all the way down the front.
That it left her standing in no more than her lacy drawers was more than a little disconcerting to Swift Hawk’s equilibrium, and he found his gaze riveted to her chest.
He stared at her, there, for much longer than a gentleman should, until at last she brought her arms up to cover herself.
Her action caused him to offer, “I did not mean to expose you so completely.”
She glanced away from him. “So you say. But, Mr. Hawk, I fear modesty must take a backseat to the urgency of leaving here. Perhaps you have not noticed how quickly the tree behind you begins to burn.”
He shook his head as if to clear it. Alas, it only went to illustrate how exquisitely a woman could affect a man. Of course Swift Hawk knew the tree was afire, but even so, he had been and was still fighting with himself, trying to take his gaze from her.
“Haa’he,” he said, at some length, staring away from her at last. Getting to his feet, he picked up his knife and her shotgun and hurried toward his pony. “Come, you are right. We must be swiftly away.”
Jumping up and straddling his pony, he settled himself and reached an arm down to help her up as well.
“But my mule…”
Swift Hawk straightened away and glanced over his shoulder.
“Haa’he. Yes, your mule. We will try to bring it with us, but if not, I fear we must leave it.
For as you can see, we now have not only the Wind Spirit at our backs, but the Fire Spirit, as well.
Quickly, jump up behind me.” He pulled her up onto the seating until she too was straddling the pony.
No sooner had she situated herself than Swift Hawk realized his mistake in rushing to free her from that bush. He should have taken his time, no matter if it had required the entire day.
Perhaps burning alive or being beaten to death by a storm would be better than the agony of feeling the imprint of her breasts against his own bare back…and knowing there was not a single earthly thing he could do about it.
Angelia had never felt so exposed, nor so alive.
At present, Swift Hawk was negotiating his pony through the winding buffalo paths.
Since the prairie grass accommodated so many vines and growth, going through it was nearly impossible.
She was nestled against Swift Hawk’s back, her arms around his waist, her legs against his own.
Behind them, to the right, to the left, even in front of them, lightning flashed, boomed and sent a feeling of terror through the air, while the wind roared and howled like some ghostly apparition.
Out of necessity, they had left her mule behind. Swift Hawk had tried to lead it, but after several attempts at budging it, and no success, they had been forced to abandon it.
Luckily, the gusting winds had blown out the fire from the tree before it had become a threat to life and limb. But such strong gales as this had broken many of the tree’s limbs and branches, with the result that sticks and leaves went flying through the air like misguided arrows.
The lightning never ceased, either. Bolts crashed around them, into the ground, shaking the earth and creating thunderous peals. The strikes came from all directions, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have said that the lightning followed them.
Through it all, she clung to Swift Hawk, who appeared to be calm despite the chaos in the heavens.
At one point, Angelia cried out to Swift Hawk, “Why does the lightning follow us? It strikes the ground around us, as though each bolt were meant for us.”
“It is intended for us,” said Swift Hawk. “The Thunderer and I are long enemies.”
The Thunderer—a force of Nature—Swift Hawk’s enemy? How strange.
And yet, was it strange? This man kept a secret from her. Was it somehow connected with such a magnificent enemy?
They kept on, their pace hindered by the furious waving of the grasses.
Because the grass was so long and bent over, it made the paths difficult to see.
To add to their difficulties, Angelia glanced behind them and discovered that the tail of a very black, almost greenish-looking cloud had dipped toward the earth.
The storm’s funnel was extending farther and farther down, until all at once it struck the ground. At the impact, dust flew everywhere. The storm’s roar, as it twisted over the prairie, added to the frightening howls of the wind.
She cried, “Behind us! The tornado has hit the earth. It’s coming this way!”
“Hold tight to me and do not let go,” Swift Hawk instructed. “I must force my pony off these buffalo paths, if we are to find shelter in time.”
She nodded against his shoulder. It was a strange thing.
Naked though they both might be—at least from the waist up—her attention was not on herself, or even on him.
In truth, although she might appreciate the feel of his back against her breasts, his buttocks against her loins, these things were not uppermost in her mind.
Survival, keeping alive. These were important, and upon these principles, she felt aligned with Swift Hawk.
Lightning cracked overhead, followed by a crash of thunder, causing Swift Hawk’s pony to rear. But Swift Hawk kept his seat as if he were attached to it. Indeed, he reached around behind him and kept Angelia upright as well.
“Easy, girl,” Swift Hawk spoke to his pony. “You’re going to have to bring us to shelter, if we are all to survive. I fear the wind at our back gains on us. But you are a good pony. You can make it.”
The pony seemed to understand every word. She whinnied then shot forward out of the buffalo paths. She leapt through the tall grass, acting like she was part antelope.
“Let us fly like the eagle, pony,” Swift Hawk shouted above the noise. “We must find some low ground quickly. You must look for it. I must look for it. Together we will find it.”
With no further urging, the little mustang raced eastward, bounding over the grasses, vines and snags, the wind constantly beneath her hooves.
“Pony, do you see that bluff up ahead of us?” shouted Swift Hawk. “By its side is a creek, which cuts into the ground. It will give us protection. Ride there, my friend. Ride there.”
The pony strained, and Angelia saw that the pony’s mouth was foaming. But the rugged animal did not give up. Onward she struggled.
Suddenly the ridge was there. Just one leap, one more, and they were standing at the edge of a narrow ravine. Below, Angelia could see a creek, with its waters raging and white-capped under the influence of the winds.
Without wasting a moment, Swift Hawk urged his pony to cut a path into the chasm, prodding the animal down into it. But the pony needed no such goading, the animal picking a trail that allowed a gradual descent.
Even in this little valley, Angelia noticed that the trees and the shrubs were bent over double. But there was one cottonwood tree next to the creek, and it appeared to be holding fast, though it too was losing many branches to the raging storm.
As soon as they reached bottom, Swift Hawk jumped to his feet, set his weapons to the side and hauled Angelia to the ground in one swift movement, and drawing the trade-blanket and his buffalo robe from the pony, he hauled them over them both, the robes giving them shelter.
Pulling her into his arms, they awaited the tornado.
Chest to chest, skin to skin, they sat. Angelia was shivering, and Swift Hawk’s hands were moving up and down her torso to warm her.
Winds rushed at them, branches fell around them, some minor ones hitting their shelter, and always, the roaring of the howling winds threatened.
A crash of lightning shattered into the ground, seemingly right into their little shelter, and Angelia jumped closer to Swift Hawk.
On and on it went, the winds reaching a deafening pitch. She shut her eyes, bent her head into Swift Hawk’s shoulder, and prayed.
Then as suddenly as it had come, the storm moved on. Angelia could hear the wind literally roaring past them. Even the next strike of lightning sounded farther away.
Dust, however, continued to fly everywhere, and for the moment, both she and Swift Hawk stayed beneath their tiny shelter. But Angelia would have been very na?ve, indeed, had she thought the storm was finished. Still the winds howled above them.
“Are you all right?” asked Swift Hawk, setting her slightly away from him.
She nodded.
“E-peva’e. That is good. Prepare yourself. I must take this shelter away from us now and make a stronger refuge before it is too late. I fear there is not a moment to lose.”
Again she nodded.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Quick as the rushing wind, he jumped up to his feet, and taking the blanket and robe from around them, he set to work.
“I must carve out some holds against this canyon wall. While I do that, I will need you to find me two, maybe three strong sticks about this big…” he measured about three feet with his hands, “…or bigger. Try to find two that are about the same height. Act fast now.”
Rising to her feet, she discovered that embarrassment was a thing of the past, and she, too, worked steadily, sorting through the debris on the ground. A lightning bolt struck somewhere close by, but it was too distant to worry about.
However, the bolt was immediately followed by a drenching rain. No soft shower was this, no gentle sprinkles to announce the coming deluge. No, the downpour came, and it came at once.
Angelia found four sticks about the same size, and one extra stick for good measure, and pressing them to her bosom, she hurried back toward Swift Hawk.
They were both soaked to the skin and barely able to hear one another, let alone see each other through the downpour.
Still Swift Hawk said, “You have done well. These will do fine. Come, we must erect a shelter against this canyon wall.” He had carved three holes into the sandstone wall, and taking the buffalo skin and three big stones, secured it to the wall.
After picking up two of the sticks, he drove them into the ground and tied the other end of the robe to them, placing a third stick, one slightly taller, in the middle, so as to gently slope the rain away from them.
“We will get wet,” he said, “but not as wet as we would had we no shelter at all. Now, you must gather some long grass—bunches of it—and hurry before it is too wet.”
She nodded, and scurrying around the canyon, she did exactly that.
Beneath that shelter, the ground was drenched, yet hard, but Swift Hawk quickly softened it, placing the long grasses on top of the firm earth until the floor was covered in a mat of grass.
Over this mat of grass, he set their trade-blanket then motioned Angelia to sit on it.
She did so at once, but still Swift Hawk wasn’t finished.
She watched as he gathered together more of the long grass and branches and bushes, placing them around and over the lean-to until it looked as though it were a part of the landscape.
Lastly, with her shotgun, he dug a ditch around their lean-to that would allow water to run off of them, into the ditch and eventually into the creek.
Drenched, yet his work done, Swift Hawk crawled into the shelter, setting the guns and his other weapons off to the side. Briefly, he gazed at Angelia and smiled before he opened his arms and invited her into them.
For the moment, they sat entwined. They were drier and safe from the storm. She was cold and he warmed her. She trembled and he calmed her.
At last he said, “I think we should rest.”
“Yes,” she agreed readily.
Barely had the word left her mouth than she turned her head toward him and shivered. Gradually she felt the gentle touch of his lips against the top of her head.
It was a comforting feeling, yes. However, from out of nowhere came a streak of desire, and she scooted in closer to him. She even placed her arms around his waist and pulled on him.
But if Swift Hawk knew what was in her mood, if he was experiencing an answering bolt of desire, he was greatly adept at hiding it.
Instead, he began to sing her a song, his low-pitched voice comforting, though she could little understand the words.
He rubbed at her hair, at her shoulders and neck, and her tired muscles relaxed. At some length, the song finished, and he said softly, “You should sleep. You are safe now. Sleep.”
Exhausted, she did exactly that. Though her dreams were filled with the images of a man called the Thunderer, who threatened and chased her with lightning bolts, she still slept peacefully. After all, he was there beside her, there to protect her.