TigerLily

To some surprise – Tiger discovered that he was awake or awakened by her sudden movements. Either way – he had caught the tail whip of words and spoke softly. With the flick of his thumb he pushed up his hat, that one brown eye revealing a bit of life as he spoke. “I want you to have this, Tiger,” he held out his weapon – that sleek metallic frame was frayed with a few blemishes but it gave it some appeal. Worn in, well used, but durable – like him and for that, she paused her thoughts – wondering why she even held him in any good light. For all she knew, he was to blame – “I’m sorry that I left you in the forest without saying good-bye. I only wanted to release you from the danger, but you were still in danger without me, because of me.” And then he apologized or at least what she could make of his English. It was slow and he paced himself, but some words were out of range for her to grab at.

Just what exactly was he asking of her…?

Now he wasn’t talking, but looking at her – waiting and she felt her heart quicken: she didn’t understand enough to reply and apart of her felt as if she would miss out if she said nothing at all. Did he want to be released from his debt? Knowing she had saved his life and what that stood for in her Navajo heritage – he still felt he owed her and in some mild misunderstanding – Lily came to accept that.

“You… Want to release?” Those large green hues studied that rough face, the sun hadn’t been kind to it, but Ambrose had its charm. With uncertainty she pointed at herself, soft brown eyebrows lifting as she questioned him once more. She didn’t want him to go, but she knew it was wrong to keep a spirit tied down. She had seen it happen to the elders of her village once – the body would grow weak and the face would look ill. Not wanting to bring Ambrose any more misfortune, she cupped his face – though his gaze was rather solid, as if she had clearly missed the point. “I release Ambrose,” she said, softly, the small pads of her thumb caressed his cheek and her gaze went over to that dark eye patch where she planted a kiss on top of it. Slowly she backed away and looked at him once more before giving an affirming nod.

“No more debt,” in reference to her saving his life. She felt somewhat sadden that he wanted to so quickly depart from her presence, but she wasn’t stupid: she knew that his kind, disliked her kind. When the man started to say something else, she shushed him, a short “Tss!” Left her, a hand rising to her lips to mimic the gesture from before as her gaze went toward the shrubbery just outside. It moved twice and she reached for the weapon he had given her before tossing it – a loud clunk sound hit and she moved, quickly retrieving it. Digging her hand into the greenery, she pulled out by the pair of ears a dead rabbit. The heavy gun had bashed its head in on the corner temple.

With pride she held out her kill like a prize, her words declaring the obvious: “We EAT!” The expression he had was close to disbelief and Lily wondered if in his world – it was only the men who hunted and the women that waited. Not bothering on the details, she laid the plump, fat rabbit down and ran off to gather a few herbs for it.

Returning in less than ten minutes she had a bundle of wet wood and damp leaves. With a free hand she turned to her pouch at her waist and laid it open, setting the rabbit on top and retrieving the knife. She dragged it across its neck and let it bleed out for the most part – her fingers went digging toward the bowel area to remove the fecal sack and tossed it aside. She uttered a small prayer, but no sound was made, just the gesture of her lips. A quick twist of her wrist and that knife set under the skin, skinning it in one fluid motion – though bloody, Lily smiled, happy to see that it was male and fat especially toward the rear. It would be plenty for Ambrose and his large frame.

By the end of the session she had built a stable enough stick to hold it high above the flame he built. A few herbs were stuffed in the mouth that was held open by a pick. The fat of the animal dripped off in juices, the tender meat cooking thoroughly. The smell it gave off was like that of a cooking chicken – roasting slowly and growing more appealing by the second. Instead though she turned toward the Cowboy, whose gaze was caught on the rabbit and some of her actions as she was now currently mashing a few berries and peppermint leaves. The blue green tint stuck to her fingers as she pointed at his back, the injury she had only patched up the day before and gestured to inspect it.

As he turned around and exposed that wound, she peeled back the leaf and sniffed it for any tail signs of infection. With a quick lick and tasting at the after taste, the young girl determined that it was healing up. Sliding a bit more of the remedy against the wound and placing the same leaf over it, she finished and pointed at the rabbit. It had cooked long enough. Tearing off a leg for herself and handing the rest to him, she picked and chewed at the tender meat, enjoying it. “Eat,” she suggested and held out the roast rabbit toward Ambrose.

Things were moving way too fast for comfort – the ramblings of the man on stage made little sense and what was worse; Lily had a sinking feeling of what this all really was about. It felt like it was over before it started and a damp chill set against the exposed flesh that was slick with sweat. The climate felt ten degrees hotter from her usual habitat and the air was polluted with a choking cigar smell – one that was deliberately breathed onto her as the auctioneer came close.

He was a tall slender looking man, with a pot belly that pressed against the bridge of his pants. He looked no later than his mid-thirties, but the dry barren land did damage and the yellowing of his teeth was apparent from alcohol and smoke. A thumb was hooked under his suspender as those coal, dark eyes looked at him. Face staunch with mild lust and perspiration, his small bridge of a nose scrunched up as he licked his lips and spoke in a harsh tone, “You’re not even worth the two cents it took to bring ya’ kind here..” With a sharp huff of his smoke, it blew into the young Indian’s eyes, chuckling as she choked and coughed on it.

An older man had led her off the stage and while she wouldn’t have went willingly – she felt she wouldn’t make it very far if she tried to run. Outnumbered and lost to her surroundings, Lily began to go with the flow and quickly found herself in the same situation as before. This time though the older man who played at cards, seemed to from time to time give her a look and as minutes turned closer towards an hour – she felt… Exhausted.

The horror stories that had been told to her by her kind, was playing over in her mind – mentally taking her to a dark place. She half wondered if she would be tortured to the point of death, sold again or used like nothing more than a play thing. Perhaps it would be all of the above and then, absolute nothingness…

Tightening her grip, those slender fingers clenched, wrist widening as the teeth of the sharp coarse rope began to gnaw at the flesh on her wrist. The more she squirmed and move, the deeper the ropes began to dig, biting at the flesh on her wrist and small ankles. All the while a game of cards was going on and much chatter was discussed about the Sheriff from before. Their conversation was small menial until it turned toward her as another with a hat, began to ask the old man what he would do with her. From what she had picked up – he was planning to hand her over and in exchange it would be for a lump of money.

And then she had Powell’s gaze, a hand lifted to those lips, in a gesture for her to remain silent… For the most part – she didn’t utter a single sound and instead, quickly threw her gaze toward the ground. It wasn’t relief that overcame her, but anxiety: would he be like his kind, to bring some sort of paper and suddenly declare she was his because of their law? Just like they had done with the land and her people..? Dread filled her, but she was absent for the most part – mentally overwhelmed by possibilities and fatigue from the sudden change in heat and land. She was lead on like a sheep until they had exited the saloon and loaded upon a horse. They road for some time until the small town was in the clear, but it was not the way she knew and Lily understood that even if she did return home – there was a chance that those men prior would be there waiting.

The sun was high and what shade there was, was followed with body heat as she rode on the back of the horse with Ambrose. Each gallop kicked up enough to create a small storm cloud behind them, dust and small pebbles struck the front of her legs that weren’t protected by boots. Nothing about this journey was she prepared for, but then again – it wasn’t as if she woke up daily assuming that she’d be taken from her land, home and place to a desert that looked as if a storm was brewing by the darkened clouds. At first Tiger had welcomed the rain, that seemed to momentarily cool the earth, but as they progressed the storm worsened and no amounts of pressing into the Cowboy could ease the pelts of sharp rain that hit her. Until it passed – they managed to find some covering; a small cave that was cut away into the mountains with a make shift path that went to it.

As they finally came to a stop, the cowboy had rolled off the horse first and turned to meet her. His expression was filled with momentary surprise by the sight he saw – whether it was her current state, weathered and looking for the worse as those feathers that were once so colorful now wet or that the revolver he had fashioned off to the older gentlemen was barreling down at him. “I don’t have to aim that well to shoot you from here…” She started, grimacing at the weight of the gun – it was heavy and just about everything, including her wrist, ached. “I should kill you…” She started and repeated, over and over, but as the words came so did those warm, saline tears that covered the young Indian’s face – her pride stepped on and her mix emotions vexed her. She couldn’t carry out her actions though, to kill was to carry that spirit with her and by the looks of it, his spirit was too heavy to carry. Instead the gun dropped from those small fingers and Lily slumped off the horse and towards darkness, only coming to the sound of a crackling fire that was small and tender.

The flame felt warm on her face and the hard ground below was chilly, but against her hot skin it felt good. Her vision was bleary at first, only focusing on the fire and then toward her surroundings as she spotted the Cowboy – with a hat tilted over his face. He was propped up against a small rock, leg strewn out haphazardly – he looked asleep, but looks could be deceiving as Lily had learned by now. Pushing herself up with the palm of her hand – she abandoned the small level fire and took a seat beside him, then slowly, propped up against the crook of his outer shoulder finding that he was a lot softer to lean on than the hard ground. Whether he was awake or not, she spoke quietly, in a small voice, “… Thank you…”

The day had started just like any other, the sun rose and the animals awakened – nature took its course, but today the river had washed up something unexpected.

Bad luck – for a brief moment the better part of her superstitions had washed over her and she was hesitant to help him further. Alone she could move quickly, but as a pair she felt short-handed on the matter. They fought with a different set of skills, they moved in groups with weapons that left hers outdated. The cowboy on her side was injured and would prove worthless for a while and there was no telling just how many enemies there were.

Not one to turn tail and back down from a battle, Tiger decided then it was better to avoid it altogether. It wasn’t necessary to prove anything, not having the ego of mankind, but rather something of smaller levels. With the plan hatched and they, submerged in water, Lily need only to wait until the camp of men departed from them.

Their prey was dead, supposedly and they had no further need to be this far out in the thick of woods. They left and Lily watched with careful eyes as their shadows on the surface disappeared. Waiting a good extra twenty minutes, the young woman rose slowly and then nursed the Cowboy to rise with her. Drawing herself out of the water, she managed to get back to her feet, feeling heavy and slightly weighed down. The excess of water poured off of her, the tail feathers in her hair were soaked as well as that medium-light hair, giving it an overall darker gloss.

The young woman’s gaze was adrift, glancing in the direction of the men that once pursued them. That was her home – what was left of it and now that camp had been compromised. She felt a sinking feeling of uncertainty overcome her for a brief moment, but came to the understanding that without her people – she was like this stranger: just a wayfaring wanderer.

“We should keep moving..” She spoke, a little more solemn and calm than before.

By the edge of afternoon they had exited the forest and followed the river trail, that was leading them toward town. It wasn’t a very large one and from what the man explained to her – it was the best place for them to split there. He didn’t seem to explain easily why it was necessary, but gestured enough that he simply tired himself out. Regardless, Lily gave it a mental note that if his intentions were dark – she would simply kill him.

By day-break the Cowboy was gone and the sun was a bit higher than what she was accustomed to waking from. With the palm of her hand, she pushed herself up, sitting upright and rubbing at her eyes. A bit of the red make-up seemed to spear a little, but at least by now her clothes had dried from the dead campfire. She had suspected that he would leave earlier with every intent of doing so to perhaps ‘keep’ her from danger. He was wanted and those men were after him, not her.

At least not in the beginning – the sound of a click registered behind her and she turned, expecting the Ambrose, but found a different array of cowboys. They were tall, like statutes that dwarfed her height in comparison and a show-boat of belts and weapons holstered to their sides. One seemed to be the leader of the pack and pointed at his star on his chest, talking in a voice that was closer to a threat. When she didn’t respond or comply, two had pulled her to her feet, their grips bruising and the third translated. All in all, there was about six of them, two Navajo looking, but dressed like Ambrose, a tall man with black hair and a beard, the leader and the other two, thin looking men who held her and a third who stood behind the leader.

“Tell us where the man went,” the indian talked directly to Tiger and pleaded further, “If you don’t, these men will hurt you.”

He wasn’t from her tribe, his face was familiar and forlorn but nothing she could recall seeing or meeting. “He ran to the train, said he was leaving, didn’t tell me goodbye..” She looked down and the other translated, but the Sheriff would have none of it.

“She’s lying, he’s in the next town.. “ He holstered the weapon at her forehead and then, after a few tense seconds, put it away. “Actually, I think I have a better plan for you..” With the back of his hand striking her against the face, things went dark.

The next time Tiger was waking, she was thrust to the stage floor, a loud ‘augh’ left her lips as she fell. The sound of music ended and a man was raffling her off to the highest bidder – in a language she scarcely understood. Those green hues searched the sea of dark faces, covered by the brim of a hat, it made it difficult to see if Ambrose was out there and what was to become of her…

Those dark greens were narrowed in on the other, the tip of her spear pressing at the back of his neck. The threat was more than enough to get the man’s attention and as he turned around, slowly at that, he was met with Lily. She was none to pleased to find him already awaken, a threat she couldn’t assess unless he was unconscious and clearly he had seen her. With his arms up at his sides in a sign of surrender, he tossed some Navajo to her but the language was butchered.

From the top of his hat to the boots at his feet, she gave him a once over – studying and surveying until those small shoulders eased. The spear still close at her side, Lily tried her tongue at his language to meet the man halfway. “Tiger Lily,” she spoke, a free hand was palm down at her chest, her words were loud and clear.

In return, the tall man met her reactions with a copy of his own, though slightly unsure – as if she was too ignorant to understand. “Ambrose Powell,” with a once over at himself, he continued on. “Cowboy.”

She gave him a nod, but didn’t question about the red bandana that concealed his mouth or the patch over his eye, leaving that to his own private matters. “Nice meet you, Ambrose Powell Cowboy.” With a gesture of her head she pointed toward the fire, “Eat,” and lastly the rat that had roasted a nice dark color on its belly. Moving back closer towards the fire, the young girl squatted down and looked at him with watchful eyes. He was tall, sturdy looking – definitely would be a challenge to kill outright if he provoked her. She was curious about the marking near his path, but ignored asking questions – still remembering the fond advice of the elders when they once gave it to her freely before.

Now they were no more – or at least not present, with nothing more than a camp fire and small setting, it was clear to see that she was either isolated from her tribe, cast out or the last one remaining. With the nearby berries she had gathered, she slid one into her mouth, chewing slowly as he ate at the rat.. “That should keep you strong from the blood loss.. and serve you right for scaring off my hunt,” she spoke in her Navajo language, her dialect present and strong. Translating, she patted her stomach, “Good for body,” though it was brief and missing a few pieces.

He nodded, somewhat reluctantly and pulled out a silver flask, thin and wide before drinking out of it. With a question about tossing the rat into the fire, she nodded lightly, concealing her grin.

Munching on a few more berries, she eyed him and his garb, figuring then that he was either separated from his kind or on the run because of something he did. “You… Hunting?” She motioned with her fingers, walking as in traveling.

“I,” he began, a hand drawing to his hip and pulled out a silver colored item that, when the sun hit, reflected rather bright. “Rarely,” he finished and concealed the weapon at his side once more.

“I..” She stopped in her speech and looked toward the skies as a flock of birds flew in the opposite direction. “Tsk..” Putting her to the ground, she felt those vibrations in a distance, five, no, twelve on horses were coming. With her right foot she slid it under the dirt and kicked it over that hot flame – that she had worked so hard to make, gone cold in seconds.

Looking at him, he seemed to be on cue with her, though what exactly hadn’t reached him just yet. “Danger, we run,” a gun shot went off in the distance, though it wasn’t accurate enough to hit them just yet. Now that he was up to date, they had booked it, running in the opposite direction – though she was able to move a lot more freely along the rugged terrain. Jumping quickly over certain trees and branches, she avoided a low branch, ducking under it as he remained a few paces behind.

“QUICKLY!” She shouted, but came to a halt at the edge of a steep cliff – extending her arm out that hit his mid-torso to stop him as well.

“We jump,” she nodded and looked at him who would probably rather have stayed and fought. Disagreeing with his possible choice and not giving him enough time to assess, she pulled him with her, taking a long free-fall into the cold, chilly water below. It wasn’t until some time later that the creek began to thin and they surfaced, alive at the edge of the ravine. Crawling on her hands and knees to get out of the water, she coughed a bit of water out and searched for the other who surfaced some time later.

There was the sound of a train horn up ahead, this one in a different direction than the one he came from before.

The dusk of morning was settling in along the edge of the mountain – its golden rays spread through branches and the dew of earth held a strong scent. Clean water ran through the river bend as the soft trickling sounds were the only echoes of nature and the occasional call of a hawk.

The fog was lifting off the river and had floated through the gorge when a young woman had sprung through. Her legs carried her along quickly, barefoot her steps were light and swift, the feel of dirt clung to the bottom of her heel. Paced breaths fell from her chest as she gave chase to a young doe that was by the brook, drinking. Pausing with a sharp stop, her fingers embraced a wooden pole that reached a foot above her height as the metallic tip was wrapped with cow-leather, holding it securely in position. The weapon was slightly heavy, about the weight of a full grown dog, but that strong stature seemed to hold it well.

At five-seven and a slightly fit physique the woman didn’t question her strength in tossing it – it was more along the lines of stealth and accuracy. Leveling the weapon just at her shoulder, her right leg slid out from under, the rise of that wolf-fur skirt climbed higher around mid thigh. A slightly bare mid-drift was exposed, tribal paintings covered that smooth flesh as some sort of animal fur concealed her upper body in the shape of tank – sleeveless, so she could move freely. Light-brown hair fell over her shoulders, pieces of it lighter than the rest having been washed out from the sun and the war paint of red was spread across neatly over green eyes.

The doe looked absolutely succulent and it would be a delicious feast she hadn’t had in a long time. Those small full lips held a pout as she whispered a small prayer that fell in the lines of a quiet chant to the spirit and just as she reeled back her arm – ‘BANG’ the echo went through the mountain and the doe, flittered away as the weapon plunged straight into the ground, rather than the doe’s heart where she had intended it to be.

“CHE!” Her fierce disapproval spread along her features, cursing mildly to the spirits above at her unfortunate luck. She had strutted over toward the staff and pulled it from the ground to see in its place – a rat. Flipping the stick upside down she viewed the small rodent, eyes narrowing in anger, but the Indian hadn’t been completely at a loss.

At least it was something…

It wasn’t as if she had a tribe who secured her with hunting, but for that – she didn’t dwell on it. With a sigh she had dropped the weapon and began to work on collecting a few stones and sticks for a small fire which wasn’t too far from the river. Squatting down, she placed her hands together, rubbing at them until a flicker started, then sparks before the rest of the herbs did their work. With a sharp long stick running through the arse of the rat and continuing on out through the mouth – it roasted warmly next to the fire. The dullness in the eyes signified death had set in over an hour, but its innards had yet to get warm and then…

A strange sight passed her from the corner of her eye; a body was stuck in a hedge of two rocks. With caution she approached it to find a man, dressed strangely, face up, but asleep. Lily had inched closer, picking up a small stick and poking him in the cheek with it. A grunt left his body and she paused, noting mentally where her weapon was in case she had need of it. After he failed to rise on his own, she dragged him out from the water and toward the fire, with the rat. The palms of her hands fell on his chest, feeling the firm weight and small warmth that existed – she had patted around, torso, abdomen, ribs and shoulder where the removal of her hand revealed a red crimson color. Rubbing her thumb to her first two fingers she tasted it and knew instantly what it was, but upon searching the front, she found that the injury was sustained upon his back.

Rolling the heavy male over, she quickly took a small knife to the clothing and cut it open to reveal a wound that was threatening to fester. It was puckered up and red, covered in the man’s blood but leaked out slowly – she had seen this type of wound before, knew of the dangers and gave it a bit of thought if she should simply slit his throat right then and there. His appearance wasn’t kind looking at all, but on a whim, she decided to look past that just this once.

After gathering a few plants and grinding them to a thin salve and cleaning the area, she slid a thin stick in and went searching for the bullet. She had closed her eyes, to close off the rest of her senses and focus on one until the man had groaned – in pain. “Shh,” she ushered, impatient and when she found it, extracted it with a bit of difficulty. Spitting into the salve, she spread it along the wound and set a sticky leaf over it before going to the river to wash her hands.