The people of Rolling Hills were quite tolerant of the tribe as long as everyone kept out of everyone's way, so once or twice each turn of the seasons the tribe sent people into town to trade. And since Wild Rose was his little sister and she was sick with the White Man's illness, so Attacking Hawk had been chosen to travel to the settlement of Rolling Hills in hopes of trading for medicine. He had brought a pony to help carry everything, and he would trade the horse as well if that is what it took. Rolling Hills were tolerant but they didn't shy from setting exorbitant prices on some of the goods.

He had left the tribe yesterday morning, and had travelled the entire day through woods that slowly turned into meadows. The closer to Rolling Hills that he came, the more signs there were of the White Settlers. He passed an abandoned wood cabin with the roof caved in, and he found an old camping ground which he made use of that night. The sun wasn't even in the sky when he set off again, but Attacking Hawk wasn't about to waste more time. He would need all the time he had in order to trade with the White Man, and even that was too long.

The sun was over the horison and rising slowly in the sky when he came to a farm he knew was close to the town itself. The tribe called it White House simply because of the colour of the dwelling, and it stood out like a star in the large, vast fields that surrounded it. The man who had owned White House had always been friendly to the tribe and had allowed them to water horses on his land when they passed by. There was a large pond at the edge of the property, and this was where Attacking Hawk led his horses.

His horses heard it first, their ears turning forwards to listen better. Attacking Hawk heard it when the came out of the copice and the giant oak came into view. It was a soft humming, and around the edge of the tree's roots he could just barely see the edge of blue cloth. A white woman. What was she doing here all alone?

For a moment Attacking Hawk hesitated, but then he steered the horses around the pond to the opposite side of the white woman. He slid off his horse, landing softly and with a slight rustle in the grass, and then let the two horses find their own way to the water itself.

On the other side sat the woman in the blue dress, picking flowers and humming. Hopefully she would realise that he was only there to let the animals drink, and that he meant her no harm.

Amelia pressed a hand to her heart and let out a breathless laugh. "Oh stars on high!" She exclaimed in relief, "I thought you were a cougar or frightening beast!" Her observation skills out in the plains were probably not what they should be. But then again she was close to home. Didn't everyone let down their guard some when they were close to home?

She smiled warmly and set her gather of flowers to the side. Examining the native that had come to water his horse, like many did during the trading season, she wondered just what the tribes fed their men to make them get as tall as this one. He was a sight that would make even a grown man faint. Tall and broad-shouldered, his skin was bronzed by the sun and his eyes were as deep shadows. Long straight hair let to fall about loosely around his shoulders and arms, he was worlds different than any man of Rolling Hills.

While most men were built like stout strong barns, this man had the appearance of both power and agility. Someone who could leap onto a bare-back horse with ease and grace. Grace was most certainly not a word she would use to describe Zachary... But the difference between the two men was as different as water and fire.

She pushed a stray strand of curling copper hair behind her ear and picked up the rations she had taken from the pantry that morning. With a breezy smile, she patted the basket and gestured to him from across the pond. "You came into town to trade, right? Is there any meat I can barter from you?"

Most white people would argue that he was a frightening beast, and that he was ten times worse than meeting a cougar. She simply laughed and waved it off. Attacking Hawk didn't move any closer to the water, let alone around the pond. Instead he stood there between his two horses and let them have their fill. He was just about to pick up the reins and move on when the white woman spoke to him again, this time inquiring about trade.

Attacking Hawk turned to look at her. As far as he knew white women usually didn't have anything to do with trading or any sort of business at all, and he wasn't certain exactly how much he could trust her. Nor did he know what she had to give in return, but that was easily rectifiable.

"Medicine. Have white medicine? Trade medicine." He spoke a bit slowly to make sure that he pronounced the words correctly. Roaring Thunder Bird was the expert on the white man's language, not Attacking Hawk.

He prayed to the spirits that the White Man's medicine would help his sister.

@redletalis
Whether is was because she had been sheltered by her mother or because she had known her father to be friendly towards the Indians, Amelia was friendly with this one. But if she weren't would she really find what she was looking for? The likelihood of this brave having what she was looking for was slim, but you never knew until you tried, right? And it was important to find it.

After her father's death, it had been Amelia who had taken up the trading. She didn't know much of the tribal languages, but she did know some of the sign language. Other than that, she usually assumed the natives who wished to trade would now some English. And usually that assumption was right. Usually. Just like how she knew that the pond was a well traveled watering spot for those who passed through.

He was calm and stoic to her, like most natives around white people. Well, tag was alright. She didn't need friendly conversation from him, just to look at whatever he was going to trade before he got to the trading post. But when he asked if she had any medicine, she got a bit confused.

"Medicine? What kind of medicine?" She asked from across the pond. Her voice carried on the wind, bouncing off the glass-like water. The air still had the cool grey-blue mist of morning in it. The sky was only lit by the teasing tendril of the rising sun. Once that ball of fire broke over the horizon, the sky would ignite into a burst of warm colors to soak the land in it's golden blush.

Now how could he explain things properly in a language that he didn't know all that well? It took a moment to sit down on the edge of the water of the pond, letting the two horses wander off to graze nearby, but Attacking Hawk waited for longer as he carefully chose words from his limited repertoire. Only when he was certain that he had chosent he best ones did he actually speak to answer her question.

"Medince for much-" he mimicked coughing. Then he put a hand on his forehead like a mother usually did when checking the temperature. "Hurts much." He tapped his nose. "Full. No air." And finally he touched his throat. "Hurts much, no speak. Long sick. Is White Man sick. Understand?"

He wondered how she could help him out at all. She wasn't an official trader in Rolling Hills, and he didn't see any special medicine with her. The shaman had tried all known cures that he knew to help Wild Rose, and it hadn't worked. This was one of the diseases that the whites had brought with them so they should have the medicine necessary.

"Have white medicine?" Attacking Hawk asked once more.

Amelia waited patiently for him to speak. She set the basket on her hip, and took in the sight of him. Truthfully she should be anxious, because with the rising sun, her mother would rise as well, and the social queen of their small town did not look kindly on Indians. It wasn't that she hated them, more like she felt very uncomfortable around them and saw them as she saw beggars. A terribly small-mind way of seeing the view, when the nanny that had raised Amelia and Heather had been half-native. But there wasn't much anyone could do to change that woman's point of view on anything. Even her father had hardly any power to sway his wife, when he had been alive.

But that was why she had picked the flowers. Talking to Native American braves before the sun rose was not a decent pass time, no, but picking wild flowers was. And it seemed as though Amelia would have to convince this brave to come back to the house somehow. She had brought food and bread, even a can of peaches, but not medicine.

Though from the sounds of it, his ill kin had Summer's End Sickness, or a 'cold' as many called it now. Something common among the settlers, but apparently not among the natives. The most one could do was keep the sick warm, comfortable and make sure they stayed well fed.

But then again it could also be scarlet fever or smallpox and she just wasn't able to understand. And for these two things there was little even a knowledgeable doctor could do. So perhaps she could give him some small medicine... Something her grandmother used to concoct to help invigorate the body, so it would be stronger to rid itself of illness. The tincture contained a good portion of clear alcohol made from potatoes mixed with elderberries, nettles, fennel, ginger, yellowroot, echinacea, Oregon grape root, holy basil, yarrow, cleavers, mint, rosemary, and sage.

It taste awful, but if taken before the sickness could take firm root in the body, it helped the body grow strong enough to defeat most illness. It wasn't any cure to serious disease, but it was a fighting chance.

Amelia signed to him, asking him if he would wait for a moment. She set her basket down and ran back towards the house. The sun was peeking over the horizon a bit more, birds now starting the exercises for their songs of the day. Slipping into the kitchen's pantry, she grabbed up the dusty jar of tonic and raced right back to where the Indian hopefully waited.

Finding him still there, she held up her prize with a smile. 'This is good medicine,' she signed, 'Wise woman of mother made. Trade with you. Trade for spinning sky wheel.' No that last part was all wrong.

"An engraved compass," she said out loud, eyes warily hopeful, "Do you have an engraved compass? It belonged to my father. It has his name on it."

He watched her carefully. For a moment he wondered if he should tell her again, try to use a bit different words than before in hopes of being understood better. It wasn't the first time he had gotten something wrong, and it wouldn't be the first time a white person didn't understand. Or pretended not to understand what he was saying. Attacking Hawk didn't think that this woman was of the latter, though, her entire spirit shone bright and honest even in the short time they had been in each others presence.

When she used his sign language to ask him to wait, Attacking Hawk couldn't help but be surprised. Not many bothered to learn the language of the people, and even fewer bothered to learn the sign language. It made him wonder exactly where she had been taught how to do that, and by whom.

It was a thought that entertained him in the time he waited. A soft breeze teased at his hair and the grass and wheat, causing small ripples on the water of the pond. The world was waking up properly. Birds were starting to sing and greet the day, and even the two horses seemed to perk up a little bit as the sun made the thin mist disappear. A squirrel ran across a branch above him, and Attacking Hawk watched as it skipped nad hopped its way across three trees before it disappeared too deep amongst the trees for him to see.

It was at this point that the soft rustle of clothing and tall stalks of wheat alerted him, and he looked up. The white woman was coming back, and she was carrying something. Attacking Hawk frowned and stared at her. Had he understood her correctly? A sky wheel? Obviously he wasn't the only one who had trouble being understood in a different language.

"Understood 'father'." He pointed to himself. He knew what father meant, but he had no idea about any sky wheel. "Com-pass? En-gra-ved com-pass. What is en-gra-ved com-pass?"

Amelia smiled, the jar held up in her hand. He watched her with deep dark eyes that did even hint at how he was feeling or what he thought of this entire situation. The cool morning wind blew through the fields, sweeping his long dark hair over his chest. She tired very hard not to stare. It was just that he was very much unlike anyone she knew. So exactly how did someone know where to start when it came to impressions of someone else who was completely foreign to them?

Well, perhaps not completely foreign. Her nanny had been half-Lakota, so that was a start. And she had often watched her father trade and speak with his Native American companions, so there was more foundation for her to start with. And of course she had seen many tribal parties go through their small town. They'd often stop to water their horses here and even trade for food if they needed or wanted to.

So with her small foundation of knowledge, she could build her opinion of him slowly. He didn't show much emotion outwardly, like many tribe men, but he had traveled into this area to get medicine for someone he knew. This showed he had kindness in him. And he was patient. Patient enough to wait for her to run all the way to her house and back. These were all good things.

And with her small observations of Indian men as far as appearance went... He wasn't bad looking at all. Tall, dark, mysterious handsome... Heather would have called him all these things without hesitation. Amelia was a bit more reserved when it came to this though. She was rather reserved around all men. With her experience, they could be overbearing and jump to conclusions that were less than comfortable. So she kept her own council. Her mother always had approved, though Amelia had the sneaking suspicion that Lady Shirewood desired her eldest daughter to be more proactive about finding a suitor to make her a wife.

Blinking such uneasiness away, she smiled even though he frowned. She turned a bit red at her own stumbled explanation of her father's compass. Well, at least he knew that what she was looking for belonged to her father. That was a good start. Now, how to explain a compass...

"Oh, well, it's a..." she forgot herself and returned to sign language, since it was probably a bit easier for him. It was hard enough telling him about a foreign object, but in a different language too? That was just asking for miscommunication.

'It is round and fits in the palm,' she signed, setting the jar in her basket so she could open her palm and draw a circle on it.

'It is harder than stone,' she signed, then added in her own language, "Metal that shines like silver."

'It forever points in on direction,' she added on in English, just in case, "It's always pointing North. Like the handle of the Little Dipper constellation always points to the North Star."

'There are white man words written into its back,' her signing got a bit odd towards the end, but she turned over her hand, drew a circle on it then patted the back. "It has words written into the metal. That is what 'engraved' means."

"We call it a 'compass'," she explained, "It helps you find your way when you're lost. I am looking for the one that belonged to my father. It was stolen when-" she stopped short, her smile faltering. "...when he died," Amelia finished a bit quietly.

A round arrow that points north with white man words on one side. It sounded utterly ridiculous. If she wanted to find north all she had to do was look around her rather than at a metal rock in her hands. But the white man had always been so very odd in their ways. It wasn't his place to comment on it, especially not to a white woman with whom he hoped to trade. His sister's health depended on it, and Attacking Hawk had no intention of failing.

So he tried to think of anything that remotely looked or sounded like what she was signing and saying to him, and in the end he had to give up. Half of the reason, he suspected, was because he didn't truly understand what she was trying to describe. He couldn't even envision what she was trying to describe.

"Not know." He shook his head, hair falling over his shoulder with the movement. "Not understand. Roaring Thunder Bird knows. I ask. Yes?"

Was that acceptable trade for her? Would she accept that for the medicine, or would she keep the medicine until Attacking Hawk came with the desired item or Roaring Thunder Bird who would understand her better? He was certainly hoping for the former but, knowing whites, the latter was more likely.