LovelyAnastasia

Samhain Intrigues

Not to worry, I saw your wonderful reply! My work schedule has been nine hours for the past three days, I only have three more to go! I will hopefully get to reply soon! I'm so sorry for the awful delay!

Hunt for the Wild Dakota (ONL & LovelyAnastasia)

The youthful man seemed as wary of prying eyes as she was, though most likely for different reasons. Wouldn't want his intended or sweetheart getting the wrong idea of dallying with a 'squaw', the white man's more offensive twisting term for a native woman that actually was suppose to mean wife in some languages. But they were never terrible bothered by their inaccuracy, now where they?

Case in point, even this man seemed to both be dazed by her and yet intent on lording over her. Strength in young men was respected by women of her tribe, but only when they deserved respect and gave it in kind. Women were suppose to do as men said, to save the Warriors pride among their comrades, but only in meaningful situations. A woman always had power of her own, a voice that should be heeded since they were the closest to Mother Earth and givers of life as well as nurturers.

Life was always to be in balance. But white men had no balance. Many thought them more superior than the women they laid with, making them slaves to pleasure above their sa-loons or beating them to submission with words or fists in other aspects of life. They could not even respect their horses enough to keep them well fed, groomed and seen to. How many had she seen with burrs or shorn tails from the laziness of their owners?

Clucking her tongue, she shook her head. Her high cheek bones and the slight aristocratic arch of her straight nose added to her flashing dark eyes filled with pride and wariness of him. Long silken dark hair down her back and over her shoulder, Wasula watched the young man. His youthful and handsome features seemed both surprised and shamed by her cutting sharp-tongued words. But it seemed he had more of a boyish tendency to being embarrassed, than his older men's kind of tendency to get angry to hide any unsavory feelings.

Her expression softened slightly, though her chin was still tipped up in that proud way, dark eyes flashing as they watched him. He stumbled over his words, changing colors in a way that kept her eyes on him in a different light. Curiously, Wasula watched as his pale face changed to pink and then to red. Her people blushed of course, but there was suck a stark difference since he was so pale... He looked like a budding flower or a white wild strawberry gaining its color. Rather...fascinating to watch actually...

He also tried to correct himself, to keep from his habit of calling her 'Dakota', which gained another grain in good regard. He obviously also did not know of women in such fashions, which she found oddly endearing. Many of the white men claimed their women should be unknowing in the ways of the marriage bed before committing themselves, though Wasula found this foolish. Inexpeierenced couplings were often uncomfortable and awkward, not pleasant for celebrating the fresh flower of marriage if you asked her.

Men of her tribe were often taught by widows or non-related aunts or even just elder unmarried ones in the ways of women. Women more discreetly chose 'playmates' to learn with, usually taking lessons with young warriors or unmarried men out in the plains. So as long as the young woman did not spend too long in dallying or sleep till morning with the man, her experiences were respected as the growing of girl to woman, readying herself for whichever man she chose to marry. Though...sometimes fathers were pursuaded to give their daughters to warriors for many horses... Of course, if the daughter found her new husband wanting, she could always chose another man, though it would shame her unwanted husband unless an agreement was made with him...

Needless to say, it was far more free than the white man's ways, but still had structure and respect in it regardless. Wasula herself was not so unexpierenced, but still did blush at forwards advances of men. Blinking slowly, question as to what white men did when courting crossed her eyes as she looked at the stammering young stag in front of her.

His mention of stolen horse caught her attention. She rose a brow and frowned a bit. Half the horses in his town? Must be many horses... Too many for a wild stallion to tempt away. So he must have assumed it was humans. And many tribes were known for raiding for horses to grow the prowess of young warriors... He suggested she help him, if she wanted to get back to her brother. Her frown deepened. Did he then suggest her brother was in the holding cells of the place his people called ja-il? Often drunks who were unruly went there. And her brother had been in one once before. Her brother being native, she had to beg the help of tradesman to help vouch for his release. White men often enjoyed tormenting 'red devils' and were not often just in their sentencings...

"Young man wishes to gain honor among his people in regaining many horses," she nodded with some understanding, "Such things are common among The People." She spoke of the many so-called 'Indians' as one. The People. While they fought one another sometimes, respect was due even to enemies... At least when compared to white men. "Another young warrior or maybe more in raiding party stole away horses to bring home," she guesses with one of his people's gestures called a shrug, "Raiding many horses is great skill and impresses many. Raiding back is difficult... Tracking raiding parties is impossible for White Man alone."

Wasula seemed to realize them why he was talking to her. She was small, vulnerable, but knew English and was native. Her brother could refuse this young man with ease. She, however, would have more difficulty. Perhaps he was not so boyish as she first thought. His strategy was sound, even if she did not like in the least being his target. Never the less, he gained a bit more favor from her for his use of wit instead of brawn. Many a man might have simple overpowered her and forced her to do as they wished. This young man bargained. Wasula begrudgingly had to respect that.

"Young man wants to be warrior, track raiding party and take back horses to gain honor before his people," she looked him up and down, tilting her head a bit as she thought, "Knowing he could not do so alone, he comes to Wasula..." Speaking her thoughts out loud seemed to be an offer into how she viewed him and the situation, an honor given to him in return for being more of wit than brawn.

"Smart," she nodded once, her only compliment, "I will help, but only to gain back my brother. When you gain back horses, you are on your own." Her dark eyes twinkled with a soft knowing. "Raiding party may not be happy with you... But gain of respect from both village and town will be won. Makes men of boys, respect from many."

"I will help," she nodded once again, dark eyes appraising him once more, wondering if he was up to such a task as raiding horses. That was if they were taken by natives in the first place... Though such situations were common enough among The People that it seemed more likely an over zealous raiding party of young men than anything else.

Hunt for the Wild Dakota (ONL & LovelyAnastasia)

The small pair of them were odd to behold, or so whispered the shop keep to his working wife. His wife in turn would just send a knowing glaze towards the couple, neither approving nor disapproving. It was too odd to have a stance on, at least for the worldly shopkeep's wife.

Wasula on the other hand could feel the eyes pass over her and this cattle-boy. He seemed to not quite know what to do after saying he wished to speak with her. Curious. Had he expected for her to just go along with him? She supposed women of his kind might go along with him, as unmarried girls were often more compliant towards good looking young stags, no matter the culture. Her dark eyes looked him from boot to hat, lingering on his face.

He took a moment to compose himself and she waited patiently. He would let her by once he realized she would not talk to him. Wasula supposed as far as pale men went, this one was good looking, still fresh without many scars and not stinking of smoke or drink. Though she believed all white men usually fell into ugliness sooner or later. They had too many poisons that they partook of. Sickly women who were in the trade of only pleasures for what little coin they could garner, usually in the lofts above the sa-loon. Gun powder that stung the eyes and scarred the hands when fired too often. Drink and smoking too often... He would fall like many of them did.

His hand ran over his mouth and she watched with her dark eyes framed in even darker lashes. The startling green of his eyes, a color she had never seen before but reminded her of spring time rain in the plains and the color they washed the land with, made her just a bit more patient with him. He called her 'lady' and she blinked, the only show of surprise he might see on her impassive face.

Her brows arched a bit lower, her full lips turning down slightly. If he was mocking her, as was the pass time of many white men towards native women, he would not find her compliant in his humor. What he and his kind might find funny, she found insulting. And her people were proud and confident. Lifting her chin, dark eyes seeing him through her heavy lashes as her brows arched with indignation, the dark-haired woman stood strong and as tall as she could. Looking down on him with those deep eyes of hers, Wasula felt as though she stood above him and his cruel attempt at humor.

"I am not 'Dakota'," her voice wrapped around him slightly laced with the defense at being insulted, "I am La-ko-ta." She sounded it out slowly, as if speaking to a child. "I know my brother," she further went on, "I know what he does. I know where he does not sleep." Wasula leaned forward a bit, eyes locked on to the fresh-faced cowboy. "And why of would this man," she gestured to him with an angry elegant sweep of her fingers, "need this woman." Her hand then patted her collar bone.

She was clearly suspicious of him, thinking him one who wanted to seek his thrill in a tussle with an 'Indian'. Wasula was not amused. "Go you to your women of the sa-loon," she huffed proudly, "I am more. I do not need milk-faced boy's help." Her own little dig at him, calling him both a breast feeding baby and an unknowledge boy all in one sentence. She clearly didn't think much of him or his kin, but could she be blamed? The track record of his people was not one to inspire trust, especially from a Lakota young woman without her brother's protection.

Hunt for the Wild Dakota (ONL & LovelyAnastasia)

@ONL Haha don't worry about it! I think they were the reason the Dakotas were called the Dakotas anyway (maybe). And hey it will just help him get to know her more and more. Also it gives good ground to tease him :P

Samhain Intrigues

Eh? oh, alright hahaha~ No problem at all~ ^^

Samhain Intrigues

Fine by me, though I dunno how she is going to feed herself for a month with only the fox around... I hope nuts and berries look similar between the mortal's realm and the land of the Fae... For Bodil's sake. Otherwise food poisoning is possible and it could take more than a month XD

Hunt for the Wild Dakota (ONL & LovelyAnastasia)

Wasula got her name the way many of her people had. She earned it as she grew from Little Sprout, a child, to Hair Storm, a woman. And true to her name, her long dark hair, that fell in wild waves of feather shining black, was almost always loose. It fell over her shoulders and down her back. It whipped up in the wind and sometimes tangled with the trees. Never one to mind such inconviences, Wasula left it undone and always combed her fingers through it, taming its unruly behavior every time.

Her elder brother Chaska, rightly named Eldest Son to her family, often frowned at his sister's vanity, or so he called it. But Wasula did not adorn her hair in fine thick braids, nor dress it with pale hide straps, shells, beads, feathers, or flowers. She simply let it be. Unmarried, it was not uncommon for young women of her tribe to dress up their appearances as much as possible, in hopes of luring in a fine Hunter to marry.

But Chaska was always in bad weather these days. Mother said he was in love with another tribe's maiden, sour without her sweetening, as the elder women put it. But Wasula knew it was not for lack of loving affections that her brother grew sullen and prickly as an ill-tempered bear. It was often that he escorted her to the White Men's markets. And often that he slipped White Men's coin into the palms of those who traded ill medicine, burning waters called 'al-co-hol', partaking in it till he could not find sureness in his feet nor good words on his tongue.

Wasula could not stop him though. He was second to only her father. If she ever had complaints, they would be heard by her mother first and foremost. And although Wasula did not lie, she could not bring herself to mention her brother's troubles to their mother. Sure she was that he of any of the warriors in her village could defeat the attraction to al-co-hol. He must. He was their finest Hunter and swiftest warrior.

The second night sleeping in the plains outside of South's Valley, for no sane people of the plains would willingly sleep inside the white's villages, Wasula awoke before sunrise. Her brother's sleeping skins were empty and cold, so he must either be restlessly hunting for their breakfast or asleep outside the 'sa-loon'. Wasula hoped it was not the latter, her stomach growling in contempt.

Combing out her long hair with a precious elk bone comb that had been her grandmother's, she huddled in her sleeping skins. No fire should be lit when outside the villages of the dangerous pale men, especially when her protector was not around. Wasula could of course weild her dagger, a gift and honor given to her by her father when she was grant permission to trade in markets since she knew English and some French. But a weapon carried should never give freedom to entice conflict. Especially when the pale wolves that would gladly devour your life held 'guns', takers of life with just the simple sound of thunder and a small ball of metal.

Her dark eyes scanned the plains, seeing no sign her brother would come with breakfast anytime soon. The dawn peeked shyly over the edge of the land, making it blush with fair warm colors of purple and gold. The native young woman stood, setting quietly to her task of cleaning up the humble camping site with yet another morning of an empty stomach. While her brother was to be respected, this did not mean she wouldn't rattled his sore head with many angry words.

Hiding their small camp site once more, she took up her large basket, one deep with furs, hides, shells, seeds, long lasting supplies, and edibles, and resigned herself sternly to her days work. Let her brother find her! Let him feel some shame at knowing he once more did not feed his own young sister, but left her defenseless in the plains as he lost himself to ill waters and bad ways!

With her head held high, the native woman passed through the slowly rising town, never knowing the rippling turmoil that was slowly growing. Once at the market building, or 'General Store', Wasula greeted the keep. The elder white man was not so hard eyed as the others. He and his wife saw many and knew many. Smiling to the keep and his woman, she presented each of her trading good proudly. A few shimmering shells from a forest lake earned some bread, meat and dried fruit. A well earned breakfast. Two fox furs, a water skin bag and corn seeds earned a cooking pot, five metal cooking spoons, and a tarnished hand mirror.

A good day's trade. Wasula was practically beside herself with pride. But her brother still had not found his way to her. Which meant he was probably still sleeping off his drink. The sun was well up, he would probably be accosted with a pail of old water by now. But she would find him anyway, make sure he did not get into any unnecessary fights, as a good sister should.

Going to the door, she had to stop a moment for a young white man. He was entering as she was trying to leave. He took off his hat to her, something she had seen these men do only for their own pale women. Her dark eyes watched him, saw him flicker in realization that he granted a native an honorary greeting on accident. And he seemed distressed enough by this that he wished to speak to her. Or at least this was all how it went to the best of her knowledge.

"Hee ya, no, I can not," her heavily accented English was as warm as honeyed butter in the summer plains' sun, her dark eyes watching him with a weariness hidden behind a stoney expression that would give nothing away. Many of her people wore such expressions when around the white men. No weakness should be shone to them.

She explained nothing more to him either, for why should he know that she had to look for her brother? A brother possibly still rather drunk from his night at the saloon, weakened from warrior to drunkard fool? No, he did not need to know and she did not have to tell him. If he feel foolish for greeting her with more honor than he deemed she deserved, he should overlook it. Simple as that.

At least he called her 'Dakota', which was almost 'Lakota' as her own people used. Many called them 'Sioux', a mean spirited name given by the French. She was of the Lakota people, but many men like this one before her hardly knew the difference between the many names. To them she was just another 'Indian', whatever that was suppose to mean.

"I wish to pass," she stated, lifting her chin a bit so she didn't appear meeker than him, "Please I ask you, step to side."

Samhain Intrigues

Done and done

Also did relations under character bio. Just first impressions, so they are laced with her angry panic.

Samhain Intrigues

Bodil Bera

Hours of Running

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Despite trying to weave around the beast man, he just appeared like a ghost in front of her again. Flight wasn't working. Fight would probably be the end of her. Giving in was not allowed, so said her pride... More flight then. It was the least horrible of the three options.

He thought to amuse himself with her? She would be as boring as possible then! Bodil stilled her usually rapid fire tongue. The hideous beast would not find her to be his entertainment! She would ignore him! Those things that paraded about like mortal Man, they would not take prize with her.

The dark haired woman's feet hit the ground hard to slide in her sudden chance of course. Wild nature, ancient and almost alien, swallowed her fleeing charge. Any time the beast man crossed her path she would dart in another direction, usually favoring the right, being right handed. Trees groaned heavily, looming like the spiring arches had before, always overhead and watching with mild intrigue. Bodil sometimes would push her way through thorny bushes, briar brambles and thistle-like fern patches to escape the reoccurring nightmare that was the fox beast.

The dark haired young woman ran, stubbornly and only taking short breaks before being startled into another fleeing sprint, like a doe chased to exaughstion by a pack of wolves. No matter how much her limbs ached, no matter how hard her breath became, no matter how many times she tore through stinging sore-granting vegetation, Bodil kept going. After all, she had good practice in running away. What was one beast man compared to the hellishly intricate network of relatives her family and their so-called 'Mennonite' cult had boasted?

Three days. She could run for three days. She didn't have to sleep between the first and second, though she would slow some, take more breaks, but at least she would be moving. The night of the second day, she would have to sleep and at least drink plenty of water to stay off hunger, but she would be able to run the third day too. Yes, a well known plan. Bodil thought over her plan with determined resolve, never knowing that all her fleeing would only carry her faster to the prison she had tried running from in the first place.

It wasn't but hours she had been running till the forest grew thick. In the dance of avoidance between prey and predator, Bodil ran again to the right this time after encountering the beast. With her stumbling swerve, she landed hard on her knee, but the lower vantage point helped in her seeing a road. Freedom! This was her only thought. How could she know she was running in a twisting path straight to the marching hoard? Being herded without her knowledge. In her focus on avoiding the fox, she hadn't even noticed the changing colors of the landscape, giving way to Fall.

Pixies and brownies all giggles and laughed at the great chase, knowing the clever tricks being played on the hunted. Animals watched from a weary distance, glad not to be in such a position. It seemed even the forest hissed with amusement at the fruitless running of the mortal woman. But Bodil was too stubborn, too proud, too sightless to take notice. Any odd noise was the fox laughing as he got closer, and so she should flee. Any odd movement was the fox slipping up behind her, and so she should hasten her gait. Any odd feeling was the fox with his tricks to be sense by her instincts, and so she must press on.

Pain from running, restlessness in rest with no relaxation or rejuvenation to be found, Bodil never relinquished in her fleeing. She would rather drop down dead from exhaustion first! Or so she told herself over and over again. Her lungs burned, her heart pounded, her breathing could not be distinguished from small noises of pain or fright. Prey animal, running. Prey animal, fleeing. Prey animal, doomed.

Hunt for the Wild Dakota (ONL & LovelyAnastasia)

Sure! Thank you!