A sort of Thanksgiving story from the Like Us Universe! Yay!
Happy Beginning of the Holiday Season!
Hey it's even 'Sam-centric'! Whoo!
…
White Buffalo
"Toksha ake wacinyanktin ktelo…" ("I will see you again…")
- Sioux Legend of the White Buffalo Woman
…
"What's she telling Sam?"
"Rules 'bout huntin'."
Dean sighed and shifted his weight, looking up at Celia. She raised her eyebrows at the look in his eyes. Dean dropped his head, sighed heavily and rested his hands heavily on the trail saddle. Closing his hand around the leather breast collar and the other gripping the cantle tightly. He dropped his head and sighed heavily, shook himself a little and lifted his head again to smile weakly at her. She returned the false expression.
"Dean, he'll be fine. I'll take care of him." Celia assured. Dean sighed and looked back at his baby brother. Looking to tall and gangly on the back of the pretty, brown and white painted mare. His mop haired head bent to look down intently at Rosa Greer while the woman spoke quietly to him.
"Dean."
The elder look up at her.
"He's my brother, too Dean. I love him as much as ya do. I'll take care of him." She pressed, looking at Dean earnestly to believe her. He sighed and nodded, giving her a weary but genuine smile. He nodded, lifting his hand from the breast collar and brushing his fingers a little over the stock of Celia's Winchester rifle and then reached of her hand, gripping it tightly.
"Alright…be careful."
Celia nodded assuringly and returned the grip whole heartedly before breaking the contact.
"Ready Sam?" She called over her shoulder.
He looked up from Rosa, the painted mare taking a step forward and the light colored, leather saddle creaked a little under his shift of weight.
"Yeah." Sam returned, filling his chest, heaving a tired sigh and rolled his shoulders back.
Celia nodded and looked down at Dean. "Be back in a few days."
She clicked her tongue and pressed her knees deep into Honeycatcher's sides. The cremello stud snorted and kicked up into a smooth trot. Celia gave a tug on a blue lead wrapped around her saddle horn. A big boned, bay gelding groaned and broke into a quick trot to follow and keep up. He tugged tiredly at his blue rope halter, shook his skin under the harness and gear strapped across his back but gave inclination that it bothered him.
Sam smiled at Rosa and followed, urging the painted mare to follow. She nickered and lunged unnaturally forward, jerking the bit and reins in Sam's hands. The younger Winchester tugged and sat back hard in the saddle. The nervous mare pinned her ears but followed the command and locked her legs to stop. Sam sighed, Dean cast a nervous glance at him, Rosa and then at Celia's retreating back. Sam tugged back on the reins, forcing the mare a few steps backwards.
"Try again." Sam said, pressing his knees into the painted mare's sides. She snorted loudly, pinned her ears and eased into a smooth walk. Sam encouraged the god behavior and soon had the painted mare was trotting good naturedly after Celia, Honeycatcher and the bay pack horse.
Dean heavily crossed his arms over his chest.
"Careful, Sammy." Dean warned. Sam rolled his eyes heavenward but gave Dean a small assuring nod.
Rosa Greer swept over to stand at his side, a full foot shorter than him. Her dark hair tied back into a ponytail and her petite frame wrapped tightly in a fleece lined barn jacket and dark jeans.
They stood silent at Celia and Sam passed through a pipe gate and trotted out to the untamed Nevada.
"Dean, don't fret. She'll take care of him." Rosa Greer assured, reaching out and laying her small hand on his bicep.
"Yeah…I know Celia will take care of him." Dean muttered.
"Celia? Lord no son I was talkin' 'bout Homewrecker." Rosa barked, slapping him roughly on the shoulder and turned back towards the ranch home. Dean sighed, rolled his eyes skyward and grinned.
"Greers…" He turned and followed her, looking back over his shoulder once to make out Sam and Homewrecker trotting up a golden grassed slop on Celia's heels.
…
Sam shifted feeling stiff and cold in the saddle. Seven hours did that he supposed. A look to the west and the Sun was clearly starting to sink and the light fade. Sam sighed and wrapped his clothes closer around his frame. A camo pattered hoodie pulled over his layered flannel and tee shirt and his tan coat pulled over the top of the hoodie. A black stocking cap pulled down around his ears. His jeans were starting to feel cold and stiff against his legs and even through the black, knit gloves Sam could feel the cold.
This is Nevada, right?
The younger Winchester assured himself when he looked across the horizon and marked out the cliffs faces and rock formations of the Owyhee Range.
Sam sighed, running his hands lightly over the stock of the Remington game rifle strapped into the holster on his saddle, then the soaped leather of the saddle and over his jeans before tucking his hand into his jacket pocket.
"Red?"
Sam looked over at her. She was dressed similarly. A camo hoodie under her fleece and suede jacket, tan knit gloves and faded jeans over her hiking boots. Her red hair was let down, freshly shorn horns only six or seven inches long from the ten and a half they had been in October.
She looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. Then she looked forward again.
"Yeah, Sam?"
Sam hesitated, liking his lips and breathed out heavily, deciding against speaking on what he really wanted.
"Are we going to camp?"
His eyes flicked to the bed roll strapped to his saddle under the cantle and then to the pack horse where the majority of their packed food, fresh water, tools, extra clothes and blankets were bundled.
She blinked at him like he'd asked the same question eight or nine times before.
"Yeah Sam. Just gotta find a lee to tuck into." Celia assured.
Sam nodded and rested his eyes on Homewrecker's ears, darkness was starting to dull his vision, forcing his other senses to take up the slack. He listened intently in the dark, picking up tiny sounds over the rhythmic thudding of horses' hooves. He flared his nose and sniffed, swallowing the scent of cold earth.
The darkness was almost all consuming as if fell.
"Red?"
"Right there Sam." She said assuringly, nodding towards an outcropping of the Owyhee Range. Sam sighed, somewhat comforted by someplace that was defendable. He listened to the change from thudding consistency of the horses' hooves change to the sliding and crunching of rocky earth. Sam leaned back as they edged down into a miniature valley sheltered by an outcrop.
Celia slid out of her saddle and Sam followed suit, the two of them working in companionable silence to set up camp. In an hour the horses were turned loose to contend themselves with desert underbrush and packed barley hay to eat and drink from a small fresh water spring at the far end of their little gap in the Owyhee rocks. A small, but warm camp fire was crackling in a shallow dig, saddles and tack acted like furniture, allowing the younger Winchester and Celia to prop themselves up in recline and wait while a tin coffee pot heated and thick cuts of honey glazed bacon sizzled next to balls of dough on a sheet of cast iron.
Sam heaved a deep breath, hugging the extra blanket closer around his frame and trying to nestle down into his bed roll. He let his head fall back, resting against the seat of his saddle and soaking up into the ink black sky, his picked out the pin pricks of light that made up known constellations and made up his own. He heard Celia shifting, her boots crunching in the rocky earth as she moved around.
"Sam."
She held out a metal cup towards him, the thick smell of coffee brushing his nose. She pushed himself up, dragging his eyes away from the sky long enough to look at her and take the mug of coffee.
"Thanks." He sipped it, as always flinching at the strength and swallowed. The liquid warming him as he felt the cold sinking deeper into his bones.
He heaved a deep sigh as she maneuvered around to settled back against her own saddle.
"Why me?"
It shocked himself, he blinked, actually having a hard time realizing he'd just spoken. She cocked her eyebrows up at him
"whats that, Sammy?" She asked quietly, sipping her coffee.
"Why am I here and not Dean?" Sam went on, figuring to treat it like stitches, all at once so the pain could fade at the same time.
Celia cocked her head at him, the look on her face was almost unreadable, made into a dancing mask by the flickering fire light.
"Sam-"
"I mean this is a bog deal right? For Native Americans, like you I mean. You're Pawnee, Nez Perce and Blackfoot right?" Sam was rushing through his words and cutting her off. Celia quirked her eyebrows.
"Well, ye-"
"Yeah, what I mean is these hunts are really religious and sacred, especially for young men. It's a right of passage and of manhood. Success was, is essential for their lives. They earned places in the tribe, in marriage and warrior status, even their names. And if more than one person went it was about strengthening and creating bonds, relationships that don't break. This is a big deal, all about loyalty and strength and proving yourself. Why isn't Dean here and I am? Why me?"
Celia blinked at him. Sam's chest heaving a little.
"Sammy…" She started slowly, sniffing a little. "Sam. Ya volunteered to come in on this hunt."
Sam blinked, staring at her.
"Why don't ya tell me if ya have somethin' ya want to prove."
Sam grunted and turned his eyes back skyward. His head spinning and whirling with thought.
"Is it true though?" Sam asked quietly some time later, he didn't look down at her, his eyes trained on the sky above, he picked out shooting star.
There was a silence for a long second, only broken by the dulled shuffling of horses in the dark.
"Yeah, Sammy." It was whispered, barely audible. "It's the old way, and all true."
…
"Its beautiful out here…" Sam said. They perched on a ridge, looking far out into the rolling desert, the twisting and multi-colored layers of the natural formations of sandstone and shale a million years old or more. Red and orange and gold stacked against the shocking blue sky and amber sun shine. Clouds of chilled mist rolling between the cliffs. It was breath taking.
"So raw…" Sam said quietly, eyes roving over the land and soaking it in.
"Its powerful." Celia agreed. "And it used to shiver."
He perked, Sam had learned to listen, draw off her knowledge. Sam smiled warmly at Celia, more at ease, listening to her speak, teach, show him. He was lost in her speech.
"-used to be ya couldn't see the earth between 'em, Sammy. Before the Iron Horse and the rifle." Celia heaved a tired sigh, she chewed her lower lip and breathed out. Just barely visible in the early morning light her breath came in a puff of clouded vapor.
"Not anymore…" She said sadly.
"Things change." Sam sighed, "People change things."
"Its broken Sam." Celia muttered quietly. There was a hopelessness in the words. "It can't be fixed either…only healed."
Sam looked unnerved, searching the land.
"How?" Sam asked.
"It takes more than we have." Celia blinked, her red eyes reflected the sun and blue sky. For a second her eye color matched his, a normal, ice blue before they flickered back to pools of blood.
"At least we have places like this. Preserved. You know?" Sam said quietly. "It's like we're the only people to have been here…"
"Listen."
Sam blinked turning to look at her, he didn't speak, excepting her to break out into a long winded story.
"Listen, ya can here them. The ones before." Celia whispered.
Sam turned his eyes back to the landscape and listened, trying to even out his breathing and slow it down enough that it didn't interfere with his hear. He listened to the whistle of wind passing across the rock faces, the quiet rattle of underbrush, the breathing of the horses and quiet creak of the leather shifting under his weight. But it all seemed dulled, hard to really hear.
He shut his eyes, listening, trying to draw the sound in. There was a thundering, pounding rhythm drowning everything else out.
"What do ya hear?"
Celia's voice tore into his silence, but it was dulled, faded, like spoke to him through a pillow. Sam listened for a second longer.
"My heart beat." Sam muttered.
"Anything else?"
Sam listened the thudding of his heart pushed aside, he listened willing for something else to come to him. The wind whistled in his ears whispering, speaking quietly to him. Voices aged and wizened, cracked from lack of use.
"North."
"What was that now?"
Sam blinked, his eyes dazzled by the light for a few seconds. "North, we have to go North."
Celia lifted an eyebrow and eyed him.
"I heard 'north'."
"I've never been one to argue." Celia clicked her tongue and turned Honeycatcher and the bay pack horse northwards, taking off at a quick trot. Sam looked back over his shoulder at the Owyhee landscape then followed.
…
"Sammy, up."
Sam shrived and curled tighter in a ball, now awake he felt the cold he had been dreaming existed. His blood felt frozen in his veins.
"Sammy, sit up. Yer shakin'."
Sam pushed himself up, feeling cold locking around him, he tugged the extra blanket and bedrool around his frame.
"What happened?" Sam chattered out, his chest tightening painfully as he swallowed cold air.
"It froze last night. Earth's practically crunching. Makes for hard huntin'." Celia muttered, every step she made crunched loudly. She was standing over him, cupped her hands around her lips and whistled, calling the horses back.
Sam shivered, curling up.
"Sammy, ya okay?"
"I'm…real…really cold…" Sam rasped, chattering and shivering violently.
Celia squatted next to him, pulled off her knit glove and pressed her warm hand into the exposed skin fo Sam's jaw and cheek.
"Alright, we gotta get somethin' warm in ya."
There was no panick or worry in her voice, only fact, but her rushed and rapid movements to pour him a cup of coffee, heavily dosed with honey to sweeten it told otherwise.
Sam licked his lips, it felt like he was in an ice bath.
"W-what's-"
"I think ya got a touch of hypothermia. Not to bad, yer not blue or frost bitten anywhere." Celia told him matter of factly. Sam looked around their second small camp, again in the protective lee of the striped Owyhee rocks. The earth was frosted, glittering and starting to melt in the sunlight. His breath clouded from his lips in puffs. He shivered, jumped a little when Celia wrapped her own blanket and bed roll around his frame and the coffee into his hands.
He shook, shivering a little and sniffing. He took a deep drink and licked his lips.
"I l-like it with the honey." Sam muttered, looking up at the sound of crunching steps. Honeycatcher, the bay pack horse and Homewrecker trotted up around a rock face. The stud by passed Sam, but the bay gelding side stepped towards Sam. The young Winchester chanced the cold and scratched his fingers across the geldings jaw.
"Hey, Black Jack."
Black Jack nickered quietly, twitching his ears forward. Homewrecker seemed to sense something wrong, shoved the bay gelding out of the way and pushed up to Sam. She whinnied nervously and pressed her muzzle deep into the side of Sam's throat. He leaned into the welcome warmth and sipped his coffee.
"Don't worry, babe." Celia assured, walking over and gently patting the painted mare's shoulder. "He'll be fine."
"I just have to warm up." Sam sighed, his core was already starting to heat up.
"Get a little food in ya and a little rest, ya'll be fine." Celia agreed.
Homewrecker nickered disbelieving and pinned her ears, pressing closer and protectively into Sam's side.
"I wonder what Dean's doing…" Sam actually shocked himself, neither he or Celia had mentioned the elder brother in at least thirty two hours.
"Probably doin' my chores and getting' threatened with starvation."
Sam chuckled and curled up, pressing into the solid legs of the painted mare and watched the world around him.
"Tell me a story."
"God ya sound like some kid at bed time…" Celia sighed.
"Red, please?" Sam pleaded. He loved the sound of her voice, the way her words wove and knitted together into a comforting blanket. He threw her pleading eyes and she sighed heavily.
"What do ya want to hear?" She asked, tiredly and settled down to sit next to him with her own cup of coffee.
"Anything."
"Give me a little more to work with Sam."
Sam only shrugged. She sighed again and looked long out towards the horizon.
"Ya know the white buffalo?"
Sam shook his head.
"There were these two braves, Sioux, and they went to the hunt, but couldn't find any game. So they climbed high to see better and there was this woman, a wakan, a sacred woman was coming towards them. And she was dressed in a white buckskin dressed, carried a sacred pipe in her hands and her black hair was tied up with buffalo fur and she was the most beautiful of women. And there was just power in her eyes. One of the braves was awed by her, but the other only wanted her body and he reached to touch her. The wakan was enraged and he was struck by lightenin' and the lustful one was burned to nothin' but bones. The wakan turned to the other and told him she spoke for the buffalo nation, that the Sioux had to build a lodge for her comin'. The brave returned to his people and told them what the sacred woman had said and in four days the lodge was ready. So in four days the wakan came again, dressed in the white robes and she instructed an altar built in the medicine lodge. They had no meat to offer her, only water. She taught them many rituals and rites and presented them with the sacred pipe. She spoke to them that people and animal, men and women, old and young are all of the same origins, that men and the buffalo nation are of the same blood. The buffalo represents the universe and the four directions, because he stands on four legs, for the four ages of man. The buffalo was put in the west by Wakan Tanka at the making of the world, to hold back the waters. Every year he loses one hair, and in every one of the four ages he loses a leg. The Sacred Hoop will end when all the hair and legs of the great buffalo are gone, and the water comes back to cover the Earth. After her teaching were done she told the Sioux she would return when there was only peace in the days ahead, and as she walked away she fell to the earth and rolled over four times. On the first roll she turned into a black buffalo, on the second she turned into a brown. On the third turn the buffalo's coat was red and on the final roll she became a white buffalo calf. There is nothin' more sacred."
Sam sucked in deep breath and swallowed thickly.
"What happened?"
"The white calf galloped over the horizon and the morning after the buffalo nation came to man's land and gave him everything he had need of; meat, fur, bone and blood…the Sioux still wait for the White Buffalo to return and bring peace."
Sam slipped silently into his thoughts, watching the horizon and listening to Homewrecker's massive heart beat against his back.
A few hours he protested that he was fine. His stomach a practical rock of bacon, flat bread and honeyed coffee. Celia was reluctant to agree.
"Red, the faster we get the hunt done the faster we can get back and I can see Doc." Sam protested, pulling an old maneuver that worked on all over-protective, elder sibling.
With a locked jaw and disgruntled grumbling Celia tacked up the horses, refusing to allow Sam to help and didn't allow him to sit in the saddle unless he kept a blanket wrapped around his frame.
"We have to keep going North." Sam pressed, turning Homewrecker towards the north and starting off at a trot. Celia sighed and followed, tugging Black Jack along behind.
Hours rolled by in silence before Celia froze, pulling hard back on Honeycatcher. She looked stiffly around the landscape.
"What?" Sam asked, pulling Homewrecker up next to the cremello stud and Celia's side.
She didn't speak, her eyes trained on the horizon.
"Red?"
"They're there." Celia said and urged Honeycatcher and Black Jack to a gallop. Homewrecker nickered and exploded after them, lunging up a slope and mounting it.
Sam pulled hard on her reins, the mare skidded, jerking to a halt at the top next to Celia. They looked down.
"Wow." Sam muttered, his eyes roved over the massive, wooly brown buffalo. Huge humps and curved horns, they snorted and stomped their hooves, a few bulls charged and chased each other with wild snorts. They bellowed, deep breath bursting in clouds from their jaws.
The heard was thirty strong, all adults.
"This is yer hunt Sam."
The younger Winchester twisted and looked at her. "What?"
"Like ya said two days ago, this is a right of passage and its yers. Ya earn yer name, now."
Sam blinked, his chest well with the sudden weight and importance that was laid out in front of him. He took a steeling breath and reached for his rifle, his eyes locked on a particularly massive bull.
His hand stopped.
"No." Sam said with finality.
Celia looked at him, eyebrows perked in question.
"All you've ever done is teach me about respecting animals and the land. I don't think its right. I kill enough as is."
There was a ringing silence.
"Good choice, Sam."
He looked at her shocked, he'd expected some sharp remark, a tease about being soft or the buffalo just being animals.
"What?"
"Ya made a choice, Sam. Based on what ya believe. Always a good one."
"Aren't you going to bitch about coming all the way out here for nothing?"
"Ya had a good time?"
Sam thought for a second, the nodded. "Yeah."
"Feel stronger, rested, right?"
Sam nodded again. "Like a different person."
"Then it wasn't for nothin'. It's the choices and beliefs we choose to hold onto that make us 'men', Sammy. Not some buffalo kill. It's the journey-"
"Not the destination." Sam finished, a smiled, shaking his head.
"Sides, if ya wanted to I couldn't have let ya anway."
"Huh?"
"State law makes it an illegal kill for ya." Celia looked at him apologetically.
"I don't get it…" Sam muttered.
"I can't let ya take the bull, not without breakin' Nevada State wildlife laws."
Sam blinked a little dazed.
"Sorry." Celia apologized.
Dean shook his head and laughed a little. "You are a bitch. Let me think we were killing a buffalo."
Celia blinked at him in silence.
"We're killing a buffalo?" Sam muttered.
"We, nothin'. Didn't I just tell ya it was illegal for ya." Celia asked, passing over Black Jack's lead rope and sliding her Winchester rifle from the holster.
"I don't get it."
"Sammy, there's a reason I'm the one that takes this hunt every year. Governmental laws give me free range as long as I'll huntin' for survival."
"Survival?" Sam choked a little.
"I call haulin' in one buffalo a year to satisfy Rosa through the holiday's as survivin'."
Celia gripped Honeycatcher's reins in one hand and tapped her heels against his gut. "Ha!" She barked and the cremello stud lunged forward with a battle cry, tearing down the slope towards the herd. The buffalo's heads jerked up and with bellows exploded into a stampede to get away from her.
Sam sighed a little and couldn't help but let a little smile grace his lips.
"Indians." She sighed, jerking at a gunshot and twisting in time to watch a bull pitch forward, rolling and slamming into the earth as Honeycatcher and Celia galloped passed him, slowing and trotting back with a whoop.
…
Dean twitched nervously in his seat.
"Calm down, Uncle Dean." Imogene muttered. "The buffalo are way out. Could be a while."
"Celia said three days." Dean contradicted.
"Well she ain't exactly psychic is she?" Imogene snorted and kicked her legs under the table.
Dean grumbled and shifted, looking at the clock again. It still read three fifteen. He looked longingly out the window.
"Face it, Uncle Dean, they're not comin' back today." Imogene sniffed and licked at her spoonful of cinnamon ice cream.
Dean's eyes still on the view outside the window. "What makes you say that?"
"Red said they'd be back today, right?"
Dean nodded, sipping his coffee.
"Well she's never on time. She's always late not matter what." Imogene stuffed a large scoop of her ice cream into her mouth. "Almost flunked high school 'cause she missed all her first classes."
"Really?" Dean asked, looking at her with perked eyebrows and a mischievous inner light.
"Yeah, really. We'll be lucky if she shows up on the day of with anythin' for Momma to cook." Imogene seemed to thoroughly enjoy bad talking her adopted sister while the woman wasn't in the room.
"Hmm." Dean shrugged. Imogene immediately took offense narrowing her eyes at him.
"What's that mean?"
"Well," Dean started innocently. "Celia's has never let me down, and she knows I'm counting on her to come back today."
"Keep dreamin'." Imogene scoffed. Dean raised and eyebrow at her and sniffed a little.
"I'll bet you five dollars they're back today."
Imogene eyed him warily.
"Momma says gamblin' with a Winchester is lettin' the devil in the door." She muttered.
"Rosa isn't here, is she?"
Imogene swallowed another mouthful of ice cream.
"Put it on the table." She commanded.
Dean reached into his pocket and slid out his wallet, slipping a five dollar bill from the fold and set it on the table. Imogene looked at it, half expecting it to leap up and start dancing and singing a song about being a forgery.
"Alright." She rotted into her jeans and pulled out a crumbled five dollar bill, tossing it with his into the center of the table, looking practically triumphant.
Dean smiled warmly at her.
"What?" Imogene asked, perking her eyebrows.
Dean only smiled wider and a high pitched whistle tore through the air, passing through the walls and windows.
"Damn!" Imogene snarled as Dean stood, snatched up the two bills and bounded out the door, rushing out to meet Sam and Celia as they trudged into the yard. The horses nickered loudly and picked up their paces to jog up to Dean and Imogene rushing out behind him.
Celia slid off the saddle and stumbled a little to the earth as Dean wrapped her in a crushing hug. He buried his face in her dust streaked hair and throat, breathing in her altered and thick scent. She squeezed him back before she backed off and turned to Imogene, wrapping the girl in her arms. Dean turned and slapped Sam on the shoulder, smiling widely and checking his brother out at the same time, making sure he was all there, all solid and real.
"Hey, Sammy. Doing alright?"
"Tired and a cold." Sam sniffed, his sinuses sounded stuffed and he looked like the flu was setting in.
"How did it go?" Dean said, his eyes drifted over the bay pack horse, heavily laden with a field dressed bull buffalo, the kill wrapped protectively in a thick canvas tarp.
"Great." Sam said with a smile. "But don't wake me up until Thursday." Sam muttered and handed off Homewrecker's reins to Dean when he held out his hand and passed his elder brother towards the house.
Dean looked at Celia and shook her head.
After untacking the horses, and a brief struggle with the kill Dean and Celia were able to string up the bull's carcass so Celia could finish butchering it later that night, Celia and Dean tired and hauling gear into the house and setting it down to sort later. Celia pulled a heavy folded package from the gear and shook it out.
"Is that already tanned?" Dean asked quietly. Imogene perked up to listen, finishing off her ice cream.
"Made the kill early yesterday, scraped and slow smoked it all night, so yeah, it's tanned. Not the best tan job but done." Celia ran her hand lightly over the short and smooth suede of the underside of the buffalo hide.
"Gonna sell it?" Dean asked.
"Hell no, it ain't mine to sell." Celia flipped the hid back combing her hands through the thick, soft fur, letting it curl around her fingers. Then she gathered it and stalked down the hall. Dean and Imogene on her heels.
Celia passed into the room with the hide, a single flip and she shook out the hide and draped it across Sam's sleeping frame. Sam shivered before nestling down into the hide and shivered.
"He's sick, isn't he?" Dean whispered.
Celia nodded, "Cold didn't agree with him. Plus its rough changin' as deeply as he's done."
Dean quirked his eyebrows and looked at her.
"First hunt, Uncle Dean. Touches yer soul." Imogene explained. "Did he get a name?"
Celia looked back over her shoulder, he eyes roving over the unusually pale colored hide, tawny, almost blonde so far from the normal deep brown.
Too pale.
"Wanageeska." Celia said quietly.
…
Sam's name given to him by Celia was 'Chatima', Hopi language for 'the caller'.
'Wanageeska' is rough Sioux for 'white spirit'. What does Celia know that we don't?
Much love! Read and Review and hope y'all had a good holiday!
M.C. Tripp.