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Chapter 82

Washita

"Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not
You live for the fight when it's all that you've got
Woah, we're half way there
Woah, livin' on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear
Woah, livin' on a prayer"

– Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi

There was no doubt about it; the village of Black Kettle had been obliterated.

This devastating news came as a great shock for the Lakota Renegades under Sitting Bull and Chief Gall's leadership. In fact, none of them had anticipated to receive such an alarming report, and certainly not in the winter time. But alas! It was true! As they stood immobilized, listening to the panting words escape from the breathless scouts, who had rushed back from the Southern territory to deliver the grave happening, they all became certain of the truth in their tiding.

"There was a massacre along the Washita River!" This exclamation had been like a strong punch in the gut for Little Creek. Washita? No. No. That couldn't be right! Weren't Black Kettle's Cheyenne already driven further south by the so-called "final" Medicine Lodge Treaty? Their winter camp was wisely chosen along the Washita river which was a sacred Indian territory. They even followed the advice of the U.S government by adorning their teepees with U.S flags and white flags of surrender. Surely, even the ruthless pale-faced enemies would honour this peace treaty and accept the surrender of Black Kettle. Surely, they wouldn't go so far as to annihilate innocent children, women and elderly, who had nothing to do with the summer raids. Was this some kind of a nightmare?

"Oh God, please don't let this be true..." Misery and a numb sensation of failure settled in the bones of the young Lakota.

According to the scouts, Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer had led his 7th Calvary to attack the camp when they had least expected it. Many of the Cheyenne warriors had been out on the hunt, just two days prior before the November deer rutting full moon. Using this circumstance to their advantage, Custer and his men crossed the Washita river at dawn and charged at the peaceful village when women and children were sleeping.

Little Creek's ears burned as though set by the blazing fire itself as he listened to the tragic account. "The army destroyed the whole village. It is estimated that more than hundred Cheyenne have died. Chief Black Kettle and his wife, Medicine Woman were both shot while trying to flee."

"Were there no survivors?" Inquired Sitting Bull.

"Very few managed to get away. Most were captured or used as human shields."

"What of women and children and elderly?" Little Creek fought hard to steady his emotional voice.

The scouts lowered their heads in dejection. "Most killed. Some captured. Their horses were purposefully shot too."

Another dead silence followed this pronouncement, but it did not last long because soon enough, the warriors broke out into furious cries of resentment, screaming and swearing revenge. Little Creek, however, felt completely out of it. He was lost in his own thoughts as he realized just how dangerous and unpredictable their enemies had become. It was unheard of! In the winter, at dawn, the cavalry initiating a violent attack on a surrendered village. A village filled with women and children rather than strong warriors! That camp was supposed to be protected by the government because of the established treaty and yet...and yet they had betrayed Black Kettle! Surge of rage mixed with terrible grief and concern for the future, bubbled up inside Little Creek. His emotions were so great, that he thought he would explode. Burying his head in his hands, he allowed himself to weep for the fallen as he listened to the chaos that erupted all over the war camp.

If they had not spared a village mostly consisting of peaceful families, why on earth would they spare his war base? Sooner or later, Custer and his men would ride out and destroy them as well. Lifting up his head, his glossy eyes focused on Black Buffalo Woman, who was meekly standing behind her husband. He wished he could wrap his arm around her, hold her close and tell her that it was going to be okay. He wished he could protect her somehow. But he knew he had no right to do any of it. It was No Water's responsibility to take safety measures for his wife, not Little Creek's. If Little Creek tried to show any sign of being close to her the way he was, No Water would not tolerate such a shame...he worried of what he might do to her in his wrath. At these reflections, Little Creek's palms began to sweat. He wasn't concerned about his own skin, but what would happen to the poor woman if her husband found out? He tried to shake these thoughts away...he couldn't concentrate on everything together or else he'd go crazy. Truthfully, there was no time for his personal troubles at all.

He was now Crazy Horse. He was a Shirt Wearer. He must join forces with Sitting Bull, Chief Gall, Red Cloud and even No Water and continue fighting. And while it deeply hurt him to know that he was unable to defend Black Buffalo Woman as his wife, he knew that there were others relying on his protection. If he couldn't protect her so closely, at least he could do something to protect them.

She couldn't stop the trembling of her hands, the quiver in her voice or the deadening feeling in her knees. The news had been horrid! It was shocking and so frightening. This unprecedented tragedy only reminded her of how short life was. And what scared her the most was that since childhood, she had no control over it. Her life had never belonged to her. Her parents, her brother, her uncle and now her husband – whom she didn't even get to choose – where the ones ruling over her. Seeing Little Creek again stirred something within her heart...something she could not possibly put into words. It certainly didn't help that Little Creek had been the boy she loved in her childhood years until her family moved to a different settlement. Now being back with him only testified that she didn't want to be with her husband. She loved Crazy Horse. It had always been him. How was she to escape? How was she to finally obtain freedom and follow her heart's desires? The world around her was becoming darker and brutal by the elapsing hour. What did this attack at Washita signify? Nothing but pain, anguish and anger! They would come for them too...they would come for all of them. Suddenly, all she cared about was Crazy Horse's safety. She knew that as the newly assigned warlord, he would be expected to ride and lead many raids and battles. She prayed for his protection.

The voices around her were growing louder and more hostile. Angry slurs were directed at pale-faces and their 'dominating' ways. But her eyes were only scanning and searching for Crazy Horse. Before she could force herself to move her feet, a rough hand seized her arm and dragged her in a teepee. It was none other than her own husband – No Water.

"Wh-what are you doing?" She asked as the warrior regarded her darkly.

"There's chaos in the camp. I want you to stay inside." He told her, his tone curt and suspicious.

Obedience. That's all he had asked from her the first night of their marriage. Black Buffalo Woman nodded nervously, hoping that she hadn't done something to upset him...or rather, he had not uncovered something that would be the end of her and Little Creek.

"As you wish." She dipped her head in reverence.

No Water looked as though he was about to leave the tent, but then he slowed and turned back to his wife. "What do you think this terrible news has taught us?"

Her black eyes darted up to face him as she swallowed, attempting to keep her skipping heart at bay. "Forgive me, I am still speechless. I need time to process this." She knew she wasn't completely lying, but she couldn't stand to continue speaking to him. Especially now.

"Huh...I will tell you what it taught us...me, specifically." The warrior said, approaching her with a stare that could slice one in half.

She tried to keep her eyes on the ground again, yet was unable to stop the beat inside her heart. He was getting dangerously close and he seemed menacing.

"It taught me that there are enemies lurking in every corner. And if I fall asleep like those poor Cheyenne, I will be destroyed. Therefore, I must stay alert...cautious. My moon, I'd hate to be your enemy."

Was he threatening her? She stood composed, seemingly unaffected.

He reached out his cold hand and lifted her chin. Black Buffalo Woman inwardly squirmed at his unpleasant touch. She hated when he treated her like she were nothing more than a dumb property which he could use any time he wished. "Stay prudent woman," He cautioned as though reading her deeply buried secrets. "I am a very patient and forgiving man, as you know, but even I have boundaries. I will not be made into a fool. Take care not to do anything that would dishonour me."

Gulping to clear her throat, she finally raised her dark eyes to look at him. "What does my husband mean by this?"

"Do not disgrace me by your disobedience, woman." He repeated, this time leaning so close to her that his lips almost touched the side of her cheek. "Do not mock me...heed my words and remember...if I catch you fornicating with other men..." He paused for a second, encroaching his large palm around her lithe neck. "I will slit your lover's throat before your eyes and then kill you myself." Black Buffalo Woman whimpered, nodding at him fiercely as fear set in her core, her head was racing with many terrifying possibilities. She had so many questions that she dared not ask. Did he know? And if so, did he realize it was Crazy Horse whom she loved?

"Stay wise. Stay inside." He gave her a final warning and marched out of their matrimonial teepee.

"...they will...do this to all of you...if you... don't...if you...don't...run"

These dreadful-sounding words of terror were embedded in the minds of Spirit, Rain and Misty. As if it wasn't enough to witness a cut up young horse, drowning in his own pool of blood, now they were all shaken up by his alarming warning that was all too swiftly proving to be true. In addition, the entire war camp was bursting in a frightful turmoil after receiving the news of the massacre along the Washita river.

What had been committed against the Cheyenne village was atrocious, no question. But Spirit's mind kept returning to one specific and extremely important word: Run. That Horse With No Name had told them to "run". Running meant everything to his own kind. In this simple action lay a valuable purpose for their survival. A horse unable to run was as good as dead, even two-leggeds knew that. And now, as the golden Mustang watched the turbulence unfold in the encampment, he couldn't help wondering whether the unfortunate animal had been right to warn them like that. Moreover, it appeared that the pale-face enemy of the Lakota had completely changed their battle tactic. Spirit had heard scattered fragments from other horses as they spoke about how more than half of their own kind, belonging to the village of Black Kettle, had been merciless slaughtered, in order to deprive the Plains Indians of their arsenal. And how unexpected and unbelievable it was that the army had charged at a peaceful village when they were at their most vulnerable: Sleeping.

Leave it to that coward Colonel to use tricky, unfair methods on his opponents. Spirit still remembered how Custer had commanded his men to tie him to the post, without food or water for three full days, so that he could gain an upper hand on him.

His wild eyes grew wider as the anxiety, chaos and noise rose up like smoke in the air. The wind howled bitterly and the dark clouds enveloped the sky. The ancient feeling that haunted his own kind for ages kicked in, pulsing through his veins: Fight or flight. Spirit was still getting accustomed to the Renegade base and with the revolting disarray, dangers, uncertainties all around him, his heart longed to whirl and gallop back to his Homeland. But another part of him dared not shift a muscle. It looked as though the stallion wasn't the only one tortured with these perturbed thoughts. Misty was just as agitated, if not more. She had even less experience among humans than Spirit and naturally, she was fidgeting in one spot, and stuck as far away from the two-leggeds as possible. Spirit thought that in matter of seconds, she'd up and bolt like lightening. The black mare's restless state was clearly mirrored in their son too. Dusty was becoming jumpier and jumpier; he was antsy, yet unable to grasp why that was.

Spirit's brown gaze then drifted towards Rain, who seemed a lot calmer than Misty. Of course, she had been through similar chaotic situations and this was not that new for her, but in spite of her stoic demeanour, her blue eyes were glossy with tears. Spirit knew that she was frightened. The Horse With No Name had made quite an impression on all three of them, and as they heard of the horrid occurrence that transpired in the South, their trepidation was only elevated. Thankfully, the outward composure of the paint mare left a good impact on Wanbli, who was calmer than his brother. Spirit wanted to go to both of the mares and foals and somehow comfort them. Perhaps, he should go to Misty first since she seemed to be losing her damn mind? But what about Rain's inward state? Fear seemed to be eating at her like a vile predator. Maybe he should speak to them both at the same time?

He was still considering this when Great Conquest trotted to his side, his face grim and saddened. "Spirit, I know you probably want to be with them," He motioned his head to Rain, Misty and their respective colts. "but I have to talk to you."

"I am listening." Spirit couldn't help noting the defeated manner with which the grey war horse spoke. It was as if his camp had been attacked.

Great Conquest had dark circles below his eyes, obviously from all the stress and worry. "I don't know how much you've heard...I am inclined to tell you that we are indeed in a very bad spot."

Misery settled over the Mustang, heavy and thick. He knew what had happened, but the details were missing. He had only heard part of the sentences from other war horses. "It seems like the cavalry greeted a Cheyenne tribe with a surprise attack."

"They acted deviously." Affirmed Great Conquest, sighing as if the whole word was falling apart. In many ways, for him, it was. "Listen, friend, the pale-face warriors have changed their war tactic. They have started a winter campaign. They will come after us, well aware that we are not strong enough around this season. They will use the fact that our kind is a lot weaker in these months than in spring, summer and fall. I don't know how long we'll be able to resist them." He spoke in general, not particularly directing his speech at the Renegade encampment he was in, but rather all Native Americans who were currently rebelling against the U.S government.

"Do you think it's that bad?" Spirit asked and then almost immediately cursed himself. Of course, it was bad! What sort of a stupid question was that? However, another part of him hoped to find some kind of a solution to this ongoing issue. They had to fight...they couldn't give up. They would make it.

"Eight hundred horses were killed." The grey stallion said flatly. "They were butchered solely to get back at our humans. Sooner or later, they will come for us too."

As he heard these shuddering words, Spirit felt he was being kicked low and hard. "My God, is this what the world's coming to?" He muttered hopelessly.

"Spirit, you have to get out of here." Desperation rose in the voice of Great Conquest. "You get your mares and your foals as far away from this god-forsaken war as possible. Please, take care of Rain and Wanbli, make sure they lead long and happy lives in your free roaming herd. Promise me you'll get them out of this hell." The grey war horse was almost driven to tears; he was hysterical as he pleaded. "Promise me!"

Spirit wanted to open his mouth and say something in response but nothing came out. He was frozen, high-strung emotions washed over him. Great Conquest's words struck a big chord...he had been thinking about it too, but to be implored like this, nearly pushed him over the edge. Conquest was right! He must get his family to safety! He must protect Rain, Misty and their sons. Yet...what was to become of Little Creek? Wasn't he in need of his friendship and protection too?

When he did not answer, Great Conquest spoke up again, his tone was a lot controlled this time around. "Having you here...fighting alongside us, has been a pleasure, Spirit. I may say a lot of nasty stuff when angered, but in reality, you can't imagine how honoured I was that you decided to choose a path of a war horse...even if it was temporary. We both know where you belong. Your love towards Rain is steadfast and powerful. You two must take Wanbli back to freedom and...don't even wonder about me. Red, River, Blaze, Dream Catcher and I were bred for this...we are ready to die in battle. But I am not ready to risk Rain and Wanbli's life. I'm not even ready to risk yours, because I know how much you mean to Rain. You are a band stallion. You are essential to your herd. Your number one priority lies with your Cimarron band. Please, Spirit, just take your family and return home."

Spirit squared his lower jaw, his eyes flashed with intensity as he said with a hoarse voice. "I will."

He decided to go to Misty first after all. She was on the brinks of following her "fight-or-flight" instinct, so before she'd flee, whisking their son away, Spirit loped over to calm her down. He knew that whenever she felt anxious, her haunting past resurfaced at the back of her mind, tormenting her, which caused her to run off. He still remembered the way she had bolted after giving birth to their foal because of the dark, traumatic memories possessing her. "I won't let anything happen to you or our colt." He reassured her, nuzzling the wide-eyed Dusty all over his tiny face. "No one will hurt you as long as I live." He spoke to her with so much conviction, his caring eyes conveying nothing but genuine love towards her and the foal, that Misty slowly began to go back to her normal self. She was no longer dancing in one spot like a frenzied wild mustang that she had been mere minutes ago.

"But you saw the horrific condition of that poor horse, Spirit. You heard about what happened to the horses and the two-leggeds at the Washita. We can't stay here." Misty insisted, worried sick for her son's safety.

There was warmth in his expression as he gently nodded. "Misty, I need you to trust me." He didn't know if this statement was an effective choice to convince Misty. Truth be told, their connection had never been deep and mature. At first it had been all fun and excitement and then it transformed into pure irritation and even...hatred. Spirit was glad that they had more or less put the ugly part of their relationship aside, but that was about it. He didn't know if she would listen to him...let alone trust him. "Look, I know we haven't exactly–" He commenced awkwardly, but Misty cut him off then and there.

"Listen Hot-shot, skip the unnecessary monologue. I know we have had our differences, however they're in the past now. You want me to trust you? Well, I do. I know you love your sons and you won't let them get hurt."

"I love you too." Spirit said softly, causing Misty to skeptically raise her brows at him, snorting in amusement.

"Oh my. Love?" Her eyes gleamed slyly.

"Obviously not that way, but I care about you deeply. I always have." Spirit explained, his nose slightly brushed against her forehead.

Misty couldn't stop herself from smiling. She had been doing this a lot lately. In fact, her cheeks were beginning to hurt. How unlike her! "Yes, you have..." She whispered, wistfully recalling how he had rescued her from her abuser and provided a stable life for her. "...but still...I failed to win your heart."

"As I had failed to win yours." Spirit answered with a thoughtful gaze, surprising the black mare with his reply. Had he wanted to be loved by her? She furrowed her brows. "What? Did you wish you could win it?"

The golden Mustang remained pensive for a brief moment. So much time had passed since then...how was he to know? "Honestly, I have no idea." He laughed. He always enjoyed spending time with Misty – before she turned into a jealous, unbearable witch – just like he enjoyed spending time with other members of his herd. However, his thoughts never went beyond friendship and perhaps, fooling around here and there. Even though, Esperanza had been tirelessly pressing him to choose his lead mare and start thinking of foals, he always drew back from that particular responsibility. It was only after he saw Rain galloping in the desert prairie like a mystical nymph from a dream, did his heart begin to feel strange, never-before experienced emotions. He was struck with a lightning bolt and he didn't know how to explain the feelings and desires that Little Creek's beautiful mare arose in him.

"I don't think we'd be a compatible pair." Misty admitted, right before grinning with an evil glow in her eyes. "Don't get me wrong though, I did enjoy our...fun times together."

"I did to." Spirit confessed, surprised at himself and tried not to blush at the memories.

The black mare winked. "If Rain gets too dull and boring, I'll always be happy to help you out in that regard." She smirked seductively.

Oh, brother! He was sure they had it covered. Rolling his eyes, Spirit shook his head with a chuckle. "Ah, there she is! Classic Misty. I've been wondering where she had gone."

"Oh, she's always here, Hot-shot. Ready to assist whenever you need her." They both laughed again and afterwards, Misty started in a serious tone. "Go talk to your princess. She's very worried too." Her light-heartedness dissolved and she seemed genuinely concerned for Rain.

"Thanks, Misty." Spirit smiled at her. "We'll make it. We'll get through this, I promise." And with that, he turned to find his love.

I know the events of Washita massacre and Crazy Horse's rebellion don't really aline together – historically speaking – but that's the beauty of FF, we can readjust things to match our narrative.

Share your thoughts!