Agony streaked up Lucy's body at every jostle of the horse as she tried to maneuver her hands out of the ropes. She didn't know if it would do any good, but something was better than nothing. Levy was now out of her sight, especially because of all the dust that clouded up. No wonder "cowboys" were said to wear bandanas on their necks; they'd pull fabric up for all the dirt.

Lucy figured the menstrual pains were making her delusional, if she were thinking such random and useless things while being kidnapped and her virtue was at risk.

The sun was too hot for the heavier clothes they wore on the ship and in Chicago. Oh, if only she could get free and roll off into a river as they went over it… though she doubted it would get her anywhere either.

The most painful jolt came as the boss on her horse shouted, "Whoa! Hold up there, boys!"

They soon came to a stop at the base of a hill, and Lucy twisted in attempt to see Levy or what it was that they had stopped for. A river?

But no… in the distance, nearly five hundred meters, another riding party. Lucy's hope flared. Perhaps some rangers? She heard they were the police of the west. But as the group of nearly ten horses approached, Lucy squinted through the rising heat and the dust to see that the men atop the horses were not in any sort of uniform. Many of them seemed shirtless-

"Indians," the boss breathed.

Oh. Perfect. Exactly what they needed. More wild men.

"Think they're of friendly sorts, boss?" the man with Levy on his horse asked nervously.

"Not the Crow, please..." another muttered in horror like a prayer.

She felt the horse's flanks beneath her side when the boss' horse nickered and took a few steps back. "Can't tell from here," their leader answered. "An' I don't care. If they get close, I'll blow their feathered heads off. Let's try to go 'round 'em-we don' have time for any skirmish."

Too late-the Indians seemed to have spotted them. She managed to see the horses turn in a circle, as if the men upon them were discussing a course of action. The bandits continued to murmur anxiously, beginning to slowly walk to their right.

"Have your guns at the ready, boys," the boss warned. "And if they come by, don't let them see the girls; you know how the Lakota or Gilda like to play hero."

Before she got time to think about his words, she noticed that the Indians had raised a white flag, galloping in their direction. When they were in better range of sight, she saw that they were smiling easily, as if coming upon new friends.

"Stay in place, then," the boss said, voice shaking. "Ready the pistols."

Lucy suddenly feared for the Indians, looking so open and offering peace. They hadn't hurt them or started over to do so-they certainly didn't deserve to get their "feathered heads" blown off. Biting down and working with her chin, Lucy frantically began to work the gag down to her neck.

She finally managed to, and by the time she did, the Indians stopped short only a few feet from them. At their striking appearance, Lucy nearly forgot about warning them. The one at their head was tall and powerful-looking, his hair a shocking yellow and a lightning-shaped scar down his eye. He wore carved bone beads as a sort of breast plate that reached from his neck to his stomach in colors of white, red, and black.

At his right, a man with long, green hair the color of fresh fruit, wearing a leather tunic. On his left, a man with startlingly bright eyes and dark, purple hair. The others clopped on horses cheerfully, and all had skin the color of a deep copper, exotic and beautiful in a way Lucy had never known. Their cheekbones were high, faces sculpted in a way that was almost naturally regal.

And the hair… these were obviously of the Faetaye tribe. Lucy felt a strange urge to laugh at the extraordinarily bizarre situation.

To the front, a brown-splotched white horse moved between that of the green-haired and scarred man. Atop it was a shirtless boy, only in long, light, leather trousers that were fringed all along the outside edge. A choker, like a short version of the other man's breastplate, with a silver cross hanging from it, was tight around his throat, but he was otherwise unadorned.

And when she got a better look at his shaggy, black hair and gray eyes, she also noticed his skin was of a different tone. Tan, but not in an Indian way. In a way similar to the farmers that she'd seen in the markets of cities of America, selling their wares with rough hands and tough skin, made darker by being out in the sun all day. This boy, who looked near eighteen, under all that sun-tanned skin, was white.

"Peace," he began to the bandits, face relaxed. His voice had a deep, very evident French accent. "We mean you no 'arm."

Lucy heard a gun cock behind her, and she remembered. She saw the boss murmur to the man next to him, "I'll get the one with the scar."

Swallowing and knowing this would probably get her either dead or beaten half-way there, Lucy shouted out as loud as she could, voice hoarse, "Gun! They're going to shoot-run!"

The tribesmen froze, finally noticing her on the back of the horse in astonishment. One galloped through the rest to be beside the French boy. His sculpted face was tight, dark eyes wide. Pink hair stuck up wildly, and at the intensity of his gaze, she suddenly became breathless.

That was before the butt of the boss' gun slammed into her head, making her see stars, as he hissed, "You little bitch-"

The pink-haired boy shouted something out in a different language, and the rest scattered while the gunshots rang across the plain. The Indians did not seem afraid, leaping from their horses to slash at the bandits with knives or hatchets while others drew rifles and arrows. Lucy couldn't help but scream when an arrow shot into the boss' side right next to her, and she curled up. Oh, she hoped Levy was alright-

She cried out when a knife was whipped out over her, seeing it flash downward and expecting death to come for her… before she realized that the Indian had cut the ropes strapping her to the horse, from wrists and ankles. Lucy gasped when strong arms snatched her away from the cursing boss, who the Indian whacked in the head with the butt of his rifle. The boss fell in a heavy thump! from his horse, unconscious on the ground.

Wincing as the man holding her eased down from his own horse while the battle raged around them, Lucy shook with the shock of it all. Her knees gave out and she felt to them onto the hard ground, where she gripped at the dirt.

She tried to choke out that she needed to free her friend, but her voice was having trouble, and blood from the boss' strike of the gun trickled down her forehead. The wound burned, as did her pelvic area with the cramps.

There was a blur of pink as the dark-eyed boy knelt in front of her, hand gripping her shoulder as he muttered soothing words. A necklace with a few black and white beads with a claw dangled in front of her from his collar. At his closeness, she noticed how he looked nearly her age, she saw the full curve of his mouth, the white feather dangling from a beaded braid on the left side of his face. He spoke his own language, and she choked out, "Owakahnige sni." It was one of the only frases she remembered, meaning, I don't understand.

He paused in his speaking, and in the chaos around them, she heard him say sheepishly in an uncertain, musical accent, "I no English speak. I sorry."

For some reason, in the middle of a small battlefield and in the most dire situation of her life, she let out a laugh at his endearing shyness. She assumed that was probably one of the only phrases he knew as well. At the sound of her laugh, he did smile, a sweet, crooked smile, but then his brow furrowed. She saw where he was looking-the blood soaking her trousers.

Up and down he looked in shock. Lucy bit her lip, curling up slightly in fear. But all he said, blankly, was, "Winyan."

Lucy knew that word too. Woman.

Slowly, she nodded.

Carefully, he put an arm around her waist and lifted her to her feet. He was surprisingly gentle, for a man that had just knocked another off a horse and unconscious with one blow. Finally, she pointed to where Levy had been last, saying in some hope that he would understand, "My friend! She is tied too!" Lucy put her wrists together as if to indicate, and maimed a knife cutting through them.

All he did was smirk, pointing. She looked to see, through all the fighting, that the French boy was helping Levy stand, hands free of restraints.

Half of the bandits looked beaten down, and and the Indians clearly had the upper hand, ducking and disarming the guns from the men's hands… until a shout arose from over the hill. Everyone present stopped what they were doing, gazing upward to see a third group, racing down the hillside on horses.

A large tribesman with white hair shouted out a word that sounded very much like the English word, "Phantom!"

Indians. More. Bloody. Indians.

One of the bandits muttered, "Phantom tribe?! Aw, damn, we should've run when we had the chance-!"

At the head of this possy was a terrifying man, muscles evident and black, long, unruly hair flying behind him. His eyes seemed red from here, or maybe that was just the effect of the malice written into his every feature.

Levy finally was at her elbow, squeaking, "Not friendly!"

"Let's grab horses and get out of here!" Lucy shouted through the war cries.

"Are you kidding?" Levy choked, aghast. "We're dead without them! Phantom can catch up to us easily, or shoot us in the back for the hell of it! No, we should stay close to the Faetaye!"

Not wanting to admit that she was right, Lucy pulled her over behind a grazing, nonchalant horse at the far side of the fight to hide. The bandits and Faetaye seemed to momentarily team up, shooting and slicing against the Phantom tribe.

The two girls peeked over the back of the bandit's bay horse, watching as the Indians blocked and hacked. The pink-haired boy ran through his enemies in a flash, slashing across the chest of each and whipping out an arrow to his bow whenever he passed through the group. Lucy ducked back behind the horse's belly, grimacing. She'd never seen so much bloodshed before, and felt mildly queasy. Oh please, please let it be over soon…

She was so distracted by the fight that she almost didn't hear Levy scream. Lucy whirled to see that the scary man had snuck up behind them and he had grabbed Levy about the waist, only needing one powerful arm to restrain her as he hauled her up onto his shoulder.

"Levy!" Lucy cried out, snatching the nearest possible weapon, an iron rod from the sack of camping supplies on the thief's horse, and stabbed at the Indian with it. He dodged easily, and when she swung it at his head with all her strength, he grabbed it, looking a bit annoyed. His hand slapped out at the horse's rear, making the horse whinny in surprise and gallop away. When he yanked it free, Lucy fell forward, but she stood again, kicking out at him with everything she had and sending her fists flying. Anything to get Levy back-

But a black horse with a white muzzle ran loyally up to the red-eyed man, who leapt upon it with a still writhing and shrieking Levy. Lucy shouted out, "NO! LEVY!"

He was not getting her friend that easily.

Lucy ran to the next horse that galloped nearby-a beautiful stallion so gray he was almost blue, and pulled herself, with much difficulty, upon him. He was clearly an Indian's horse, because he bore no saddle or reins. She sat atop him, painfully and uncertain for a moment as to how the hell she was supposed to direct him, but she leaned over and tried nevertheless, gripping the horse's mane for dear life as she jolted him into action with her heels.

The terrifying man that had kidnapped her friend was calling his friends off, waving for them to join him as he took off back up the hill. They followed obediently, and Lucy rushed ahead of them all. She didn't know how she managed to stay atop the the gray's back, but she was in such a blind rage and panic that she paid very little attention to the blood she must be getting on the poor creature's back and to the horrifying possibility of flying off. She was still in the trail of her friend's dust, Levy calling out to her desperately.

Just then, a painted mare raced beside her, and she saw a flash of pink hair and angry eyes as the Indian upon it jumped in midair from that horse to hers, settling down behind her with an offended English exclamation of, "My horse!"

Gnashing her teeth together as the boy leaned over her to take hold of the mane and likely turn his animal around, she shouted back, "My friend!"

"Friend?" the boy repeated in puzzlement, testing the word in his mouth-clearly, he had no idea what it meant. He froze in mid reach, staring ahead before having an intake of breath. Then he gave off a low growl, and a yell that sounded like, "Gajeel!"

The Indian man with Levy slowed in front of them, turning with narrowed eyes to the pink-haired boy. There was a fiery hatred between them somehow, Lucy realized even as they galloped on-something personal. There was something in their language that he shouted back before he took off again, his other tribe members finally catching up to him, but not without trying to cut their heads off as they passed. Lucy shrieked, but the Indian boy behind her, shoved her head down when the hatchet swung toward it and shielded her.

He pointed forward with determined eyes, clearly asking her to keep the horse running. She did as requested, jamming her heels in again. That's when he stood-planted his feet with his knees bent and somehow kept his balance while drawing his bow and firing arrow after arrow towards the man carrying Levy on his horse. The scary man managed to evade a few shots, but one then embedded into his shoulder. The Indian cried out, but kept going, reaching around to snap off the arrow before continuing on.

The blood dripping into her eyes and out onto her trousers… the pain made her vision blur as the horse continue to run. Dizziness of the shock of the action and loss of her only friend began to set in. Not only were tears of frustration pooling up in her cheeks, but black spots were expanding in her sight. Lucy tried desperately to remain conscious, gripping the horse's hair like a lifeline. Her body gave way, slumping forward with her hands around the gray's neck. The last thing she heard was the boy's concerned gasp as he slowed up the horse and pulled her up so that the world spiraled into the gleaming darkness of his worried eyes.


Dark. Pain. The smell of blood.

Lucy woke to a confusing and frightening world, sluggishly wrapping her arms around herself and blinking awake. She couldn't help but groan at the pain in her head, though when she reached up, she found a wound that had been there was treated and scabbed over.

Hopelessly confused, she squinted around the room she was in. A cone shaped room that looked to be made of canvas, like that of what they used for ship sails. A small fire burned in the center of the hut-like place, and the smoke curled out of an opening at the top of the structure that was held up by long, wooden poles. Lucy could make out horse hair bunches tied in colorful fabric, hanging from one of the tapered points as if in decoration. The place was warm, and she was rested atop a cushy group of furs, a thick pelt wrapped securely around her.

And then she saw that she was not alone.

Two other women sat around the fire, leather dresses and beads upon their copper skin. Indians. They were chatting cheerfully to one another in a baffling language while they wove dyed reeds methodically through one another in a way that somehow calmed her. When her gaze roamed off to the side drowsily, she saw a pile of baskets, and realized that those were what the women were making.

Lucy closed her eyes again, struggling to remember the details of everything that had happened. She remembered getting kidnapped by the robbers, then a blur of galloping and Indians and dark eyes and Levy-

Levy.

Lucy sat straight up in the makeshift bed, gasping and clawing at the blanket with shaking fingers. At once, the other two women in the tent started, the one on the right rushing to her side. The mere appearance of the woman got her distracted however; the woman was absolutely beautiful, with waving white hair woven into a braid down her back, motherly, sky blue eyes and a gentle expression. Her breathing slowed in attempt to gain control of herself.

"M-my f-friend," she choked out, finding her voice raspy, as if she hadn't used it for days. "T-taken-"

"Yes," the woman replied in surprisingly concise English, stroking her hair lightly as Lucy relaxed into her side, mostly because she was achy. "We help soon. Calm. Everything is okay."

"Wh-who are you?" she croaked, blinking around again through sleep-swollen eyes. "Where am I?"

"My name is Mira," the woman said slowly, clearly trying to remember the correct words. "Faetaye camp. You come almost three days past. We give you sleep medicine for healing. You upset when you wake many time. Remember?"

"N-no. Sorry," she muttered, hugging herself ever the tighter. "Th-this is a t-tipi, right?"

The woman nodded eagerly. "Tipi, yes. Now, done?"

Lucy flushed when the woman pointed down at her pelvic area, clearly asking if her menstrual blood flow was over. Though her cycle was significantly more painful than most girls' her age, it was very short. She managed a nod. "Y-yes."

With a smile, Mira said, "Stand? Yes?"

Wincing, Lucy nodded again, accepting Mira's help to her feet. It did make her slightly woozy, but if what Mira said was correct, Levy had been awaiting help for several days, and Lucy needed to get to that French boy somewhere in this camp. He seemed to speak fluent English, and she could maybe get some direction as to where this 'Phantom' tribe might be camping.

"Come," Mira instructed, leading her past the smiling, green-haired woman who offered a wave, and out to the oval-shaped door that was cut from the fabric. The woman held open the flap that covered the door for Lucy, who thanked her and stepped into the early morning dew. The chill on the plains wind was a relief to breathe in. The first slivers of sun were just barely jutting up from the east, and not a soul was seen around the camp. Tipis were spread seemingly at random and of all different sizes. Lucy's eyes roamed, wide, across the paintings of shapes and bright colors and creatures decorating the outsides of each, all unique. Horses wandered lazily, stopping to graze for a while and not seeming to want to go too far from the camp. There was a sweet aroma drifting about the place, one of some sort of incense and pipe tobacco.

"Come," repeated Mira when she came out behind Lucy, tenderly directing Lucy with a hand toward a river that ran through the back of the camp.

Of course, Lucy thought. They wouldn't want to camp long in a place without a water supply.

It bubbled along, not too swift and surely cold to the touch. Mira handed her a small block of something Lucy recognized from her bag-a bar of soap. "You have my supplies? My bags and case?"

Mira frowned, contemplating on the translation. "I do not understand."

"Never mind." All she did was stare from the soap to Mira until the other girl giggled, patting Lucy on the shoulder.

"Bath," she explained, pointing to the river. "Get off blood. New clothing."

Turning away to hide her grimace, Lucy took a step closer to the river. She wasn't about to start complaining about the temperature, what with the fact that it was her only option, and Lucy did love the feeling of being clean of all this blood. But… did Mira really have to be watching?

Lucy glanced back, but to her relief, the other woman had turned her back for privacy, gazing out at the waking sun and the red and yellow rays that danced across the grass. With a last look to make sure no one else was out of the tipis, Lucy quickly stripped of her men's clothes, her bindings, and, trying not to think about the cold, she slipped in.

It was freezing-water rushed against her skin, making her teeth chatter and consider getting out instantly. Oh and while she was stark naked on top of it all… So she made quick work of it, scrubbing all along her body and hair until she felt like she was sparkling and in a very short amount of time. With deep hopes that she wouldn't get hypothermia, Lucy called out, "M-Mira! U-um… is there a towel? Something to cover me?"

Mira only turned back to her with a smile, leaning down to the river and handing her something Lucy hadn't seen her carry out; it was a flat, smooth piece of wood, about half a meter long and and a few centimeters thick. Lucy stared, bewildered, until Mira demonstrated scraping the wood against her skin.

The woman respectfully turned around again as Lucy tentatively heaved herself back onto land and began to slide the wood down her body. The drops rolled off until all she felt her skin was smooth and mostly dry. At this point, Mira handed her a warm hide to wrap herself in when they made their way back to the tipi they'd just come from.

The sun was mostly over the horizon at this point, and Lucy hurried to enter when she saw occupants of the tipis begin to step from their doors and smile at one another, stretching and yawning.

The other woman that had been in the tipi with Mira was gone. Inside, Lucy glanced around for her clothes hopelessly, but Mira put a hand on her shoulder. She lifted a sack that was at the edge of the tipi-Lucy's. In fact, both Lucy and Levy's belongings were resting neatly there, waiting to be opened. Letting out a breath of relief, Lucy rushed to them, scrambling through her bag to pick out woman underclothes. The clean cloth was comforting against her newly washed skin, and Lucy quickly dressed herself fully in them.

After them, she frowned as she dug for her dress, but Mira took her by the arm lightly again and pulled her up. The Indian woman was smiling, holding out a pile of leather. Leather, she realized, that was a dress.

"Oh, I, ah…" Lucy wanted to say that she had a dress, but it would surely be rude to turn down the generous lending of the dress. Besides, Lucy would feel even more awkwardly out of place in this camp in a dress from England. Though being white would attract enough attention, she didn't want more. "Thank you very much," she said in the end, offering a tentative smile. She tried to speak in short and simple phrases when she cleared her throat and asked with embarrassment, "How do I wear dress?"

"I help," Mira offered graciously, letting the folding of the dress fall free.

Soon, Mira had her clothed in a cream-colored skin, skillfully hand-stitched and beaded with beautiful, colorful patterns about the chest and sleeves. It reached all the way to her ankles, and the sleeves, sides, and bottom were all fringed. Extra strips of leather were tied to holes around the bottoms of her legs in pairs; the ends of each had metal attached so that they would clink together cheerfully whenever she moved with the sound of happy bells. There was a studded, hide belt about her waist with a pouch and her knife. Lucy's heart couldn't help but warm when Mira began to comb out her hair and weave it into two, small braids in the most tender way.

"Gift," Mira told her. "Keep clothes-my old clothes. Fit well?"

"Thank you," Lucy said softly, running her hands down the smooth leather, caressing the fringes. It felt good to wear a dress again, no matter what material. "This is very kind of you. It's beautiful."

Mira only rubbed between her shoulderblades, saying, "Welcome. You are guest."

Before they exited the tipi, the Indian woman stopped her and handed her a pair of dark, slipper like boots. Mira showed her how to wear them, sliding the soft pelt over her bare feet and wrapping them around her calves tightly like boots. Lucy bent to put the other on, not wanting the other girl to have to do everything for her. Sloppy, but the strange shoe ought to stay. It had no soles, but Lucy supposed they didn't need them on the barren grasslands.

The camp was already a buzz of activity when they again left the tipi. Indians carried firewood, children, naked or nearly so, were giggling as they approached an old man with smile-wrinkles at the edges of his eyes. He seemed to be telling them a story.

Crafts were being made by laughing girls in sitting in circles, skins were being scraped clean of blood and fat, and ingredients were being grinded to mush by a mother with a baby wrapped in skins that dozed, strapped to her back. Lucy's mouth suddenly began to water in a very unladylike way at the smell of meat cooking on a nearby spit, and some kind of bread that two young men shared as they walked along with their horses. Since she'd been in and out of consciousness, she didn't remember the last time she ate...

Lucy was so entranced by looking around the foreign place that she almost didn't see everyone stopping to stare at her, or the dark-haired boy standing stoically outside the tent.

"Oh!" she gasped in surprise when he turned to face her. It was the French boy, dressed same as yesterday but clean of all dirt and blood. She felt her face warm at the sight of bare skin on his upper half; she'd only recently seen a boy without a shirt, but that was on a ship with older men that she'd rather look away from. This boy was muscled and lean. Up close, she noticed a feather woven into his hair and drifting in the light breeze. He was examining her closely, not in a leering sort of way, but calculating. Eventually, he said, accent still very thick, "Bonjour, mademoiselle. My name is Gray. What ees your name?"

Lucy answered automatically, "M-Miss Heartfilia, sir."

The boy let out a short laugh, saying, "No, we use first names 'ere. Your Christian name?"

"S-sorry," she murmured, hands twisting her dress. "Lucy. My name is Lucy."

At this point, Mira, behind her, spoke something in Faetayen to Gray, who responded similarly. With one last smile, Mira wandered off to the right.

Lucy bit her lip. She'd never been allowed to be alone with a boy before…

"Zey leave you with me because I speak Engleesh best," he explained. Gray was still rather aloof-looking, though he did not act threatening in the least. "Excusez-moi, Lucy, it ees still bit… euh, rusty, no? I do not speak eet often."

"That is alright," Lucy said quickly. "I do speak a little French, if you forget a word." She then winced, hoping she didn't sound condescending, but he didn't seem to think so.

"Merci, Lucy. Zat would 'elp. I assume you 'ave questions?" She noticed that he also had the slight musical accent of the Faetayen language.

He began to walk, and she took the cue to accompany him. "Yes, many," Lucy told him apologetically. "I just… my friend, Levy, was captured by that other tribe. I need to know where the camp is-I must save her as soon as possible. I do not know what they could do to her, and she's so small-"

"Calme, mademoiselle," Gray cut her off. "We know where your friend ees, and we will 'elp you retrieve her. Eet would be your death to enter Phantom's tribe alone and without weapon, zough your will is admirable."

"Y-you will?" Lucy choked. "O-oh sir, thank you so much-"

"Eet ees just Gray," he corrected. "And eet is our, em… 'ow you say… euh, responsibility, to 'elp. She was taken while under our protection, and we will not leave her to zose 'orrible people. Also," Gray offered a nod to her of appreciation as they passed a few tiny girls playing with cloth dolls, "Your warning saved us. We owe you much for ze lives of our men."

"Oh… I-it was nothing," she dismissed quickly, fiddling with her fringes and hiding her blush.

His smile was amused. "Eet was to ze families, no? And we also 'ave been trying to raid zeir camp for a...a while, now."

"Why is that?" Lucy asked. They strolled by a couple of boys that were playing with a strange sort of ball.

Gray didn't meet her eyes this time, looking darkly into the distance. "Zey 'ave stolen anozer of our tribe. Zee woman I am betrothed to. She 'as been gone for four months and two days."

Her stomach clenched in sympathy for him, eyes widening. "O-oh my… I'm so sorry, Gray."

He gripped his belt, which held a knife, hatchet, and leather pouch. His jaw was clenched, face like stone, though his voice shook slightly as he swallowed and muttered, "We will get her 'ome soon. I 'ave seen her when we got close, so I know she ees alive… I am simply afraid, for ze Phantom people only take women for two reason."

"Which are?" Lucy inquired, feeling her gut sink

"Eizer zey need a 'ostage," he said slowly, "or zey need more wives."

For her sake, Lucy hoped that in Levy and Gray's fiancee's case, it was the former.

"If I can stay here until she is recovered, I am willing to work," Lucy told him firmly, figuring it best to change the subject. "I will earn my keep for a short while, if you'd be willing to take me on. I don't like to impose… but I really have nowhere to go, and certainly not without Levy."

"We expected you stay here, Lucy," Gray said, sounding surprised. "You are guest. You weel work, but guest. Of course, we must find you someone to share tipi-"

"Not the one I was in?" she asked, confused, but then winced; she always had a bad habit of interrupting.

Gray only laughed. "Of course not! Zat is the tipi for women in moon cycle."

"Moon cycle?" Lucy was pretty sure she knew what he was talking about, and felt red creeping up her neck.

"Ze blood," he answered easily, indeed referring to her menstrual cycle, while he watched some children race between them. "Zat you get every… euh… month, no? Eet is time in which women are close to Mother Earth. Eet is… what word… euh, miracle, yes, zat women live after so much blood, and eet ees sacred part of life cycle. Yes, women sit togezer and make zings unteel eet ees over. See?"

Lucy, caught completely off guard with this new point of view, stared at him open mouthed for a few moments. "So… you do not believe women are… cursed, or demonic during this time?"

It was his turn to gape in shock. "Dieu, no! Eet is holy. Very holy time. Women pure and holy. Ze whole tribe 'as celebration when girl gets this for 'er first time. Then she is grown woman, eligible for courting."

"Oh." Feeling greatly enchanted by the idea, she asked another question that had been rather obvious. "Em, if you're French, why are you in an Indian tribe?"

Lucy hoped it didn't sound too personal, but he answered simply, "My mozzer was Indian, fazzer, French. Several of my generations 'ave gone on like this, because of ze fur trade. My parents died, as well as my, euh, oh, adoptive mozzer, so I travel here and ask to stay. They keep me ever since, and like zat I speak French, Engleesh, and Faetayen." Before she could offer awkward condolences about his parents, he nodded up their path. "We are close."

"To where?"

"Zat 'orse you were riding," Gray mused, approaching a tipi decorated with red and arrows and horses. "Eet belonged to zat pink-'aired, eediotic pigdog. 'e requested to see you once you woke, so I take you to 'im. Eenstead of 'unting, 'e chose to stay and meet you."

"Oh, the pink-haired boy!" Lucy exclaimed, memories of his dark eyes rushing back. "Is he alright? I must thank him indeed and apologize for using his horse and- wait, did you just call him an idiot? He seemed kind to me…"

Gray scoffed, "Pfft, kind, maybe, but still an eediot. Yes, 'e ees fine. 'e 'ad been checking on you so much that Mira shout at 'im to go away. 'e run like devil was chasing 'im." He looked into the distance as if recalling a particularly fond memory.

Finding her face hot yet again, she murmured, "That is very considerate of him."

"Still an eediot."

A loud whoop was heard behind the tipi, and a horse's snort. Gray waved Lucy forward, and she tentatively followed him, leather wrapped feet padding gently against the grass where dew still clung. Careful to avoid the stakes holding down the tipi cover, she stepped around to see the boy about which they'd been speaking, being nuzzled and nudged by his horse. The boy was laughing, stroking his animal and trying to braid its hair. He was dressed only in trousers with the fringes and a belt. Oh, Lucy was still very unaccustomed to men without a shirt. How the muscle contracted and bulged under taught, dark skin was enough to make her want to turn around with her ears steaming in embarrassment and run away.

He was cooing to his horse, words that were both harsh and smooth in their formation. When Gray cleared his throat, the boy paused, gaze snapping over to where they stood. His eyes became inexplicably bright when they rested upon Lucy, looking positively delighted to see her though he didn't even know her name.

The boys exchanged a few words in Faetayen, leaving her feeling rather awkward. The one with pink hair left his horse to walk up to her, where he stood a head taller and smiled a crooked smile. Gray murmured something in his ear, and he nodded quickly before trying slowly, "My name...is?" He glanced quickly to Gray for a moment as if asking if what he'd said was correct. Seeing the Gray nod, he then continued jovially, "Natsu! My name is Natsu."


Greetings Earthlings!

Longer chapter today, and sooner than I thought. I've been on a writing roll lately, and writing fanfiction instead of my manuscript which is BAD but eh better than nothing. School approaches and I internally cry for this reason. Finally get to meet the tribe a little, though… Lol Gray's accent was so fun to write. Yes, his betrothed is Juvia. XD

Historical Note:

Gray stated up there the true opinion of several tribes. The Faetaye tribe I'm creating is a mixture of different cultural aspects I like from different tribes. Women would stay in the Menstrual Huts to wait out their period, making crafts, chatting, being waited upon, and sometimes giving advice to those who needed it, because they were considered especially wise when in such a close state to Mother Earth. Some tribes did use the 'wooden towel', or that wood that Mira handed Lucy. Natives took baths every day possible, and sometimes just rolled on the ground to get dry. Fringes were cut into the clothes to act as a horse's tail; they'd keep bugs away while they walked through the grass, as well as help shake water off. It is plausible that they'd take in a white boy like Gray, especially one with their backgrounds; French fur traders were generally very kind to Native Americans, and shared customs with one another. Often, the men would marry into the tribes or encourage their sons to do so.

See ya sometime, maybe in the oneshot I'm planning or the next chapter of DDD!

Mizpah,

~LoneStorm