White Wolf by Susan Edwards Read Free Book Online

must clear your mind, find peace within before you can hear the voices of Wakan Tanka. ”
    Wolf glanced over his shoulder and frowned, but before he could dispute his brother’s words, Striking Thunder moved to stand before him.
    “Clear your mind and heart of all bitterness. Look to your future. This may be the reason that you have been chosen to make another journey across the Maka. ”
    Wolf was long past believing. “We shall see,” he said, and changed the subject to a less painful one. “Why are you here? Your presence will rile the townfolk, especially those coming into town to buy supplies for their trip overland. They already fear Indians on the trail.” Unlike Wolf, Striking Thunder was all Sioux in looks, thoughts and actions, and showed no outward sign of his white heritage.
    Striking Thunder shrugged. “It’s night. The strangers are not about, and the whites who live in town know me as brother to Wolf. I am safe. The spirits watch over me.” He took a leather thong from around his neck and held it up to reveal a small leather pouch.
    “I bring you this. Wear it. The spirits will go with you as you travel far from home. They will keep you safe and return you to our mother and father. My brother is not to worry, I will deliver the needed supplies to our people and inform our parents of the reason for your absence from their tipi.”
    Wolf took the leather thong and slipped it over his head, relieved that his brother would be able to deliver the supplies and horses he’d purchased for his family back in the Nebraska Territory. “You and the others are leaving for home tomorrow?”
    Striking Thunder nodded. “We leave before Wi rises to show her face. Woodcarver-Who-Lives-in-the-Woods will be eager for my return. Do not fear his being alone. Our people will help him with your horses while you are gone.”
    Wolf grinned, his dark thoughts lifting. Striking Thunder never called Ben, an old friend of their mother’s, by his given name, preferring to use the name his people had bestowed upon the old man when his mother, White Wind, had married their father, Golden Eagle. “Go safely, my brother.” The two clasped each other on the shoulders. It would be many months before they met again.
    Striking Thunder left to join the rest of his warriors camped outside of town. At the end of the street, he heard running feet and stopped—but not in time to sidestep a dark figure who hurtled into him. He reached out to steady the boy, but his feet slid out from beneath him. The two of them fell onto the wet and muddy road, with Striking Thunder taking the brunt of the fall. Flat on his back, he quickly realized that the softness crushed against his chest didn’t belong to a boy.
    Light from an upstairs window nearby splashed onto them. Looking up, he found himself staring into eyes the color of spring grass. He felt her rapid breathing and watched her eyes widen as she looked at him. She stared first at his jet-black braids; then her gaze flickered to the bronzed skin of his high cheekbones. When those bright green eyes narrowed on his hawkish nose, he realized something else. She was very angry.
    “Let go of me,” she demanded, pushing against him. In her haste to get off him, she fell into a puddle of muddy water.
    Getting to his feet, Striking Thunder kept a wary watch on the young girl, unsure of the cause of her anger. He knew from experience that most white people either despised or feared Indians. He wanted no trouble with the townspeople.
    Suddenly she jumped to her feet and jabbed his buckskin-covered chest with a mud-coated finger. “White Wolf, I’ve got words to say to you, you…”
    Startled, Striking Thunder held up a hand for silence. In an expression of surprise similar to his brother’s, he lifted a brow. “I am not White Wolf,” he corrected. “I am Striking Thunder, his brother.”
    The girl seemed momentarily taken aback. She took a step back and glared up at him. “Are you sure?”