Excerpt

The sun blazed across the grassy plains like a bonfire. His dark skin glistened as he sprinted for the woods ahead. He leapt over a fallen tree in the knee-high golden grass. Afraid to glance behind, Crouching Bear lurched forward as he searched for places to hide and relief from the heat.

He knew his time was short. The tribe would be coming for him to avenge his mistake. The spirits might forgive him someday, but his people would not. They must make an example of him. It was how the tribe governed itself. Warriors were celebrated and men who failed to achieve this lofty status were demonized as less than men, or worse, cowards. Crouching Bear was no coward. And he wasn't a warrior either. At least, he wasn't any longer.

Crouching Bear studied the ways of the warrior soul. He spent countless months practicing among the elders, harnessing the great warrior spirit. He had proven himself a valuable hunter and a fierce fighter. Until the moment when everything had changed.

The tribe had tried to live, side by side, with the light-skinned. They had accepted the terms of peace in order to coexist in the unforgiving expanses of the plains. Then the white man had run out of resources to feed and shelter their kin and turned upon the peaceful tribe. They lost women and children. Their livestock was taken. The village burned. So the tribe defended its territory. They summoned the warrior spirit and attacked the settlement in a bloody fury. Crouching Bear had fought the raiding white man with his brothers. He had terrorized the men with collected scalps. He had stabbed a woman, round with an unborn child inside her. He slaughtered the white man's loyal dogs. And he had killed Laughing Crow, by accident.

Laughing Crow was the Chief's middle son. He was a fierce warrior and very strong. He was named for being an intelligent leader with a jovial sense of humor. Unlike most braves, he enjoyed the lighter side of life and shunned the seriousness of others. Laughing Crow was known to play tricks and he always had a funny story about emptying the anus. While many feared him, just as many followed him. But, on that day, his jokes had cost him his life.

Crouching Bear had just finished adding another scalp to his pouch when he noticed a man sneaking into one of the shelters. He followed the man inside and landed upon his back with his knife blade. The dead man hit the floor and Crouching Bear rolled him over to collect his token. That is when he learned that Laughing Crow had dressed himself in white-man's garments. Laughing Crow wore a heavy wool coat with a tan, felt hat. His hair was tucked inside the coat and all Crouching Bear saw was a man trying to escape. His last prank was the most costly.

In a panic, Crouching Bear tried to bring back Laughing Crow's warrior soul but it had already flown. Several tribesmen found him over the body and took him to the Chief. A hearing was held and Crouching Bear was banished from the tribe. Before they released him to the wilderness, he was cursed so that he and his future sons would always walk alone. A blood bounty was issued, and Crouching Bear knew more than a few warriors would seek him out, not only to avenge Laughing Crow's death, but also to elevate their status within the tribe.

He finally reached the tree line and discovered a game trail. It snaked to the left and then rose gradually through the forest. He would have to leave the game trail if he wanted to hide, but he knew the tracking skills of the men would lead them to the same conclusion. Crouching Bear found a thicket beneath a grove of spruce trees and settled down for a rest. The dappled sunlight cast shadows around the grove, providing more cover. He picked a few berries from his pouch and popped them into his mouth. The berries had soured and oozed juices on his fingers.

For the first time since the tribe had banished him, Crouching Bear was scared. He hadn't had any time to think or worry as he ran through endless fields. But now he replayed the tragedy in his mind. He felt the ground rumble with many feet searching for him. And he envisioned the slaughter that would arrive once they discovered him.

As he rested his legs, he thought about his parents and sister. He would never see them again and he left them in shame. They would now be labeled as the family of the one who killed Laughing Crow. While the tribe had no reason to blame them for his misdeeds, they would become outcasts just the same. Their future would be lonely and without pride.

A tear trickled down his darkened cheek like a mountain spring. It was so unfair that he could not speak for his mistake. The punishment was more than the crime. Laughing Crow's death was accidental. Banishment would have been a fitting price to pay. But cursing his soul and his future offspring's souls was a heavy price. Plus he must forever walk with silent steps so that the blood bounty would not follow him. There must be a place that he could escape to, where the tribe would eventually give up its search. If such a place existed, he must find it to survive.

He brushed the soil from his legs and began to pick his way through the dense forest. Every now and then, he would hide behind a tree or a rock to spy behind him. On one ridge, he carefully climbed a fir tree to gain a better vantage point from the treetops, using foliage for cover. There had been no signs of followers, yet. Crouching Bear expected that the men would use the opportunity to further hone their tracking skills. Giving him a head start was probably one of their tactics too. He figured they would want him to feel more comfortable and let his guard down so they could easily discover his mistakes. He knew he had to be sharper than them.

Crouching Bear rested against a stump. He tilted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes in prayer to the ancient ones. A twig snapped behind him and his eyes sprung open. He caught his breath and remained more still than a thousand year-old oak tree. A gentle crush of leaves and the slightest whisper of breathing carried to his ears. He silently looked over his right shoulder and a grizzled white man with a thick gray nest of beard stared at him. The white man had Crouching Bear in the iron sights of his rifle. Crouching Bear cursed himself for letting a white man sneak up on him. If he couldn't evade the white man, he stood no chance of surviving his tribesmen.

"Get up, yer beast. Nice and slow-like." He used the rifle to direct Crouching Bear to his feet. "Well, looky here. We got ourselves an Injun boy, eh?"

Crouching Bear stood still and looked over the man. The white man was older and probably too weak or slow to deal with him. However, he had the upper hand, at the moment, as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

"Whatcha got in yer pay-poose there, Chief? Anythings I could use or et?" The white man inched closer to Crouching Bear, who could now smell the man better than he could see him. The smell of urine and decaying meat drifted around the man. He spat in the dirt and inched even closer to Crouching Bear.

"Well, I guess the cat gotcher tongue er something but that don't bother me no-how. I aim to git what I came fer and nothin' else, so conversationalizing won't be necessary." The man squinted and reached slowly for Crouching Bear's pouch, one hand remained on the rifle with a finger on the trigger. As his dirty hand grabbed the pouch, Crouching Bear dropped to the dirt and swept the old-timer down with his leg. Before he could get his knife out, the white man had fired a shot at him. It missed Crouching Bear entirely but made him angrier than he had ever felt before. He knew the shot would signal the others to his location and that brought on an overwhelming rage.

Suddenly, Crouching Bear felt a tingle in his side and then it expanded into a burning pain, which reached over his chest, around his shoulder and down his spine. His neck stretched to the left and then to the right and he heard the sound of bones crunching. The old-timer watched on in horror as Crouching Bear's body began to change. He stripped off his garments as if his body was on fire. He felt heaviness filling his legs and hips while his chest expanded and grew hairy. His dark skin wrinkled and stretched as long, coarse hairs sprouted from every pore. Crouching Bear lost his thoughts as his head felt like thunder clouds hammering the silent morning. He dropped to his knees and his torso lengthened, doubling in size. The smell of the old man messing himself was pervasive, as it seemed he could now detect odors near and far with a heightened awareness. He roared and stood on his hind legs, towering eight feet above the white man lying on the ground.

In an instant, the monster that was Crouching Bear was upon the man. The old-timer tried to use the rifle as a wedge against the man-bear's jaws but it was no use. The man-bear swatted the rifle away like it was a piece of kindling. The beast sat on the man's chest, mauling his face and neck. It devoured the man's flesh like it hadn't eaten in days. It drank his blood, slaking its thirst from the long journey. The beast kept feeding, long after the old-timer ceased to be. The meal ended only when there was nothing left but bloody scraps and large bones.

Engorged, the man-bear licked its jowls and lay down in a thick patch of undergrowth. In between yawns, it slurped the last chunks stuck in its claws. The man-bear blinked slowly several times and then lowered its great head upon the earth. The beast snoozed with a full belly and a quiet mind.