Unknown - The_Growing_589064

5

Grunting softly, Koda lowers her weary body onto the top support of the corral fence, hooking one leg behind the middle support and resting gloved hands against thighs tense and more than a bit sore. The warm spell has continued, making spring a promise instead of a fantasy dreamt only by poets. Stripped of her heavy jacket, she sits at ease in a down-filled vest, flannel shirt, and jeans. Well-sprung cowboy boots are clotted with mud and snow and muck and will need to come off before she gets within shouting distance to the family home. She smiles, all but hearing her mother’s warning tones.

To the west, the sun is preparing to set beyond winter-bare trees. The sky is a riot of color and the clouds are gilded with rose and purple and gold.

It is a peaceful time that appeals to her need for solitude.

For the past three days she has been immersed in the concerns and troubles of her immediate family and neighbors. Her family’s huge ranch has become a haven for the dispossessed. Orphans, widows, widowers, and the occasional full family unit now take up residence on the three thousand acre spread. The house and all its outbuildings are jammed with grieving people, each with a story to tell. Koda believes she’s heard them all, most more than once. A new oral tradition is forming, a history kept in the mind and on the tongue, like the history of old. Her oldest sister, Virginia, has already set several of the stories to song as a way of remembering. It is the way of their people, a way of making sure that these stories are never forgotten.

For the past seventy two hours, her mother has stuck to her as if glued, finding reasons to touch her, to hug her, to simply look at her through deep, fathomless eyes.

“The prodigal daughter returneth home,” Koda says softly, a wry laugh escaping into the slight breeze.

An answering cry sounds from overhead, and bare moments later, Wiyo lands on the fence next to her, settles her feathers, and looks up at her, head cocked inquisitively.

“Good hunting?” Koda asks, grinning at her friend.

Wiyo sidles closer until they are touching, then settles and begins to preen. Dakota feels tears sting her eyes at the simple, and sacred, beauty of the moment. It is something she will profoundly miss when she leaves again, quite probably for the last time.

Blinking those tears away, she looks back at the setting sun, and all that surrounds her. This is her home, the place where her soul knows its only peace. And yet, to be who she must, to become who she will, she must leave both it and the peace it offers behind.

She senses the presence behind her a split second before a light touch descends on her shoulder.

“Han, thiblo.”

A deep laugh sounds behind her as Tacoma moves to the fence. “Those eyes in the back of your head have grown larger, I see. Hau, tanski. Hau, Wiyo.”

The redtail cocks a disinterested eye toward the large man before returning to her preening.

“Beautiful evening,” Tacoma remarks, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the top rail.

“That it is,” Koda agrees. With the sound of thunder, the herd comes over the ridge and runs by, Wakinyan leading them. The herd’s size has nearly doubled in the weeks Koda has been away, and she looks on, impressed. “He covering them all?”

“Oh yeah. He’s gonna be one happy boy come spring.”

Koda shoots him a look before returning her attention to the setting sun.

The two sit in companionable silence until the sun disappears behind the horizon and twilight descends, bringing with it a soft peace of its own.

Finally, Tacoma speaks. “I’m coming with you, you know.”

Shifting on the fence rail, Koda looks down at her brother. “What?”

“When you leave. I figure that’s gonna be either tomorrow or the day after. I recognize the signs.”

“What signs?!”

Tacoma grins, a touch smugly. “How long have I known you? You’re as restless as a cougar in heat, tanski. You love this.” A large hand splays, indicating the ranch. “But your soul is calling you elsewhere.”

Koda dips her head, a touch embarrassed at being so easily read. Tacoma chuckles softly, soothing her with a light touch to her broad back.

“You always were a wandering spirit,” he continues, tone reflective. “It surprised the hell out of me when you bought the ranch down the road and settled in.”

“Tali,” Koda answers, her own voice quiet as her brother’s. “She was happy here. And I…a big part of me was too.” A pause, then softer still, “Still is.”

“But that other part, it’s gotten bigger, hasn’t it.”

Koda nods.

“You’ve changed, tanski.” Tacoma holds up a hand. “No, no, not in a bad way. It’s just….” He sighs, trying to put his thoughts into words. “Ina always said that you were born winyan.”

Dakota turns wide eyes to him, and he laughs.

“No, not to your face. You got into far too much mischief for her to ever let you know that out loud. But she’s always been proud of you. Ate too. And you know the younger ones worship you. Hell, even I do.”

Feeling a hot blush coming on, Koda turns away, glad for the evening breeze which has sprung up with the setting of the sun. It cools her skin, but does nothing for the rapid beat of her heart.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Tacoma doesn’t notice—or has the sense, at least, to pretend he hasn’t. “As I said, you were always self-possessed and mature, even when you were a wild child.” He laughs, remembering. “Which was most of the time. But now…now you have… wakhan. I can feel it coming off of you, even when you’re sitting still, like now. It’s just….” Head lowered, he sighs again. “I wish I had better words to explain.”

“I’ve experienced many things in these past weeks,” Koda replies, still looking to the horizon.

“I’ve heard the stories. Though I assume you edited them for Ina and Ate. Ina especially.”

Koda turns finally to look at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

The two siblings share a quiet laugh.

Dakota sobers. “There’s a great battle coming, thiblo. I can feel it here.” She pounds her thigh. “In my bones.”

“Not here.” Tacoma indicates the ranch again.

“No. This place is safe enough. For now at least.”

“Ellsworth, then?”

“I believe so. I don’t know how I know, I just know that I do.”

“Which is why I’m coming with you.”

Koda rounds on him again. “No, Tacoma. You can’t. You need….”

“To stay here?” His voice is strong, steady, and brooks no contention. “You yourself just admitted that this place is safe.”

“For now, I said.”

“For now,” he concedes. “But it’s as well guarded as any army camp, Dakota. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. We’ve got enough weapons and ammunition to last us for years, if need be, and everyone on this ranch, from the youngest on up, knows how to use them.”

“But….”

“No buts. I am Tacoma Rivers, Staff Sergeant in the US Army. I am a Lakota warrior. I can no more stand by than you can. If there is to be a battle, I mean to be there.”

“Ina will never let that happen.”

“Ina doesn’t have a choice in the matter. I am wichasha. I run my own life, and rule my own destiny.”

“And cower like a hokshila when Ina shoots one look at you,” Koda replies, smirking.

Tacoma can’t help but laugh, knowing his sister’s words for truth. Their mother runs the house with an iron fist, and no one dares deny her reign, not even her husband.

“I need to do this, Dakota,” he says finally. “No matter what, I need to do this.”

Taking her brother’s hand in hers, she gives it a firm squeeze, and looks deep into his eyes. “I know.”