This story is very personal. I was taught it by my grandfather, and he by his, and so on. This story has been in my family for a long time, and I hope Ive done it justice. Just like in the story... after that, I never looked at him the same way again. Growing up, I was taught to respect and revere women, and this is one of the first lessons Id ever received to that effect. So that said, this story is dedicated to them... to you. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society: A tale of wolf, weakness, and woeful women... of death and desire I call this one... -Travel and trade: a story of the White of the wood- Not so long ago, toward the rising sun, there was a trading post where the whites told tales of their prowess, of their women... Of their fathers and sons. When I was a boy, my father took me with him to make trade with the whites. As we prepared for our journey, I asked him Father, do the whites have stories as we do? He smiled and lifted me onto the horse... He thought on his reply for a time. Of course they do, but it shows their hearts... the difference in our tales. He would say little else for some time, and eventually I asked What differences, father? Again, after some time, he spoke: The white of the wood, he said they have a tale just like it called little red riding hood and it shows the truth of what they see in the world around them, son. My father cleared his throat, and began speaking again, this time using what I called his storytelling voice. There was a white girl of great beauty, but outcast for the road of medicine she walked, a healer skilled with rattlesnake medicine; she knew the spirit and the wood as her family and home. Her grandmother had grown old and ill, and the little witch wore a white hunting cloak whenever she went to visit, so that grandmother would recognize her with such bad eyesight. More whites to the north cleared forests, and the game flushed south into what remained of the wood was plentiful... One day, a band of fur trappers saw the girl on her way to visit grandmother as she passed by their camp and their leader was overpowered with desire... They gave chase, but she disappeared as if the woods had come alive and swallowed her. The leader had his men patrol the paths, and after two days of searching, the men were exhausted. Just when they were returning in defeat, one of them saw a flash of white near the river, and in his excitement gave away their position... she heard the noise and bolted, running for the old growth, and the safety of grandmothers cabin. Once more, she lost them in the wood... but when she arrived at grandmothers, she found a note addressed to her, and an empty cabin. Grandmother had gone to the sweat with one of the Chickasaw, her lungs troubled her. She would wait for the little white witch among the people, and would be safe. The witch gathered a few odds and ends to bring to grandmother, but as she stood near the back door of the cabin, she heard voices and approaching footsteps. She burst out the front door; stumbling.... she collided with the stacked firewood and tumbled to the ground with a cry. The trappers heard this and ran to investigate, and as she tried to stand and run, they caught her and held her to the ground. As one of them tried to turn her over, a wolf howl sounded in the woods, and in that moment of distraction...up came the axe she had nearly cut herself on when falling, she hacked the men to bits, leaving their corpses face down and disgraced. She ran through the woods, covered in blood, whipped and stung, scored and scratched by a thousand branches, thorns, and vines... her eyes pumped out tears nearly in tome to her heart... but not once did she let go of that gore slick axe. She cried herself nearly voiceless, as she made her way to the lodge where she could find shelter, she met the remaining of the trappers men, and though his dagger drew a deep cut along her arm, she crushed him with the hammer side of the axe, and then dismembered his body so his remains would be food for the animals. She took his horse, and rode further on, until she came to the river that marked the way to the lodge, and followed it, running the horse as fast as she could without being cruel. She arrived at the Lakeside clearing where the river began, and could see the lodge in the distance. As she dismounted, she looked back to the tree line, and there she saw a wolf. She ran for the lodge, hoping to outpace the wolf, and made it to the entry. She got on her hands and knees and scrambled inside. Somewhere in the run to the lodge, she had lost the axe... She blinked away the semidarkness, and heard a stirring from a litter draped in furs. She walked closer and heard a whisper come closer dear granddaughter And it was then that three things happened... the first was that the witch now knew for sure this was not grandmother... her white cloak was blood-soaked, after all. The second thing that happened was the leader of the team of trappers leapt up from under the furs and tried to seize the witch... but she was hard to get a hold of, all slick with blood. And as those both happened, the wolf clawed his way into the lodge opening. His teeth bared, hackles raised, he leapt upon the trapper, tearing out his throat. The witch fled the lodge, and when she returned with the axe, the wolf had gone, leaving not one bloody print on the lodge floor. Chickasaw men and women arrived, and in the aftermath, the witch learned her grandmother was safe. The sweat burned the darkness from her lungs, so grandmother and the witch returned to their cabin, to live as white witches do. I blinked a few times, knowing by his change in tone that the story was over. I twisted my head to the side in a look of puzzlement. Why does that show their heart, father? I asked. Because the story the whites tell is of a weak and helpless girl “he said with a frown one who needs saving from the evil wolf by a tall and strong woodsman... He saw I was still confused. The story we tell... it shows the strength of woman, and it is a story of nature and right overcoming cruel and thoughtless desire. he said with a dawning smile Ours is a story of empowerment, and of unity, my son... I nodded in understanding, and out of respect for his wisdom, I kept my teeth together for the remainder of the journey. I never looked at father the same after that... We made our trade to the east... and I never told him, but that night I cried for them whose stories are twisted and without hope or meaning. My last tears as a boy. Thanks for listening
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 01:35:42 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015