We Walk Between The Worlds Part II

[paulacas]

Title: We Walk Between The Worlds Part II
Author: YanzaDracan
Artist: Tiggeratl1
Fandom: KANE RPS Historical AU
Rating: R
Warning: Implied non-con, torture and adult situations
Word Count: 7,201/44,486
Summary: When highway men leave a Donna Ackles pregnant and widowed, she stumbles onto a band of Cherokee. Adopted into the tribe and married to one of their healers, she begins a new life. Life is good for Jensen 'Crow Fox' Ackles and his family until the passing of the Indian Removal Act and the Trail Where We Cried.
  

With that Crow Fox rose to check his horse before retiring to his bedroll.

They still had four to five days of hard riding before they reached the Indian Agency. When they stopped for the night or to rest the horses, Crow Fox continuously scanned for herbs and roots that he might need. Lt. Lake allowed it so long as it did not slow their progress. He often caught Steven watching him. Their conversations stayed on neutral subjects about his life with the Cherokee until he asked about what happened with his tribe when he told Capt. Benge about being two-spirit.

Crow Fox became very guarded with his words. He knew many whites like the Tsalagi did not understand or approve of two-spirits.

He watched the writer from under his lashes. "My mother taught many of us to read and write English."

Steve startled. "Your mother could read and write?"

"She was raised in a genteel manner until her father gave her to his business associates. Her virginity for their money" Green eyes dulled as he told the story.

Steve sputtered. "But…but…that's…"

"Barbaric, uncivilized?" He was a very serious.

"Was she forced to have you?" Steve asked cautiously.

Crow Fox stopped his foraging to give the writer a confused look.

"My mother was heavily pregnant with me when she stumbled into the Cherokee camp. She told me when she first discovered she was pregnant, she was going to drink a mixture of herbs that would scour my presence from her womb, but as she looked into the glass she had a vision of green eyes and freckles. She decided to keep me. She was properly adopted, named Bends Like The Willow and married Red Clay Bear before she had my sister, Weeping Sky, and my brother, Stalking Dog."

"She loves Red Clay Bear?" It was Steven's turned to look confused.

"Yes. Do not your people marry for love?"

"No. I mean…some do. Some marry for money or power." He answered.

"What will you marry for Steven Carlson?" Crow Fox asked slyly.

"I will not marry." He said sadly.

"Do you have a wife?" Steven changed the subject.

"I have what the spirits have given me." He looked pointedly at Steven after dropping that small bomb.

Leaving the writer staring after him, he walked back into camp where he laid out his herbs to dry.

Steven settled on his bedroll with his notebook, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.

Several times the next day, Crow Fox noticed Steve talking with Jesse, the scout's expression cautious.

The next day Jesse rode alongside Crow Fox for a short time.

"We will reach the Agency at Ft. Cass tomorrow."

Crow Fox nodded.

"Things are not so good there as they were at Ft. Payne. There are many more Tsalagi here."

Crow Fox's face was bleak as he met Jesse's eyes.

"They have forgotten themselves already?"

"A few who seek to have an advantage over the weak. They may not take kindly to the presence of a two-spirit. Nor do the whites except perhaps for your writer friend."

Though Jesse had warned him things were bad, the squalor of the camps at Ft. Cass still shocked the healer. Lt. Lake took them directly to the post commander's office where he was introduced to Elijah Hicks, who would be leading the group with Whitepath and Fly Swift. Brother-in-law to the Chief John Ross, Elijah Hicks took one look at Crow Fox and let his mouth speak before his brain.

"You're white!"

Crow Fox kept his face still and his voice quieter than normal. "Only until I was born Tsalagi."

Hicks harrumphed before gathering himself. "Yes…well…let's get this over with. You'll be living with Whitepath's family for the time being."

"Sir." Crow Fox interrupted. "Two-spirits are shunned by the Tsalagi. I do not understand why Whitepath would ask for one or that his family would allow a two-spirit to live amongst them."

Not giving an answer, Hicks headed for the door expecting Crow Fox to follow, Steven and Lt. Lake were not far behind.

Whitepath and his council were gathered outside his shelter. Their conversations stopped when they saw Hicks.

The two addressed each other with wary respect then Hicks introduced Crow Fox.

"We found him with his tribe at Ft. Payne set to travel west with Capt. Benge." Hicks finished.

The Cherokee elder took in the poised young man. In his quiet voice, Crow Fox relayed his clan and tribe then removed his shirt to allow the tribal leader to see his tattoos. This was an unprecedented situation-the Council allowing someone who lay with their own kind to remain in his household.

Then Whitepath revealed the rest of his vision.

"Have you lain with another brave?" The black eyes watched Crow Fox closely.

Blushing to the roots of his hair, the healer answered truthfully.

"No."

"Have you lain with a woman?"

Crow Fox shook his head as embarrassment claimed his voice.

"For you to live in my household as a son, it will remain so until we reach these Indian Territories." His tone brooked no argument.

"Understood." Crow Fox answered quietly.

With a nod Whitepath gave his approval that Crow Fox was the man his vision had shown him, and if he refrained from engaging in sex he would remain neither and both in spirit.

"You know this group will not have an easy journey." Whitepath stated.

"Our council was careful in its selection of Capt. Benge." The healer answered.

"You knew if you had tried to stay they would have used force to bring you to me?"

"I would fulfill the wishes of the spirits." Crow Fox waited patiently.

'What of the yellow haired man?" Whitepath asked.

"He will have his place. He is finding his way."

"It seems you are to be part of his path."

"As he is part of mine." Crow Fox answered truthfully.

"Come then, take your rest and I will tell you what we old men have seen." Whitepath motioned to the dun horse standing quietly by his master's side.

Crow Fox followed Whitepath's grandson to where he could keep his horse, and helped him carry his belongings back to the shelter.

Crow Fox' traveling companions re-convened back at the post commander's office.

"Tell me what you've learned about this Crow Fox. Is he trouble?" Hicks asked.

Lt. Lake spoke before the others had a chance.

"From what I observed he is quiet spoken, knowledgeable in white and Cherokee ways, was born into the tribe when his mother left home after being raped by a business associate of her father's. She was adopted, married one of the tribe's healers and had two more children. Crow Fox himself was well respected in his tribe until the admission of being two-spirit."

"Is he truly a two-spirit?" Hick's gaze landed on his Cherokee scout because he had not been able to see all of Crow Fox' tattoos from where he stood.

Jesse raised his chin. "His grandfather is their tribe's elder among the medicine people, and he has trained as a healer since he was old enough to accompany his Tsalagi father. There are few trained in as many aspects of our life as Crow Fox has been."

"So he would be someone people would look to as a leader?" Hicks rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"No. He has a Cherokee soul and walks in three worlds, but his inclination toward men would see him banished as he was by his own tribe. Only the words of Whitepath, and the fact that he has taken no lovers will see him tolerated." Jesse finished.

"Three worlds?"

"White, Cherokee and spirit."

Hicks nodded thoughtfully.

"Mr. Carlson. Your observations."

"He is well-spoken. His mother was Southern gentility and teaches their tribe to read and write English as well as Cherokee, and he was held in high regard. He sat with the tribe's council at his grandfather's shoulder." Steven hoped he wasn't making Jensen...Crow Fox's path harder by what he'd told Hicks.

The healer refused to talk about being two-spirit in front of the lieutenant or Jesse. No one knew better than Steven Carlson what white European society thought of people that loved members of their own gender. He was shocked to realize that the Cherokee were the same way. To listen to Christian clergy one would think the Natives engaged in sexual activity any place at any time with anyone. Wouldn't they too be shocked at the rigidity of some tribes?

Within days of Crow Fox's arrival, the first groups were moving out. Hicks' group was the second to leave, Whitepath and Fly Swift riding at the front of the column the cavalry troops spread out along the sides of the group.

Steven watched Crow Fox moving among the column, along with the other healers, speaking with the pregnant women, the elderly, sometimes taking children up on his gelding. He wanted to talk with him, but the only way to do that was to follow him.

Steven soon finds his arms full of small children or walking beside Crow Fox as they put two of the elderly matriarchs on their horses.

Crow Fox spoke low so they would not be overheard. "You must watch yourself, Steven. Your superiors would look unfavorably toward you if you appear too familiar with us."

"If I am to write the truth," He spoke just as quietly, "I must see the truth."

"Tread softly, Steven Carlson." Crow Fox warned.

Steven nodded and continued to walk beside his new friend.

When they stopped for the night, the healers continue to move among the people. Long after everyone was settled for the night, Crow Fox returned to Whitepath's camp.

Two days later, all the groups were stopped at Gunstocker Springs. Lack of rain during the summer was making it hard for the scouts to find enough water to sustain the large group crossing the Cumberland Mountains.

After a week, Whitepath went to Hicks about letting their braves go to out in hunting parties to bring in fresh meat. The women and the healers were already scouring the countryside for plants and tubers.

The longer they stayed at Gunstocker Springs, the more agitated Crow Fox appeared, though if you didn't know the man, you would never realize. He spent many evenings with Whitepath and Fly Swift, listening intently while saying very little.

Many nights he was chased from his bedroll by dreams and visions. His dreams often took him riding west alone. He'd wake from those dreams with silent tears running down his cheeks. Other nights he woke with sweat streaming down the same cheeks.

Steven often prowled the edges of the sprawling camp-sometimes walking out of boredom, but most times observing, taking notes and hoping to run into Jensen…Crow Fox, following the younger man, learning his story and the events that shaped him into the unusual man that was quickly becoming his friend.

Finally, a month after being forced to stop, the group once again started west. Crow Fox was never far from Whitepath or Fly Swift. Both elderly Cherokees' health seemed to be deteriorating the further they moved from their home.

Finally near Hopkinsville, Kentucky both elders died within hours of each other, leaving their mourning families in shock at the swiftness of their deaths. Crow Fox went in search of Hicks to ask for a delay in order to give the esteemed leaders a proper burial.

He expressed condolences, but refused. If they wanted to make the Territories before winter set in there could be no more delays. He gave them one day. Squaring his shoulders, Crow Fox went in search of their priests.

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As hard as the loss of the two elders hit the group, the delay for the burial would soon cause even more heartache.

The last group of Cherokee to leave Red Clay, Tennessee caught up with the main body of emigrants. Short on food, clothing and the basic tools of survival, it was a ragtag group that appeared as they finished burying Whitepath and Fly Swift.

When Crow Fox saw them, he cried out for the others not go near them. He saw the gray wool blankets and remembered his visions from his vigil into adulthood.

Many of the healers were aghast at his suggestion they not help their fellows until he pointed to the blankets and glared at the soldiers surrounding the group.

"They carry what the whites call 'small pox'." He spoke as loudly so all would hear. "They are blankets of sickness."

But it was too late. The disease had already taken hold in the group, and many were taken ill. They isolated those that were sick, making sure they had medicines to help with pain and fever, but the healers were hesitant to have contact with them.

They could not stop and wait for the illness to run its course causing the column to straggle out several miles. Hearing rumors of the sickness running through the travelers, many towns refused to let them come into town to purchase supplies.

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The cries and the prayers of the women were so heart wrenching that even the most hardened soldiers and Native scouts were moved.

Many still did not understand why they had been torn from their homes…why their lives had ripped from them. As their children died from lack of the most basic of necessities, some of the mothers soon followed, dying from their broken hearts and empty bellies.

The mothers grieved and cried unable to help their children survive the journey. The Elders prayed for a sign that would lift the Mothers' spirits, and give them strength. The next day they noticed a beautiful rose growing along the path where each of the mothers' ears fell.

Years later there would start the legend of the Cherokee Rose. The rose petals were white for their tears; the gold center represented the gold taken from the Cherokee lands, and seven leaves on each stem for the seven Cherokee clans. A rose bloomed for every mother's tear shed on what would become known as The Trail Where We Cried.

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Steven watched aghast as the soldiers continued to push the people west without regard for their health or lack of supplies. He confronted Hicks and the other leaders on several occasions about conditions, but was firmly told that keeping the group moving was to the benefit of the whole. They could not afford to be caught in the mountains of the Ozarks during the winter months, as it was they would see the turning of the year before they got to Ft. Gibson.

At each town he sent packets of stories back to his publisher at the Daily National Intelligencer in Washington, DC. He didn't know if any of them would get published, but he knew that even if his bosses wouldn't publish his stories that when this trek was over he would find someone who would publish all of his observations.

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Crow Fox's heart ached at not being able to help those who were ill. They couldn't even bury the bodies properly. In order to stop the disease from spreading, everything belonging to the dead including their bodies had to be burnt.

Rations and supplies were short, people and animals alike were losing weight. Exhaustion and exposure were causing more and more of the children and elderly to fall ill. With their limited resources Crow Fox and the other healers were hard pressed to care for them all.

Each evening when they set up camp, his time was spent going from fire to fire helping those he could, and offering comfort to those he could not. He became so well known for wandering the camp at all hours, the sentries didn't bother challenging his movements. More often than not Steven would shadow him through the camps, observing all that was happening while at the same time offering his quiet support to the exhausted healer.

Steven made certain that Crow Fox knew when he was going into town to mail his packets. Many times he would find money and lists in his pockets. He wondered where the healer got the money, but never asked. There were just too many ears and not enough privacy to have such conversations.

At each town he would listen to what the people said about Cherokee, saddened that many considered the natives to be less then themselves…less than human. He kept his words behind his teeth letting on that he was just travelling through when buying the supplies on his list then leaving opposite of the direction of the camps before circling back around.

In one town he found a copy of the Intelligencer from when their trek had first started. The article about the Indian removal was buried in the back pages, but they had not changed any of his story. He spied other copies lying about the apothecary's shop. Each issue he read raised his anger another notch.

His editors used just enough of his observations for there to be truth in the stories, but from there they were edited to make the Cherokee seem recalcitrant children who could not accept the fact that what was happening to them was for their own good and that the 'White Father' in Washington, DC, knew what was best for people not intelligent enough to make their own decisions.

So angry he nearly left the shop without his order. He stopped on the sidewalk to calm down and collect his thoughts. Stowing Crow Fox's supplies in his saddlebags he pulled out the package he had readied to mail to the Intelligencer. He walked to the general store where the owner was kind enough to loan him a quill and ink to write a letter to include with his other pages.

By the time he finished carefully wrapping his package he was smirking at the address he'd written. It was a smiling Steven Carlson that paid for his purchases. He stopped in the saloon long enough to enjoy a beer while waiting for the mail coach. He waited until the coach pulled out before he returned to the general store to find he had gotten lucky and found mail waiting for him. He'd sent a letter to a college friend that worked for the New York Evening Post before they left Ft. Cass. His smile lit up the room when he read the reply. Changing the address on his package had been the right thing to do.

Master Steven Carlson,

New York Evening Post has been following your articles. Knew for sure this was not your writing style. I look forward to receiving your package. WC will pay for everything useable. He'll do about anything to upstage the 'boys' in DC.

Warmest regards,

Thomas Welling

When he returned to camp no one had seen Crow Fox for some time. With his saddlebags still over his shoulder he headed for where the horses were huddled together. He found the younger man checking the horses' legs and hooves for injury. The horses moved restlessly when he moved through them alerting Crow Fox that someone was around.

A smile lit the exhausted face when he saw the writer. It got a little brighter when he saw the saddlebags. Stroking his gelding's neck one last time, he turned his attention to Steven.

"Steven! I was wondering when you would return." Crow Fox's low voice carried a note of excitement.

"I had to wait for the mail couch to see if there was a reply to a letter I sent to a friend or I would have brought your things sooner."

Steven pulled his eyes away from the hands stroking the horse to the tired green eyes.

"I am glad that you were able to get these for me." He started transferring the envelopes of herbs into his medicine pouch.

"It's not much, but I brought some other things." Steve surreptitiously handed him bags of cornmeal, rolled oats, dried beef and flour that he had bought.

Crow Fox placed the bags in pockets of his heavy coat and pouches to carry back to camp. His eyes were wet with tears when he looked back at Steven. Conscious that there were always eyes watching, he reached out to squeeze Steve's shoulder in a friendly manner.

"You have truly been a friend in these trying times."

Too choked up to express himself in words, he turned to walk back to camp cradling his precious treasures leaving a stunned writer to ponder so much gratitude for so little.

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A few days later they arrived at the river to cross into Missouri. Hicks, Colston and Steven went to talk with the ferry man. Steven rode back to the waiting group huddled together against the bone chilling cold. Crow Fox leaned into the side of his faithful gelding using the animal to block the wind, the three children wrapped in his blankets on the horse's back.

Almost too angry to speak, the writer relayed to the soldiers and the Cherokee how the ferry man wanted a dollar a head to cross, and they had to wait until he had time to take them across.

Concerned about staying in the open until they were allowed to cross, the group moved to the lea side of a bluff they passed a short walk back. While walking they began gathering wood. Hopefully some would be dry enough to get a fire started.

Steven had gone to rejoin Hicks and Colston. Crow Fox and a group of braves combed the area for firewood and anything else that might be useful for food or fuel. They had made several trips back to the camp dragging loads of wood.

They started their fires next to the wall of rocks. The children and the elderly were placed closest to the shelter settling the horses on the outside. Toward dawn the same groups went out to replenish their supplies of wood.

Crow Fox had moved a little ways from his group pausing at a small stream to refill his water skin and collect willow bark. Hearing the sounds of a struggle and cries of pain, he started toward the sounds when gunshots rang out. Not wanting to put himself in danger, but wanting to help his brothers, he moved cautiously toward to sounds. He had nothing to use to defend against men with guns.

He heard the sounds of horses, the jingle of military harness, and the shouts of the soldiers. He turned to see how close the soldiers are when someone grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him around. Something hard hit his cheekbone causing him to grey out. His heavy coat protected his body from many of the blows, but skin became exposed as his attacker pulled on his coat. The riding quirt the man is wielding makes contact with his unprotected head, neck, and arms keeping him dazed and unable to defend himself. Finally pulling Crow Fox's coat off, the attacker continued lashing out at the young healer. He finally curled in on himself wrapping his arms over his head. He was almost unconscious when he heard someone yelling the name given to him by his mother.

"JENSEN!" The writer fell to his knees beside the healer.

Steven gently pulled the bloody arms away from his head, talking, trying to get Crow Fox to focus. The soldiers had gone ahead to check the others, rounding up the men responsible for the attack. He helped Crow Fox to his feet, wrapped his coat around him, and onto his horse. He stepped into the stirrup and swung up behind the wounded man and headed back to camp.

Steven headed back to the fires where he was met by Whitepath's daughter, Dancing Willows. Whitepath had named Crow Fox his son so that it would proper for the healer to remain with his family. Dancing Willows' husband had died from small pox and Crow Fox had been helping with her children, Fly Swift and Whitepath's widows. Several braves came to help ease the bloody man off the horse and carried him to the fire.

Not wanting to expose the shocky man to the cold they left his heavy clothing in place. One of the children brought Dancing Willows Crow Fox's medicine pouches.

While Steven held the underweight body upright Dancing Willows began gently cleaning his face, neck and head.

Many of the cuts were superficial and only required cleaning. Several on his neck and arms, and where the man had laid open Crow Fox's cheek with the butt of the quirt handle would require stitching.

"Should we get the Army surgeon?" Steve asked quietly.

At the word Army Crow Fox started to struggle. Dancing Willows spoke quietly in Cherokee until he settled back against Steven's chest.

"No. Crow Fox has been teaching me. I know what to do. My brother has the finest sewing needles in all the tribes. He will not look so fine as he did this morning, but he will still be pleasing to look upon." Dancing Willows removed a strip of deer skin from inside the pouch.

"I don't care what he looks like so long as he is well." Steve growled at the woman.

She smiled knowingly at the writer as she threaded the thinnest of the sinew through the eye of the fine embroidery needle.

Blue eyes met black. "Above all else he is my friend and has opened my eyes to many things."

Dancing Willows nodded as though she understood something Steven did not, and continued with her stitching.

They soon had the healer settled. Dark eyes settled once more on the blond.

"You should return to your people. They will become concerned when you do not return." Dancing Willows prodded.

Steven was torn. He knew she was right. He did not want cause trouble, but he hated the thought of not being able to keep watch over Crow Fox.

"Hopefully they will allow us to cross tomorrow, and all will be well." She suggested coyly.

"I pray you are right, madam." Steven carefully laid the dark blond head onto his saddle pad as he slid out from under the younger man.

Riding back the Army bivouac, Steven thought about how happy he'd been just a few hours before after returning from Smithburg where he'd found a letter and bank draft from his friend, Thomas. There was also a letter was from Thomas's editor, William Cullen Bryant praising his observations and writing style. The fact that his ex-editors at the Intelligencer were angry about Bryant poaching their writer was icing on the cake for the New York Evening Post.

Steven had wanted to share his good news with Crow Fox when he'd ridden into the nightmare of the attack on the braves gathering wood. He found himself becoming confused by his feelings about the prejudices of the whites. Where once he had tolerated or brushed aside such behavior, he now found it appalling, and knowing someone who was a victim of said prejudice caused him to want to lash out at those who had hurt his friend.

The writer wondered if he was starting to 'go native', or if the feelings of violence he was experiencing was the effect of watching man's violence against his fellow man. Either way he resolved to spend more time with Crow Fox while he had the opportunity.

When Crow Fox woke, Dancing Willows children lay tucked against him. He could hear the mourning wails of the families whose loved ones had died from the cold. He quietly asked Sings to the Sky to get his medicine pouch and some water. The solemn child nodded and scrambled over to his belongings. Swift Running went to inform his mother that Crow Fox was awake while the healer mixed a potion for his throbbing head and face.

Dancing Willows bought a bowl of what passed for their rations. Green eyes look up at the woman he has come to see as a sister.

"Have you and the children eaten?" He asked quietly as he felt along his cheekbone.

"Yes." She handed him the bowl. "Your friend Steven brought you from where you were attacked. He was very worried."

"He has become a good friend." Crow Fox answered as he crumbled a piece of hardtack into the anemic looking stew. "How many were hurt?"

"Five plus you. Three were killed." She answered quietly.

"Have they said when we will cross the river?" He forced himself to continue to eat.

"Tomorrow. The people of the town want us gone and have pressured the ferry man."

The medicine easing the ache in his head, Crow Fox climbed out of his blankets. Dancing Willows started to protest, he reminded her of why he was traveling with this band instead of his family.

He started toward where they members of the band were burying their dead only to find Steven walking at his left shoulder.

"You do not…" Crow Fox started.

Steve raised his hand. "Yes I do."

With a nod the two men continued across the camp. Steve quietly followed the healer from camp site to camp site where he spoke the traditional words over each cairn as they had lost several of the elder medicine people and priests to illness and exposure on the trek.

Steve had started on several occasions to insist Crow Fox return to his camp when the freckled face would pale and the exhausted body would sway. The writer would start forward to offer his support, but a glare from the healer silenced his concerns.

Finally when the last family had been attended, Crow Fox allowed Steven to wrap an arm around his waist and support him back to his campsite.

Steven appeared the next morning to help load the horses putting the children on his horse as Crow Fox helped Dancing Willows onto his gelding. The writer's anger rose when he heard the ferry man saying it would cost $1 a head for the Cherokee to cross the river. He wanted cash-not a voucher from the Army.

"I can…" Steven started, but Crow Fox shaking his head stopped the sentence midway.

Crow Fox approached the ferry man.

"Elijah." The once melodic voice had been broken by the blows of the quirt handle to his throat, greeted the leader of their group with respect.

"Crow Fox?" The elder flushed as he looked at the stitches on the healer's face.

Crow Fox handed him a pouch. "I believe this should cover the passage for my very large family."

Curious Hicks reached into the pouch and pulled out a handful of gold nuggets. The ferry man's eyes lit up when he saw the money laying in the bronze hand.

"A little something I picked up in our travels." The sore throat rasped quietly.

Speculation and greed colored the man's eyes as his glance went from the gold to Crow Fox and back to the gold.

"Well now…" He started to rub his chin whiskers in a calculating manner.

"Now see here Mr. Berry!" Elijah started as Steven gasped then calmed so that Crow Fox could make his play.

Crow Fox placed a restraining hand on Hicks' arm.

"Mr. Berry. I understand the value the white man places on such stuff. There is enough there for the crossing of every man, woman, child and animal that were allowed to remain in our possession. Therefore it is my opinion that you should be about your job."

The steel behind the raspy voice had Berry, Steven and Hicks taking a step back from the healer and with a spate of curses under his breath, Berry began to ferry people across the river, Hicks holding the pouch until everyone had crossed.

Once everyone was across the river they made their way slowly across the winter ravaged Ozarks toward Ft. Gibson. Provisions became harder to purchase as towns along the route were reluctant to part with supplies they might need to get their families through the remainder of the winter.

The animals pulling the wagons were given first priority while the riding animals and stock for the soldiers were forced more and more to forage for what could found under the snow.

People and animals alike were soon pared down to flesh and bone. All their energy went to taking the next step, finding the next meal, getting up off the frozen ground in the morning to start the struggle over again. Each morning there were a few more that never got out of their blankets. Brethren left behind without the proper burial rites-Crow Fox prayed that their spirits would complete their journeys with only the simple services they were allowed to give.

Steven had become a fixture at the shoulder of Crow Fox. While he observed the trials of the Cherokee as individuals, he quietly worried about his friend. The healer rarely rested, attending to the needs of others before his own, glaring when Steven or Dancing Willows admonished him for it, then continued as he saw fit.

They were thirty miles out of Tahlequah, Oklahoma when Crow Fox finally succumbed to malnutrition, exhaustion and exposure. Dancing Willows' children were riding his dun while he walked alongside, Dancing Willows riding Steven's mare. Steven and Crow Fox were walking side by side conversing quietly with Dancing Willow, speculating about what they might find when they got to Ft. Gibson. Steven turned back to Crow Fox to find the gelding nuzzling the long brown hair from where the healer had crumbled in the snow.

"JENSEN!"

"CROW FOX!"

Steven and Dancing Willows rushed to pick him up out of the snow.

"'m okay." Crow Fox muttered as he tried to stand on his own.

Both gave a snort of disbelief as they helped Crow Fox onto Steven's mare. He spent most of the day dozing in the saddle, but when the group stopped for the night he was once again making his way through the camp doing what he could for the sick and injured. The number of medicine people had dwindled until there were fifty to seventy-five people to every healer.

When he got back to where he had left Dancing Willows and the children, she had their evening rations waiting. They were all that was left of the group that started out with Whitepath and Fly Swift. The children fell asleep quickly while Crow Fox sat staring into his drinking cup.

"We will be separated when we reach Ft. Gibson." He stated flatly. She gave a little gasp as she considered his words. "They will remember what I am and they will finish my banishment."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You have truly become my brother." She said sadly. "What will you do?"

"I will try to remain forgotten until Strong Heart has rested and rebuilt his strength. Then I will leave. They say the west is a very big place. I will follow the spirits until they tell me to stop."

"What about Steven?" She asked coyly.

Crow Fox looked away a blush tinged his cheeks.

"He will walk his path. Most likely he will return to the east-to his family and friends." Sadness touched his words.

"We could come with you. I have no family left." Her voice hitched.

Smiling sadly, Crow Fox cupped her cheek.

"You have much to give to some very lucky brave. I would not have you waste your life and your children's lives by following me into more of the unknown." His face brightened. "Find my mother when my village gets here. She would welcome you, and when you are alone, you could perhaps speak of me to put to rest her fears." He handed her a photograph.

Tucking the picture into a safe place, Dancing Willows looked at her own son.

"I know how my heart would feel if something was to happen to my son, but I will do as you ask." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bundle wrapped in deer hide. "His most important possessions were buried with him, but these were things he cherished that were from his family."

"But your children…"

"Have their own things from their father and grandfather. These are the things he wished to do before the spirits called him to lead our people." She wrapped his hands around the bundle.

"If I were a better man I would not let you leave my side." Crow Fox hugged the bundle to his chest.

"If I were the one your spirit cries out for, I too would not leave, but we are not those people. Know from now on I will speak of my brother, White Crow, who left us do the bidding of the spirits." She gave him a soft smile. "Now it is time to rest for too soon they will chase us from our blankets."

Dancing Willows moved to curl around her children. The newly renamed White Crow curled around the other side so they might share their warmth.

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They were travelling between Tahlequah and Ft. Gibson when they were met by a contingent from the fort bringing supplies to the starving ragtag group. As the first to arrive they were housed in long houses and homesteads of Old Settler Cherokee who abandoned their homes, moving further into the Territories because they did not want to associate with the newcomers.

Hicks saw to it that the remaining family members of the chiefs were settled first in respect for their status. White Crow remained with Dancing Willows. Their first week was spent mostly eating, sleeping, cleaning, and answering a multitude of questions, and receiving food and clothing from the supplies that had been put in place for the arriving Cherokee.

The house they had given to Dancing Willows had a lean-to attached. White Crow was able to stable his gelding, Strong Heart out of the weather and was pleased to find a supply of hay and grain to feed the faithful gelding.

Steven had disappeared behind the walls of the fort right after their arrival and had not re-appeared. White Crow had been concerned that Steven had crossed some imaginary line the Army had imposed by befriending him.

White Crow himself had kept out of sight as much as possible. He often secreted himself in the lean-to when anyone would come to the house. He did not want to leave until he and Strong Heart were better rested, and he knew what had happened to Steven.

Sometimes the black robes, priests of the white man's church, would come with their ledgers and ask their names, and the names of their families. They said it was so there would be a record for when the others came they could be rejoined with the families, but many of the elders did not want friends of the Washington government to take another piece of their souls so they gave them false names to keep the tricksters away.

White Crow gave them the white name is mother had given him, Crow Fox, hoping if the black robes words were true, his mother would find some comfort in seeing his name on what was called the 'Dawes Rolls'. He collected the supplies to which he was entitled for letting them put his name in the book, and was told to return every week at the same time for his next rations.

He calculated three weeks of rations and rest for him and Strong Heart then they would leave. Though it was still the time of the Cold Moon, he could feel the promise of spring in the wind. Strong Heart would have forage for there was little snow on the ground. Times would be difficult until the Windy Moon, but after surviving the trip to the Indian Territories, White Crow was not concerned about the occasional empty belly.

Dancing Willows came with news that a group of new arrivals traveling with Capt. John Benge were camped near the river. Her news that very few had been lost during the trip lightened his heart. According to the gossip most of their Council survived, it was the oldest members of the tribe that had perished on the journey. The Army was hoping to engage the Council member's help in establishing order and cooperation among the various tribes.

"I hope the Army was smart enough to talk to the women and not the men." White Crow chuckled, his voice still carrying the effects of the attack in Missouri. "I fear trouble will come when the eastern chiefs arrive and try to exert control over the western tribes."

Returning to repairing his heavy coat, White Crow paid no mind as Dancing Willows watched him. She studied her handiwork where she had stitched his face and throat. She knew with time they would lose their angry red color, but for now they were constant reminders of the attack. If the handle of the quirt had hit a little higher White Crow could have lost his eye-or worse his life.

He would always carry the rasp where the toe of a boot had damaged his voice box. Dancing Willows had not seen him without his shirt since she had stitched his arms and chest. His heavy coat had protected him until the attacker had pulled it off. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned her attention to what Crow Fox was saying.

"…with so many of your clans diminished, it might be wise for you to merge with another."

"I know I cannot talk you out of leaving, but your mother…" She stopped when White Crow began shaking his head.

"She has accepted that I am gone. I would not start her grieving again." The set of his jaw told her he would not be swayed.

Then she noticed all his gear lying by the table, patches and new stitches over much of it.

"When will you leave?"

"After the next round of rations." He ducked his head. "Strong Heart is rested and we are in no hurry."

"What of your friend?" Dancing Willows tried once more to tempt him to stay.

He shrugged and continued to run his hand over they already mended coat.

"He will find me or not as is his path."

"Why are you leaving it all in the hands of the spirits?" She was getting angry that he was not fighting harder to get what he needed.

Green eyes sparkled with unshed tears when White Crow raised his head.

"It is all I know. It is all I have been taught as a healer and by Grandfather."

Dancing Willows sighed. She crouched down resting her hand on his thigh.

"I do not wish to sound like the scolding blue jay, but you gave much to fulfill my father's vision, I wish the spirits would reward you for giving up your family."

He gave her a slight smile.

"I do not think that is how it works, but I thank you for not turning me away. I wish you happiness, Little Sister." He stood pulling her to her feet and giving her a hug.

Part III