The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby Read Online Free Page A

squirrels. From floor to canopy, songbirds filled the ancient forests. Perched high above the forest floor, their incessant chatter pronounced judgment upon the happenings below. The plaintive cry of a lone wolf would echo unabated along the mountain’s spine and careen off the granite valley wall until absorbed in the depth of primal indifference.
    Such was the world known to Tyoga and his Native American brother, Tes Qua Ta Wa.
    Tyoga had grown up as a living bridge connecting two disparate cultures. His family had settled in a savage and raw land. He had been given the rare gift of living among the Indians who had accepted him—and the Weathersby family—as members of their tribe.
    The rhythm of daily Indian life had so influenced his formative years that he grew restless in the more regimented lifestyle of the Weathersby family home. The European traditions of molding the land to conform to the dictates of plow and hearth were at odds with the man he would ultimately become.
    The Indians lived in harmony with the natural world and allowed their lives to be governed by nature’s cues. Waking when roused by the warmth of the rising sun; following the game and harvesting only that which they needed to survive; growing from seed those crops nurtured through generations of careful cultivation; and reaping the forest’s seasonal bounties of roots, berries, leaves and legumes was their way of life. Young children ran naked and free, embracing their true nature and accepting the gift of entitlement bestowed to the bear and beaver, eagle and elk. Free to stand safely alone among the tall whispering pines while reveling in the wind’s embrace and the warmth of the sun on their naked skin; they were a people as sensuously alive and secure as the birds in the sky, the otters in the rivers, and the wolves in the protective embrace of their pack.
    Seasoned mountain travelers at the age of twelve, Tyoga and Tes Qua were enjoying the warmth of the autumn day. Leather breached and loin clothed, the two scampered along the multicolored tapestries that were the woodland trails this time of year. Brilliantly colored autumn leaves, soft and spongy beneath their moccasined feet, gave an extra spring to their boundless energy. Discounting the peril, they’d leap from boulder to boulder sure-footed and confident, each trying to outdo the other with distance and danger.
    Stopping at favorite outcroppings on their way to the trout pond, they lay their naked backs against the rocks and basked in the glow of the sun’s rays. The sun-warmed rocks relaxed their taut young muscles. Their gentle coarseness triggered an instinctive sensual pleasure. Fingers locked behind their heads, the boys gazed up to the heavens for hours. From time to time, they interrupted the silence with interpretations of the cotton ball clouds silently floating upon the updrafts of the mountain breeze.
    “Ut se Ty. Kamama.”
    “Ahh, that don’t look like no butterfly. Eet sa tsa-yo-ga.”
    “Tla. Kla tsa-yo-ga. Kamama.”
    “Well, it looks more like a bluejay than a butterfly to me.”
    As was their habit, the two spoke in competing tongues. Tes Qua’s English was clean and formal as he had learned the language at a very early age thanks to his constant companionship with the Weathersbys.
    Whereas, Tes Qua spoke English with the deliberateness of one who had the advantage of seeing the written word, Tyoga had learned the dialect of the Amonsoquath while sitting around the campfires of his Indian brothers’ lodges. Tyoga had no written guide in learning Tsalagi. He learned by imitation and mimicry.
    What the boys enjoyed even more than interpreting the puffy white clouds passing by was watching the eagles soar high over head on the rising thermal currents of the clear mountain air. Untethered by earthly bonds, the masters of their universe were free of the laws that govern all other creatures. Recognizing no boundaries or limits, accepting no sanctions nor