Seneca Surrender Read Online Free

now lay elsewhere.

Two
     
    The sun was a low, pinkish-orange orb in the sky, announcing its departure from the day in glorious streaks of multicolored sunlight. Shafts of light, streaming from the clouds, beamed down to the earth, looking as though heaven itself smiled kindly upon the land. And what a magnificent land it was. The birch trees were yellow, the maples red, and the oaks announced their descent into a long, winter’s sleep with multicolored oranges and golds. The hills were alive with autumn hues, while the air was filled with the rich, musky scent of falling leaves.
    Into this world of beauty came the delicate and pale figure of a woman, looking as though she had been plopped down on a large, flat rock. To a casual eye, it might have appeared as though she were engaged in nothing as untoward as taking in the sun. However, closer inspection would have shown that she had only recently been washed to shore.
    Soon, the lone figure of a man emerged from the forest. Buckskin clad, he was tall, black-haired and brown-skinned, with a mohawk hairstyle that hung long and well past his shoulders in back. He’d been hunting this day, very far from his home. From deep within the forest, he’d felt the breeze and heard the rustle of the water. These things had called to him.
    Stepping quietly toward the lake, he looked up, his gaze one of admiration for the splendor of the woodlands. Squatting down and setting his musket onto his lap, he bent over to partake of a drink from the water’s cool depths.
    Instantly he sat up, alert. From out the corner of his eye he’d caught the movement of something, and glancing toward it, he recognized a piece of clothing; it was a woman’s skirt. Rising up, he stepped toward it to get a better look, if only to satisfy his curiosity.
    That’s when he saw her. She was a white woman, blond-haired and slim.
    Was she alive?
    Hauling himself up onto the rock where she lay, he stepped toward her and bent to look at her. He placed his fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. Her body was so very, very cold, and he was more than a little surprised when he felt the sure sign of life within her.
    The pulse was weak, but it was still there.
    Turning her slightly, he was surprised at her pale beauty. Of course, being Seneca and from the Ohio Valley, he’d had opportunity to witness the unusual skin color of the white people. But it wasn’t as familiar a sight to him as one might reckon.
    Who was she? How had she gotten here? And what had happened to her?
    Glancing in all directions, he took in the spectacular sights of the forest. Where did she belong? Who did she belong to?
    There was nothing here to answer him; nothing to be seen, no other human presence to be felt. There was nothing but the ever expansive rhythm of nature.
    Using his right hand to brush her hair back from her face, he noted again how cold she was, however, he couldn’t help but be aware of how soft her skin was, as well. Putting his fingers against her nostrils, he could feel the weak intake and outflow of breath. She was alive, barely.
    Did he dare take her away from here? A white woman?
    He hesitated and waited. He watched. Nyoh , he was the only one here, the only one to settle her fate.
    That decided him. If she were to live through the night, he had best take care of her. She needed warmth, nourishment and a chance to heal.
    Bending down, he spread his hands over her torso. Depending on the type of injury he might discover, he would either nurse her here or take her to a more protected spot. He ran his hands gently down each of her arms, including her hands and fingers. He felt for anything broken but found nothing.
    Spreading his fingers wide, he sent his touch down the sides of her ribs, ignoring her ample breasts. Though his scrutiny was fast, it was thorough. Were there any bruises? Was anything broken? Amazingly, he found nothing.
    He continued his search down each of her legs. Surely, he thought, there must