Faith Blum

“The Unnamed Cherokees” by Nikki S.

Stories by Students

Kind of sad, but this is the second to last story from the students. Nikki S. took a very creative perspective. She wrote a story about the Cherokee Indians I never named or developed. In case today is the first time you’ve seen this series of posts, my friend is reading A Mighty Fortress to her students for their Christian Literature class and challenged them to write back stories of one of the characters in my first book. It was a lot of fun reading them all.  Enjoy the story and watch for the last story tomorrow! Note: The stories will all be unedited and posted as each high school student wrote them.

The Unnamed Cherokees

By Nikki S.

The sun beat down on my dark skin as I lay in the middle of an open prairie. My eyes were closed and I could feel the sun rays seeping through my eyelids. The tranquility in the rushing wind captivated me.I breathed in deeply and various smells met my nose. I tried to determine the origin of each scent. Using the skills my father had taught me, I found five. First I smelt the scent of two different types of flowers, daisies and Lavender. Next was the smell of the grass waving all around me and brushing against my face. The air around me had the distinctive smell of summer.The last smell that met my nose was that of a horse. I suddenly felt a gust of air blow onto my face. I opened my eyes to see the nose of my horse above me.

“HelloMoondance!” I say pushing her nose away from my face then briskly standing to my feet. My beautiful grey horse pranced sideways, swishing her silver tail, as if to tell me she wanted to run. I lay my hand on her smooth muzzle and her blue eyes glistened as if she knew what I was thinking. In one quick motion I swing my body onto her sleek back. “Let’s run” I whisper into her ear. Moondance heaves herself forward with such force and power I felt as though I would be left behind. Her legs moved rhythmically with my heart beat, and our bodies moved as one. My silken black hair whipped back and forth around my face as we ran into the strong wind. I let go of Moondance’s mane and spread my arms out and tilted my head back. As I looked at the sky I saw an eagle soaring high above us. Moments like these freed my mind to imagine impossible things.

I imaginedMoondanceand myselfflying higher than the snowcapped mountains surrounding us and racing the eagle through the clouds. I can understand why they call me Dreamer. Suddenly something seized my attention and took me back to reality. On the other side of the field I saw a moving teepee being pulled by horses.A wagon, I had heard my father call it. I heard a woman scream then the ruff sound of angry men. Before I had time to think I heard the sound of a white man’s weapon ring through the valley.

Moondance swung herself around and bolted in the opposite direction. By the way she was running I could tell I wouldn’t be able to stop her for a while. Suddenly I heard the weapon again but this time I felt a sharp sting in my left shoulder. I reach my right hand over to feel it and when I looked at my hand it was covered in blood. The pain was minimal, but I guessed that was because my body was in shock. My heart beat pounded in my ears and my vision blurred. I lost feeling in my upper body and slowly slid of my still galloping horse. As I plummeted to the ground my vision was replaced with blackness and I went unconscious.

I suddenly awoke in a strange place; I soon realized it was the white man’s wagon. I was about to get up when two people walked into the wagon. “I say we should just put the thing right out of its misery” I heard a man say in a deep gravelly voice. “Oh, don’t call her an ‘it’ she just a little girl!” I heard a sweet motherly voice say to the previous speaker. The manangrily responded, “It’s not a girl, it’s an Injun, and deserves no right to be titled!” An old woman’s voice cut into the argument, “Hush you two, you’ll scare the children bantering like that” she said in a hushed voice. “Well, what are we going to do with it-her?” The man asked in a quitter tone. “I have an idea” an old worn down voice said from the other side of me. “What would that be father?” The woman asked. “Well first let your mother tend to her wounds and once she is in better shape we go find the tribe she came from, then offer to give her back in exchange that they don’t bother us as we make our new homestead”

And so that is exactly what they did. I was safely returned to my family in good health and our chief agreed to leave the new people alone. We lived in peace for many years, but it didn’t last forever.On day, in fact it was on my tenth birthday, something changed. My brother and I were walking along a small creak that ran through the woods, it was the closest we ever dared to go to the white people. I was collecting fire wood and Deerfoot was hunting, when all of a sudden we heard a noise. There standing behind us was a young white boy. He didn’t seem frightened when I approached him, and we communicated well, mostly hand motions. His name was Joshua. After that day all three of us met there and he would show us things from his home, and we would bring things from ours. He also taught us some basic learning skills and how to speak, read and write English. In return I and Deerfoot taught him survival skills. We became the best of friends, and our friendship lasted years. Eventually his parents found out and so did mine, but soon we all learned to get along.

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