White Dusk by Susan Edwards Page A

dare say anything, for he could not deny the truth. Nor could he admit that he’d nearly fallen into his father’s footsteps—steps that would have led to dishonor and the loss of everything he’d worked hard to become and achieve.
    His uncle spoke: “A man who has known love—and maybe even more so, a man who has had that love, his beloved, ripped from his life—stands a good chance of recognizing the shadow that dwells in others’ hearts and soul. I see the pain you try to hide.” Charging Bull gave Swift Foot a knowing look, then paused once more to gather his words. “I knew when you came back. You did not bring this woman with you, but she was there in your eyes. I wish things could be different. Had I known…”
    Swift Foot sighed and glanced up into the sky. “You could have done nothing different. This love was not to be.”
    His uncle nodded. “Sometimes it is so. But you’ve known the deep joy of love, the completeness when two hearts join. You are a better man for it.” Charging Bull’s melancholy look faded. He drew himself up. “It is a gift. One that remains with us for the rest of our lives and will go with us to the spirit world.”
    “I hope that is true, Uncle,” Swift Foot said. Realizing he’d spoken the telling words aloud, he shifted uneasily.
    In an uncharacteristic display of affection, Charging Bull grabbed Swift Foot’s shoulders with his hands and pulled him in for a crushing hug. Then he stepped back, his eyes moist. “My son. My cinksi, ” he whispered. “Son of my brother. He would be proud of you this day.”
    Hearing the words, Swift Foot felt regret. He knew very little of the man who’d given him life—or of the woman. But the anger and resentment he’d always felt toward his father faded. He now understood how his father could have chosen love over his duty to his tribe. He wanted to himself.
    His uncle started to walk away, then turned back. “Give this woman you marry a chance. The pain of losing my wife was such that I chose not to marry another—and now I am a lonely old man. Do not be afraid to let someone new into your heart.” And with those words, Charging Bull briskly strode off.
    Swift Foot resumed his grooming of the mare. He examined his uncle’s words. “I am not afraid,” he said to the restless horse. “I cannot fear losing what I do not want.”
    With quick, efficient movements, he finished combing and cleaning the mud from the gray beast. Taking a pot of red paint, he drew a small bird on its rump, adding black slashes and yellow zigzags. Next he tied braids of dried sweetgrass to the long mane, along with small puffs of eagle down. He left the tail loose and flowing, but added a thick pad of sewn-together rabbit furs onto the mare’s back. Fur and claws dyed yellow, red and black hung from each side. The horse’s rawhide bridle, too, had been carefully lined with rabbit fur.
    Taking hold of the lead rope, Swift Foot closed his eyes, praying for the strength to go through with the dictates of his elders. He reached up and fingered the tiny hide pouch that hung over his heart, rubbing the softened leather together and staring up into the sky. The clouds above him had parted slightly, allowing a thin sliver of blue to peep through.
    Scanning the horizon, seeing the approach of another late-summer storm, Swift Foot knew that the bit of clear sky wouldn’t last. Just like the love he’d known. In Emily’s eyes, he’d found a ray of happiness—happiness that honor demanded he destroy. Forced to return to his tribe and his duties, Swift Foot had left his true love to be found by a trapper. She’d tried to run after Swift Foot, but like a shadow he’d slipped away.
    He hadn’t left, though. He’d waited. He’d watched over her as she screamed and cried for him to return. His own tears had fallen with hers. He’d remained nearby, hidden in the early dawn, until she was found by the other man, one he knew would care for her. Then he’d