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Arrival

Awinita, a young, Cherokee girl, watches as a European ship arrives on the shores of her village. Whether they are a Friend or an enemy, is unknown.

By Jenna TomovichPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
2
https://hudsonvalleyone.com/2017/08/02/spanish-galleon-sails-into-kingston-this-weekend/

We had been told stories of the great ships carrying the strange, white men. Travelers from other tribes had brought the white man’s items to trade; things we had never seen. They tell us stories of their encounters with them, and their golden hair and blue eyes. Our elders warned us that they could be dangerous, others believed they could be friends. I couldn’t help but wonder about these men. Who are they? Where did they come from? Why is their hair the color of the wheat we harvest? What do they want? These questions ran through my mind like rapids, as I watched the distant ship on the horizon grow closer to the shore.

“They’re here! They’re coming!” cried the lookout. I stood still, mesmerized by the magnitude of the alien ship, as caos transpired around me. The men grabbed spears and bows while the women herded children to shelter. Our horses neighed and winnied as if they were uneasy about the new visitors. Some of the young members of the tribe, along with myself, ran to the shore to witness the arrival of the white men. I watched the men take defensive positions along the beach, ready in case of an unfriendly greeting. Someone grabbed my arm and tugged me back. It was my older brother, Waya. “Awinita, what are you doing out here? You should be in the house with the rest of the women! It’s not safe!” he reprimanded sternly. I ripped my arm from his strong grasp, “I’m not a child, brother. I want to see the white men for myself!” Waya was much taller than me, and strong like an oak. His dark eyes glared at me with irritation, “I am the leader of our family. I say you go to the house and stay there. Father left me in charge of keeping our family safe, and I will not let your curiosity get you killed,” he said, taking my arm once again and leading me back toward the village. I trudged along behind him like a colt, defeated.

Waya didn’t let go of my arm until we were at the door of our hut. He hastily lifted the entry flap and guided me inside. “Watch her! Make sure she stays put,” he instructed my mother. Waya then ran back in the direction of the beach, leaving me with the women of my family. “Awinita, you are always looking for trouble!” my mother scolded as she pulled me further inside. “Did you see them? Were they as tall and pale as they say?” my little sister, Yona, asked excitedly. “No, Yona. You can thank Waya for that,” I replied, sitting down on the floor. “He is right to not let you stay. That is no place for a young woman,” my mother said. I rolled my eyes. I was better with a bow and arrow than most of the boys my age. They would need me if a fight broke out. My oldest sister, Ama, called out to us from the back of the hut, “Come, quickly! We must hide!” My mother and younger sister and I hastily joined her in the small hiding chamber, hidden by a thatch of twigs and straw. We all crouched down, holding tightly to each other.

It seemed like hours that we remained in the hiding place. My knees hurt, and my legs ached from crouching. We had only had to hide like this once before, the day my father was killed. Another tribe attacked, and our men fought to save our village. We were victorious, but lost many men, including my father. I knew it was painful for my mother to be in the hiding place again. It brought back those terrible memories of losing father. “How long must we wait in here?” Yona complained. “Until Waya comes and tells us it’s safe,” my mother replied, gently petting Yona’s long, black hair. We continued to crouch there in silence for another few minutes, when we heard loud popping sounds coming from the beach. They were like cracks of thunder, one after another. There were shouts and screams, some in a language I did not know. “What is that? What’s going on?” Yona cried. My mother held her tighter, unable to answer. Ama held on to me, and with every loud crack, she squeezed me tighter. Eventually, the screams and cracking noises stopped, and an uneasy silence settled in the air. No one moved, or even seemed to take a breath.

Suddenly, it was as if my feet were possessed, and I leaped out of the hiding place and ran for the door. My mother shouted for me to return, but I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t hide like I did when my father died. I threw open the entry flap to the hut and bolted out onto the path leading to the beach. The air smelled burned, like someone had lit it on fire. I could hear distant shouting in the strange language, and felt my heart pound harder and faster. I was running as fast as I could, so fast that I didn’t see the stone before I stumbled. I hit the ground so hard that it knocked the wind out of me. As I gasped for air and hoisted myself up onto my hands and knees, a large figure approached. It stood over me, blocking the sun. I stared up at it, my eyes adjusting to the light.

I slowly regained my footing and rose up to face the mysterious figure. It was a man. A tall, pale, golden-haired man, like the stories. He stared down at me with eyes the color of the ocean, his expression cold like stone. I realized in that moment that the day we knew would come had came, and with it, our end.

fiction
2

About the Creator

Jenna Tomovich

Hey guys! My name is Jenna and I'm a twenty-something post-grad living in the DC area! I mostly write for fun and it's always been a hobby of mine. I hope you enjoy my stores and that they bring some excitement to your day!

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