Hunter's Moon

Tobias Smith emerged from the inky depths of the root cellar tunnel, kicked the trap door shut and ran as swiftly as his six-year-old legs could carry him for the safety of the forest. In the distance, he could hear the hoots and screams of the savages as they finished destroying his home. Heart pounding furiously, he scrambled up the small embankment, his small, bare feet slipping precariously on the rocks and loose slate. Tears left trails through the grime on his cheeks, his thick, dark lashes clumping in spikes. Only when he was within the safety of the trees did he chance looking back. Flames licked high above the willows as the front of his house was ablaze. The bodies of his father and big sister, Sarah, lay bloody and mutilated on the front porch, scalps torn free from their heads to hang on the waists of two of three Mohawk warriors. Toby thought of his mother shoving him down the steps of the tunnel his father had dug for emergencies just like this.

“Hurry, Toby-Bear, and don’t look back, even for a moment,” she had begged him, tears flowing

freely, “Go to the cabin on Wolfjaw Mountain, where daddy takes you hunting, and

there!”

“But what about you, mommy? Aren’t you coming with me?” he said through his tears.

“Not yet, Toby,” she said, her eyes filled with pain, “I have something I have to do before I come

after you. Be brave, baby boy, do as mommy says and hurry!”

She opened the trapdoor in the barn, careful to be as silent as possible as she helped her young son down the steep steps. Giving him a candle, she looked one last time into his blue eyes, memorizing every sweet inch of it. From his little nose sprayed lightly with freckles, to his dimpled cheeks, still babyish and plump. Kissing his forehead, she breathed in the scent of sweat and boy, getting a flashback of an infant cradled in her arms as she was lulled to sleep by the sweet sounds of a baby breast-feeding.

“Mommy!” he cried, “don’t leave me!”

“I’ll never leave you, Toby-Bear,” she said, “Now go! Hurry!”

She shut the trapdoor, his cries lingering in her ears as she ran for the house.

Toby ran through the woods, his bare feet, though toughened up from playing outside without shoes, now felt tender and sore as he stepped on branches, small stones and prickly underbrush. The Mohawk Indian tribes of the Mohawk Valley, were afraid of Wolfjaw, claiming evil spirits abided there. Shapeshifters and vengeful tree spirits just waiting to claim members of the People if they set foot anywhere around the mountain. His father was told by old Sam Wheeler, a hermit in nearby Johnstown, about the Mohawk’s fear of Wolfjaw and he built the cabin accordingly. Toby and Josh used the cabin during the fall months to replenish the winter supplies, usually staying a little more than two weeks, hunting and fishing without fear of attack. At home, his mother, Catherine and sister, Sarah, gathered nuts, berries and medicinal plants to add to the household’s apothecary. Sarah was known in the area for her healing abilities and midwifery skills. But by some, she was known as the local witch. Although left alone by most, there were some who looked upon her with suspicion and fear, not understanding, or wanting to, the art of herbal medicine. Toby remembered how Mr. and Mrs. Van Horn came to their cabin with Reverend Smith, and their young daughter, Alissa. She’d accused his mother of witchery, telling the reverend that the reason their crops failed was because she set a curse on them. The reverend had the good grace to be embarrassed by the house call, his own small child just recently healed by Sarah’s gentle medicine.

Toby had about two miles to travel, and to a frightened child of six, it may as well have been fifty miles. Keeping his mind occupied with visions of reuniting with his mother, he trudged forward, ignoring the pain of his bleeding feet the best he could. Stopping every now then to sob uncontrollably, his small legs trembled with exhaustion. He wondered if he were having a nightmare, and prayed that it were so. He wanted mommy, and wondered what it was she had to do.

Sarah Smith was overwhelmed with rage and grief. She’d watched her husband and daughter brutally murdered by the painted savages from the upstairs window, screaming in horror as the Mohawks cut across their foreheads and ripped the scalps back brutally. Knowing what she had to do, Sarah hid her remaining child in the tunnel, instructing him to run to the family hunting cabin. Running back to the house through the back door, she could hear the Mohawks in the kitchen as they rummaged through her family’s belongings, breaking and destroying what they’d worked so hard for. The Indian’s hair was plucked all around their heads, save for a patch on the very top that hung down their backs in thick plaits. Decorated with beads and feathers, face painted with black designs, they were terrifying to behold. Their laughter, as her family died brutal deaths, would be forever etched in her nightmares. Sarah’s rage continued to build as she crept up the stairs to the loft where she and her husband slept. With the front porch in flames, she knew she had little time to do what was taught to her by her grandmother.

Dropping to her knees, she reached up under the bed on her side, pulling out a medium-sized box. Ancient looking, the box held all of her Wiccan paraphernalia handed down by her grandmother and her grandmother before that. Sarah couldn’t deny her heritage even if she tried. Quickly, before the red devils were aware of her presence, she opened the box with reverence, swiftly taking out all that lay within. Making a perfect circle of protection around herself with a small vial of salt, she took off the talisman from around her neck, placing it in the middle of the circle. Her talisman was made for her by her grandmother, who warned never to take it off. It was a powerful symbol of who she was. Inside the small bag, made from the stomach of a small black ferret, lay herbs such as Henbane and Datura to ward off evil spirits, a lock of her baby hair, a section of her umbilical cord, and lastly, a drop of her mother’s blood claiming the ancestry line. From the box, she also withdrew a small yellow candle, which she promptly lit, a clear piece of quartz, the bones of a rabbit, a knife, an apple, a small mirror, and the only known photo of her son, Toby, from the table near the bed. As she worked, she could hear the men downstairs as they laughed, calling out to her mockingly. They took their time, damn them, confident in their capture of her and her son. She stripped off all of her clothes, holding the quartz in one hand and the apple in the other. She chanted the words taught to her, charging each item with her energy. Eating a portion of the apple, she gazed into the mirror, picturing the form she wanted to turn into. Just as she was preparing to voice the shapeshifter spell, the three warriors appeared at the doorway.

Chaska, Neka, and Hok’ee, stared in astonishment at the sight before them. They’d traveled many miles, their village located in the Mohawk valley thirty miles away by the banks of the Mohawk River. The three brothers camped on the ridge just above the white settler,s homestead, having watched the family’s comings and goings for days. What they wanted was the boy. He would be a welcome addition to their village after Hantaywee, their aunt, lost her son to a flash flood this past Spring. The brothers were inseparable, rare triplets who were spoiled and catered to all of their lives. The supplies from the white family’s home, in addition to the boy, would elevate their status to soaring new heights. They saw the white woman run with the boy and knew she couldn’t get far with him. But this; witnessing the maniacal look in the woman's eyes, her nakedness, and the strange symbolism on the floor, was something never before seen.

Tears rolling down her face, Sarah spoke, chilling the brother’s blood.

“I cry out to the Ancient Ones from the great Abyss to do my bidding!” she yelled, “I invoke Cuthalu, the spirit of Anger and the Dark Ones of Under-Earth, hear my cry!

Bones of revenge, marrow to dust

full of ire, revenge is just

I scatter these bones, these bones of rage

seek thine enemy, bring him hurt.

I see thine enemy before me now,

Abolish him! Annihilate! Bring him down!

With these bones I now do crush

Make thine enemy turn to breath

torture, fire, painful death!

With this curse I damn your soul

So shall it be.

As the brothers watched in horror, the crazy white woman picked up the gleaming blade by her side, leaned over the items in the middle of the circle, and drew the knife across her neck quickly and precisely. What unnerved them the most was not the action itself, but the scrutinizing way she stared at them as her life’s blood pumped out the items she’d placed in the circle. The hate animating from those eyes was like a tangible, living thing coiling like vipers in the brother’s hearts. Backing away in fear, they turned and ran out of the house, grabbing the supplies on the way out. Never had the brothers witnessed such horror.

Outside, heart pounding furiously, Chaska spoke, “Brothers, we need to pray to the Great Spirit to protect from the she-devil’s medicine.” His voice trembled uncharacteristically.

“She must have hidden the boy,” Neka said, “We need to find him. He is a small child and could not have gotten far.”

“I think we should just go home, Chaska,” Hok’ee offered, “There are too many evil spirits here. We should not be here. Let us take our bounty from the house and just go back to the village without the child. Maybe he is the same as his mother. Filled with crazy spirits.”

Chaska didn’t want to leave without at least looking for the child. His pride would not let him. He refused to be bested by a woman, let alone a crazy white one.

“Are my brothers like scared women?” he asked scornfully, “The child is

now. We will find him and bring him home with us. Now brothers, let’s split up and search around for clues, footsteps, anything that will lead us to him.”

The brothers looked in the barn first, and sure enough, Chaska called out to the others from the back of the barn.

“Here!” he yelled, “I have found a door on the ground!”

They ran over finding footprints, large and small ones, all around the door in the dust. Chaska smiled. She thought she was smarter than he, but they would have the child. Cautiously opening the door, they marveled at how ingenious it was to have stairs that led into the earth. Even more amazing was the fact that it led to a tunnel underground. It must come out somewhere near the forest. Chaska couldn't wait to bring the boy home to his aunt and see how proudly she would look upon his face. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him with disappointment as if everything he did made her angry. When he offered her a son, he would see nothing but approval on her face.

The brothers, in their twenty-first year, were proud and arrogant. Many an Indian maiden fluttered her lashes and sent subtle hints of sexual promise wherever they went. Not used to being made a fool, especially by a white woman, the three men disregarded the village shaman’s advice about keeping away from the forest surrounding Wolfjaw Mountain. Finding the child’s trail was easy, and the men could tell the boy was not taking care to cover his tracks. With the sun low and to the west, its departure was short in coming. The brother’s decision didn’t come easy. They’d been told tales all of their young lives about the dark spirits in the woods surrounding Wolfjaw Mountain. Chaska remembered Cha’tima, their grandfather, telling them the story of Mingan, named after the Gray Wolf, a young Algonquin maiden whose village lies in a clearing at the foot of Wolfjaw. With hair like a waterfall of black dye, she was the envy of many, and the target of one in particular; Aiyana. Her jealousy was so rancorous, she lured Mingan into the forest and murdered the young maiden and her unborn child. Mingan’s blood soaked into the forest floor, mingling with that of her unborn baby forever. Now, those who enter those woods would feel the wrath of Gray Wolf’s spirit as she sought revenge. Chaska and his brothers surged forward, eager to capture the child and return home to bask in the glow of their accomplishments.

Toby was exhausted. Sitting on a moss-covered boulder, he rubbed his sore, bleeding feet gingerly. As the sun-kissed the horizon, the forest grew darker, more ominous. His eyes, swollen and red from crying, dripped large, pearl-shaped tears that soaked into the rich, loamy soil of the forest floor. The forest felt different than it had earlier, almost welcoming. But he felt as though he were being observed by something unseen. A few times he’d heard footsteps in between his own and stopped every now and then to listen. As he sat, wondering and hoping he was going in the right direction, the snap of a twig put him on alert. Standing quickly, he went around the boulder, ducking behind it as his heart pounded furiously in his small chest. Again, he heard the snap of a twig and the rustling of leaves as someone or something approached. He clenched his eyes shut, making himself as small as possible when the sounds intensified. Then, total silence. Opening his eyes, his thoughts racing, he wondered if he should take a chance and look. Curiosity got the better of him and he leaned over to peer around the huge rock. His eyes widened in shock, for sitting there quietly, head cocked to the side, a huge Gray wolf looked back at him, just as curious.

Strangely, Toby felt no fear of the magnificent creature. The wolf was huge, bigger than he’d ever seen. Last year, a small gray wolf was responsible for raiding their hen house, stealing and eating more than fifteen of his mother’s prize laying hens. This one made the chicken bandit look like a small dog. The gray and white fur was long and thick, mixing with darker coloring on its legs. The wolf’s tongue lolled lazily from in between impossibly long, white teeth, and its hazel colored eyes held Toby’s in a mesmerizing gaze. Head down, it seemed to want to communicate with him.

“Hi boy,” Toby said cautiously, “You're not going to eat me, are you?”

As if in reply, the wolf stood wagging its tail slowly, and Toby observed that he was a she.

“I think I’m lost,” Toby spoke in soft, soothing tones, not wanting to upset the wolf’s calm behavior. “Mommy said to go to the cabin that daddy and I stay when we hunt, but I’ve been walking and walking and my feet hurt. I don’t wanna walk anymore.”

At that, the wolf whined deep in her throat, approaching Toby slowly. The boy tightened up with fear, unsure of the animal’s intentions. At Toby’s feet, she crawled the last few steps on her belly, rolling over on her back in submission. Her tail thumped on the ground to show she meant Toby no harm.

“Aw, good doggie,” he crooned, “You're a good girl, aren’t you.”

Kneeling down, Toby stroked the silky white fur on the wolf’s belly softly, feeling confident she wouldn’t bite him. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother! The gray wolf sat up, licking Toby’s face gently with her warm tongue.

“Hey,” he giggled, “stop that, it’s gross! I’ll get wolf cooties!”

The wolf shook herself vigorously, then ran a few steps forward, glancing back to make sure Toby understood what it wanted. Toby saw something in the wolf’s eyes that was strangely familiar, compelling him to follow. As the shadows deepened and the forest grew darker, he knew he must hurry and find the cabin. Almost as if it read the boy's mind, the wolf sidled alongside of him, letting the child wrap his fingers in her fur for comfort as they walked. A preternatural sight, boy and wolf made their way through the forest as night sounds guided them to their destination.

Chaska, Hok’ee, and Neka walked soundlessly through the dark woods, fear quickening their step. For as they traveled, something in the dark traveled with them. They couldn’t see it or smell it, but they heard its soft whisperings through the rustling of the leaves. A feeling of trepidation and foreboding pricked at the tiny hairs on the backs of their necks. It brought them closer together, neither of them wanting to be alone in this place of demons and dark spirits. Customarily, one of the brothers forged ahead to explore. But in this place of shadows, they dared not separate. The forest breathed a strange mist that hung low to the ground, giving it a dream-like quality.

“I think we made a grave mistake coming to this place, brothers,” Neka said, “If the child is in here, he surely will not survive this night.”

“I agree with Neka, my brother,” Kov’ee said, “We need to leave here, Chaska, and as soon as possible.”

“Wait! Look!” Chaska pointed on the ground, “Wolf tracks!”

Examining the tracks, the three brothers noticed two things; the size of the wolf, and the fact that there were a set of child’s footprints walking

the wolf. Not ahead of it nor behind it, but right alongside of it.

“The child is protected by the spirit of Okwaho! He must have very powerful magic!” Chaska said, “This is a sign, my brothers! We must hurry and find the boy!”

The wolf, Okwaho, was a powerful totem for the Mohawk people. The boy belonged to them.

With this in mind, the brothers were determined to bring him back. As they continued tracking, whispers through the trees stopped them in their tracks.

“Did you hear that, Chaska?” Kov’ee asked fearfully.

The whispers continued, seeming to come from the trees themselves. Indeterminable voices flitting around and in between the branches and leaves. They listened closely, but could not understand what they were saying.

“It’s the dark spirits, pay them no mind,” Chaska said more to himself than his brothers, his trembling voice betraying his fear. “They are trying to distract us from what we came here to do.”

As they walked through the swirling mist, they caught glimpses of a full, Hunter’s moon peeking between the tree’s canopy, and something else. Neka stopped, pointing at something moving between the shadows..

“Did you see that?” he asked, “There’s something up there!”

As they watched, a shadowy figure moved from tree to tree, too quick to be human. Dark and ethereal, it flitted between the leaves and branches as they walked, keeping pace with them overhead.

“We must hurry,” Chaska told his brothers, “the Dark Ones know we’re here.”

The brother’s soft, moccasined feet quickened their pace, each wanting only to be free of the forest’s foreboding encompassment. The brothers sent up prayers to the Great Spirit for guidance and protection. Chaska knew that he should have listened to his brothers and the stories his aunt Chepa told them about Wolfjaw. It was too late now.

Toby and ‘his’ wolf came upon the cabin as it sat outlined glowing Moonshadow. He breathed a sigh of relief, his aching, bloody feet testament to his suffering. The wolf whined, scratching at the door of the cabin. Toby, too tired to think straight, forgot where his father always hid their key, promptly bursting into tears at this new dilemma. Sitting on the front steps, the moon overhead cast long shadows of the trees, the effect hauntingly beautiful. The Gray wolf pawed at a flower pot near the right side of the steps, and Toby’s countenance brightened. That’s right! That’s where daddy always put the key, he thought.

“How did you know, wolf?” he asked the large wolf. “Daddy put it there and I forgot.”

After several tries, Toby managed to unlock the cabin door. Turning around to let the wolf in, he saw it had disappeared.

“Wolf? Where’d ya go?” he called out into the forest. “Come back!”

The wolf was gone. Toby felt lonelier than he’d ever felt before as he walked into the cold, damp cabin. He looked inside of the fireplace seeing only white ashes and pieces of charred wood. The cabin was small, one-bedroom in a loft upstairs, and an open living room/kitchen downstairs. Pulling a chair over to the cupboard, he reached in to feel for the wooden matches so he could light the lantern on the table. He hoped he could remember how his father lit it. There they were, way over in the corner. Jumping down, he went back to the table and looked at the lantern. How did daddy do it? There were no openings to get to the wick inside. Then he remembered. Daddy unscrewed the top! Putting the matches down, he tried it, hooting loudly with success when the top came off. Now the match. He remembered that daddy ran the head of the match on the black stripe on the box. He tried it, but no luck. Again and again, he tried, but no fire. Just as he was about to burst into tears, his last try produced a flame. Eyes wide, he transferred the fire to the lantern, touching the wick with the flame. When the cabin flooded with light, he almost cried with relief. Screwing the top on carefully, he placed the lantern in the middle of the table.

“I did it, mommy! I did it all by myself!” he yelled.

No one answered him, or hugged him, or told him what a good boy he was. Walking up stairs, he was overjoyed to see his favorite teddy bear and pounced on it. Hugging it to his chest for comfort, he curled up on the goose down mattress, falling to sleep instantly.

The wolf appeared again, creeping into the small cabin and padding softly up to the loft to where the boy slept peacefully. Climbing onto the bed, she stood over the boy, breathing in his essence as he exhaled softly in his sleep. Transforming into an inky black mist, she slipped in through the boy’s nostrils and disappeared within. The time for reckoning had come.

The brothers peered through the trees at the small cabin, smiling at each other. They’d made it. The spirits allowed them safe passage through the forest.

“There is a light on inside, my brothers,” Chaska said, “The boy must be inside. Neeka, go around and check that side, Kov’ee, the other. I’ll take the front.”

Each man walked softly in their knee-high moccasins, beaded and decorated to fit each individual personality by their grandmother who raised them. Their mother, Litonya, which meant ‘Hummingbird darting’, died giving birth to three babies. Unable to stop the hemorrhaging, Diyani, meaning ‘She Sings’, mourned her daughter’s passing, but rejoiced in her legacy. Not one, but three of the most beautiful baby boys she’d ever seen lay red-faced and crying, their tiny hands clenched into fists. Growing up straight and tall as willows, the young men were her pride and joy. She walked within her village, head held high as the boys grew to be strong, fearless warriors. When Hantaywee, her other daughter’s son died last Spring, the whole village mourned his passing. Worried for their beloved aunt, the triplets left on a journey to return to her that which she had lost. Risking the wrath of the Dark Ones in the forest surrounding Wolfjaw, the boy was just within their grasp. A deep, menacing growl came from the woods shocking all three men, freezing them in place.

The boy woke feeling thirsty and ravenous. He remembered his father always kept one of the cupboards stocked with dried meat and his mother’s canned fruits and veggies. Hunger making his tummy hurt, he pulled a chair over to the counter and reached in, feeling around for the dried meat. Finding a package, he ripped it open gratefully, stuffing pieces of the spicy, delicious beef into his salivating mouth. Looking out the window, he saw the gray wolf standing on the edge of the forest about ten yards away, staring with glowing, red eyes. Waving, he heard the wolf in his head and nodded solemnly. The bad men were here.

When the brothers stepped into the clearing, they stopped dead. In front of the door was the largest Gray wolf any of them had ever laid on. Yelling and waving their arms, they’d hoped she would be scared off, but she never wavered and her eyes never left theirs. Chaska notched an arrow in his bow, aiming for the animal, and let the arrow fly. The men watched in horror as the arrow seemed to go

the she-wolf, never even coming close. He shot another and another, finally giving up and looking at his brothers in disbelief. She took one more long look at the scared men and walked calmly to the edge of the forest.

“Come, we must go inside,” he told the other two, “That’s no wolf, but a Dark One, hurry!”

Staying close, they all went in the front door, keeping their eyes on the wolf who stood statue-still. Once inside, the brothers all went to the windows to see if the animal had moved. But she was there, keeping vigil on the house, unmoving. They turned, startled at the sight of a young boy sitting at the table eating as if they’d never just barged in the front door. No one said a word, and the only sound was the boy tearing at the dried meat ravenously.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, around a mouthful of food. “Come, sit, eat with me.”

Eyes wide with shock, the brothers felt as if the boy had kicked them in their stomachs. He was speaking in their own Mohawk language.

“Yes, I suppose I would be shocked, too,” Toby said in an unchildlike manner, “But then again, how many times growing up were you warned not to come here?”

He giggled, but even though it was a child’s giggle, it chilled the warrior's blood.

“You must know who I am by now, don’t you?” Toby asked, wiping his mouth on his shirt. “You should. You watched me in my final hour, didn’t you? You killed my husband, my beautiful daughter, Sarah, and now you want my only son.”

Toby stood, flipping the table up over end, crashing it into the far wall. The brothers backed up as far as the door would let them, waiting for a chance to bolt.

“Your Shaman can shapeshift, did you know that?” he asked, “Shapeshifting has been a fine art in my family tree. We’ve perfected it, honed it to meet our needs. My mother did it, her mother and her mother before that. But what we specialize in, is revenge.”

He stood and walked over to the trembling men, all three foot six of him.

“I’m going to rip you limb from limb for what you did.”

Neka, standing behind his brothers, had his hand on the doorknob. As Toby told them in explicit detail what he was going to do to them, Neka quickly turned the knob, grabbing his brothers by the back of their tunics and outside into the night.

“Run, brothers,

he screamed.

The brothers ran, all of them praying to the Great Spirit to make them as swift and agile as winter hares. Branches whipped across their faces as the forest seemed to turn on them. Tripping over exposed roots, winding vines, and large rocks, the men floundered through the woods in a state of panic. At the cabin, Toby collapsed in a heap onto the ground, unconscious as the Shapeshifter left his small body. Black whorling smoke twisting and undulating, formed a four-legged creature that snarled gutturally, running after the brothers. It howled with excitement, anxious for the chase.

Behind them, the sounds of a predator growling and whining for blood, spurned the men forward to greater speeds, the darkness blinding them. Kov’ee, bringing up the rear, screamed in mortal terror as he felt a hot breath on the back of his neck than excruciating pain as the soft skin was pierced with razor sharp fangs. The strength of the wolf was incredible, shocking Kov’ee as it took him down Rolling into a ball, Kov’ee tried desperately to protect his vital organs as the wolf jaws clamped down on his collar bone, breaking it instantly. Screaming shrilly, he managed to maneuver his body so that his head, stomach and neck were covered, but the wolf’s supernatural power flipped the man on his back. Closing his powerful jaws around Kov’ee’s neck, the gray wolf bit down, the man’s life's blood spurting into the wolf’s mouth deliciously.

Chaska and Neka screamed in fear and disbelief, grief clouding their vision.

“Chaska, we must get our brother!” Neka cried, “we can’t just leave him there!”

But the she-wolf remained over the fallen warrior, blood-stained teeth bared in a snarl. They were afraid to move a muscle.

“Neka, I’m going to make a run for it, let the wolf chase me, and you take our brother back to the cabin. We have to do something!”

“No, Chaska! We stay together!” his brother said, “You won’t stand a chance against her speed.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Neka saw something behind his brother. Something blacker than the night itself. Featureless, it reached for Chaska with tendrils of smoky wisps of darkness, wrapping around his throat in a stranglehold.

“Chaska!” he screamed, but as he tried to step forward, he found he was unable to move. Looking down, Neka realized that the forest itself had come alive. Vines from the forest floor entwined around his lower legs, securing him in place. The two brothers watched in horror as Toby appeared, sitting calmly on a fallen log nearby.

“Mommy said to wait here for her,” he told the terrified men. “She told me to tell you that her revenge does not stop with you.”

Under the cover of darkness, beneath a Hunter’s moon, the wolves came. Toby covered his ears and looked away, for the sights and sounds of ripping flesh and screaming men were enough to make anyone cringe.

The Mohawk Indian village sat atop a hill overlooking the winding Mohawk River. Women washed clothes and gathered cooking water, laughing and enjoying the morning sun, while many of the men went out to hunt for game. It was a busy village with many children. The Mohawks treasured their children, and for the most part, corporal punishment was unheard of. Instead, the elders told stories with lessons, teaching the young ones to be wise and use good judgement.

Hantaywee sat apart from the other women so the motion of the water and noise of their laughter didn’t disturb the fish. Alone, she could think about her son, Ahanu. She chose the name, meaning ‘He laughs’, for her son’s sunny nature. Always smiling, he was her shining star. No child should die at only five summers. Her nephews, the three brothers of her sister, told her they would bring her home a child, but she wasn’t sure she wanted someone else’s. She thought of the mother of that child, wondering if she, too, would sit and think about him day in and day out. It hurt her heart. A sound in the woods put Hantaywee on alert. A bear? Deer? Closer, the snapping of a twig, rustling of fall leaves, her heart sped up.

From out of the forest walked a little boy with dark, shaggy hair. Feet bruised and bleeding, he walked towards the open-mouthed woman unsteadily, falling heavily at her feet. When the boy looked up at her, Hantaywee was startled at how blue his eyes were as they gazed helplessly into hers. Her heart melting, she gathered his tiny body to her breast, his little arms holding her tightly as he laid his head on her shoulder. As she ran to the other woman yelling for help, Toby picked his head up to look back towards the forest. The large Gray wolf stood patiently in the shadows, whining softly when the boy smiled. Revenge would be sweet.