People of the Weeping Eye (North America's Forgotten Past) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page A

white.”
    “And what does that signify?” Old Woman Fox asked.
    “The burning of my blood. Red is the color of chaos.
White is purity and order. When it burns in the fire, blood is turned into white smoke.”
    “Very good. Now, replace your pad and wash.”
    Morning Dew took another pad—a bundle of hanging moss tightly wrapped with cord—and pressed it between her legs. Finally she dipped the fingertips she’d used to touch the pad into a bowl of water to her left. She then flicked the droplets into the fire.
    “Grandmother, I still don’t understand.” Morning Dew watched the flames consume her pad. “It doesn’t seem so dangerous. You’d think if anyone went crazy from menstrual blood, it would be women. After all, we’re the ones who bleed. But we’re to believe the mere thought of it can make a strong man weak?”
    Old Woman Fox laughed. “Blood is Power, girl. We bleed with the moon; but not from a wound, and mostly we do it without pain. It comes from inside us, flows through our sheaths. Nothing fascinates a man as much as a woman’s sheath. He Dreams of it, desires it, and fears it.”
    “Fears it?”
    “Of course, girl. It is a mystery to him—a source of obsession, desire, and incredible pleasure. He will cry out in delight as his seed jets inside you. Then it will grow, and nine moons later an infant will pass through that same pink opening. Your loins, girl, are a miracle—and at the same time, a place of terrible pollution.”
    “Pollution?” Morning Dew glanced down, trying to imagine how such terrible things could be hidden between her hips.
    “You bleed once a moon,” Old Woman Fox said sagely. “Yet you do not die.” She gestured around at the Women’s House. “That is why we come here. Because if we touch a man with our sheath’s blood, it will ruin him, pollute his purity, and make him susceptible to illness, bad luck, and sickness of the souls.”
    Morning Dew chewed her lip as she considered. Like any young girl, she’d anticipated the day that her first
menses would bring her to the Women’s House. Passage into womanhood had preoccupied her for years. She and her friends had waited anxiously for this moment to come. Now she found that it was a nonending session of lecture after lecture. Things she already knew: Women sat with their knees together. Only men could sit cross-legged. Women did not touch a man’s weapons under pain of a severe beating. Women dared not set foot in the Busk Ground until the fourth day of the green corn ceremonies. And on and on. Each of the rules of proper conduct had been repeated over and over. Do this. Don’t do that. You’re a Chief Clan daughter. One day you will be the matron. You have more responsibilities than other women.
    “You were thinking something?” Old Woman Fox turned keen eyes on Morning Dew.
    “I was thinking about responsibility. It’s been hammered into my head with a pestle all of my life. Be responsible. You are different from other women. Responsible, responsible, responsible.” She looked up. “Sometimes I think I’m just a responsible womb walking around on two legs.”
    Old Woman Fox nodded. “Do you understand why it’s so important for you?”
    “Because I’m Chief Clan by birth.” She turned her hands palm up in supplication. “Because one day I will be the matron of White Arrow Moiety. My son will become high minko.”
    “And what do you think of this Screaming Falcon Mankiller you are betrothed to?”
    “His new name sounds strange on my lips. It will take a while to stop thinking of him as Amber Stone.” She smiled secretly. “I’ve been in love with him forever.”
    “Yet you complain about your fate?”
    Morning Dew shook her head. “No, Grandmother … . I mean yes. I do and I don’t. I know how lucky I am. I’ve watched him from the time I was a little girl. He has a sparkle in his eyes, a smile that melts my heart. And he’s
always looked at me in a special way, with a promise in