creditably well. In a simulated exercise, Tanya rescued a supposedly injured brave from his running mount; and attacked another by leaping upon him from her fast-moving mount and knocking him off his horse.
Finally came the test she dreaded. Her normally soft mouth set in firm lines, she prepared to do battle with the young brave, Crooked Feather. To prevent injury to either party, they would fight hand-to-hand, without weapons.
Mentally reviewing all Panther had taught her, Tanya faced her opponent. Slowly they circled; each waiting for the other to move; each gauging the other, sizing him up; trying to read his intentions from his face.
Crooked Feather made the first move. Lunging at Tanya, he grabbed her arm and flipped her to the ground. Tanya rolled as Panther had coached her, bouncing immediately to her feet to face her opponent. When next he attacked, she pivoted neatly on one foot, catching his leg and arm simultaneously, tossing him flat on his back. Recalling Panther’s instructions, Tanya yelled loudly as she made contact with the young brave. There was something about a good, strong shout that added impetus to the move and strength to the attack, but never in advance as a warning of your intentions.
Warily they circled again. Crooked Feather caught her by the arms and tried to throw her, but Panther had taught her to use leverage to her advantage. Failing this, he tried to force her to her knees, but could not. When he tried to trip her, she countered his move, butting her head solidly into his unprotected stomach.
They broke apart. Several times he threw her, but could not keep her down. Several times she tripped him up, but he was on his feet again before she could follow through. Once, he tossed her square on her bottom, and as he leaped upon her, she placed both feet flat in his stomach and tossed him over her head into the dirt.
For many minutes they fought, until both were dirt-smeared, tired, and panting. Neither had gained the advantage. In a surprise move, Crooked Feather threw himself at Tanya, grabbing her about the middle, both of them falling. As Tanya fell backward, she used their momentum to carry her and Crooked Feather into a neat backward flip, and when they finally came to rest, Crooked Feather was flat on his back, Tanya astride him. As he was flung onto his back, he loosed his grip, and Tanya quickly had his arms pinned to the ground, one under his own body. Her own long legs tangled in his, preventing him from flinging her off him. The force of the fall had knocked the wind from his lungs, and her sharp elbow in his chest kept it from returning. With the flat edge of her spare hand, she delivered a gentle blow to Crooked Feather’s windpipe. Had she held a knife, his life would have ended there.
It was over. Tanya had won. She remained where she was until she heard confirmation from Black Kettle, then stumbled to her feet. With good grace, she held out a helping hand to Crooked Feather. For a moment she was afraid he would ignore the gesture. Then, with a wry grin, he caught her hand and let her help pull him to his feet.
Throughout all the contests Tanya had remained blank-faced, showing none of her emotions. At last she allowed a hint of a grin to tilt the corners of her mouth. “It was a good fight,” she said to Crooked Feather.
He nodded. “It
was
a good fight,” he agreed.
Black Kettle cleared his throat, but still his voice was husky as he spoke. “I, who have not been blessed with children of my own, may soon have a daughter.” His eyes glinted with pride as he looked at Tanya.
“Tomorrow you will track one of our best warriors, and if you find him, you will then need to elude three of our finest trackers. That will leave only one final test, other than counting coup on one of our enemies. You will go into the mountains for seven suns and survive on your own, with only your knife, your hatchet, your bow, a flask of water and one of pemmican, and your horse.”
“I
Finally came the test she dreaded. Her normally soft mouth set in firm lines, she prepared to do battle with the young brave, Crooked Feather. To prevent injury to either party, they would fight hand-to-hand, without weapons.
Mentally reviewing all Panther had taught her, Tanya faced her opponent. Slowly they circled; each waiting for the other to move; each gauging the other, sizing him up; trying to read his intentions from his face.
Crooked Feather made the first move. Lunging at Tanya, he grabbed her arm and flipped her to the ground. Tanya rolled as Panther had coached her, bouncing immediately to her feet to face her opponent. When next he attacked, she pivoted neatly on one foot, catching his leg and arm simultaneously, tossing him flat on his back. Recalling Panther’s instructions, Tanya yelled loudly as she made contact with the young brave. There was something about a good, strong shout that added impetus to the move and strength to the attack, but never in advance as a warning of your intentions.
Warily they circled again. Crooked Feather caught her by the arms and tried to throw her, but Panther had taught her to use leverage to her advantage. Failing this, he tried to force her to her knees, but could not. When he tried to trip her, she countered his move, butting her head solidly into his unprotected stomach.
They broke apart. Several times he threw her, but could not keep her down. Several times she tripped him up, but he was on his feet again before she could follow through. Once, he tossed her square on her bottom, and as he leaped upon her, she placed both feet flat in his stomach and tossed him over her head into the dirt.
For many minutes they fought, until both were dirt-smeared, tired, and panting. Neither had gained the advantage. In a surprise move, Crooked Feather threw himself at Tanya, grabbing her about the middle, both of them falling. As Tanya fell backward, she used their momentum to carry her and Crooked Feather into a neat backward flip, and when they finally came to rest, Crooked Feather was flat on his back, Tanya astride him. As he was flung onto his back, he loosed his grip, and Tanya quickly had his arms pinned to the ground, one under his own body. Her own long legs tangled in his, preventing him from flinging her off him. The force of the fall had knocked the wind from his lungs, and her sharp elbow in his chest kept it from returning. With the flat edge of her spare hand, she delivered a gentle blow to Crooked Feather’s windpipe. Had she held a knife, his life would have ended there.
It was over. Tanya had won. She remained where she was until she heard confirmation from Black Kettle, then stumbled to her feet. With good grace, she held out a helping hand to Crooked Feather. For a moment she was afraid he would ignore the gesture. Then, with a wry grin, he caught her hand and let her help pull him to his feet.
Throughout all the contests Tanya had remained blank-faced, showing none of her emotions. At last she allowed a hint of a grin to tilt the corners of her mouth. “It was a good fight,” she said to Crooked Feather.
He nodded. “It
was
a good fight,” he agreed.
Black Kettle cleared his throat, but still his voice was husky as he spoke. “I, who have not been blessed with children of my own, may soon have a daughter.” His eyes glinted with pride as he looked at Tanya.
“Tomorrow you will track one of our best warriors, and if you find him, you will then need to elude three of our finest trackers. That will leave only one final test, other than counting coup on one of our enemies. You will go into the mountains for seven suns and survive on your own, with only your knife, your hatchet, your bow, a flask of water and one of pemmican, and your horse.”
“I
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