The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby by H L Grandin

bulbous oat grass, bellflower and coriander spread out before their eyes. The northern border of the property was a riverstone jetty that interrupted the rapidly flowing shallows of Harley’s Run like a giant thumb pressing its will upon the river’s course. The half-mile arch was thick with cutthroat and brown trout struggling to steady themselves against the pummeling of the fussy flume. The west boundary of the meadow melted into a stand of pine and cedar trees. To the east, the deciduous woodlands of Appalachia flowed up and over a formidable crest before disappearing into an unnamed hollow. The echoes of a never-seen waterfall rose from the blackness of the cavernous gorge.
    Tyoga’s grandpa, Joshia, had built the one-room log cabin in the glade about four months after the Powhatans had saved the Weathersby family from massacre by secretly guiding them from their homestead along the James River to the safety of the Ani-Unwiya village. When Tyoga’s father, Thomas, was about twelve years old, the single room was expanded to three when a kitchen with a giant stone hearth was added to the north side. In 1631, when Thomas married Emma, the original loft was converted to a complete second story to make the Weathersby home one of the largest in the Appalachian frontier.
    While Tyoga loved the freedom of the Cherokee way of life, and the warmth of his Indian brother’s lodge, South Henge was his home. The knotty pine walls oozed with the scent of holiday pies, Bay Rum, and lye soap. Grandpa Jos’ bentwood rocker rested in its nook by the hearth, above which the deer hoof gun rack held the old Weathersby matchlock.
    Sitting on an oversized oak stump that had rested alongside the family forge since before he was born, Tyoga was mending the mules’ plow harnesss. The Ani-Unwiya were fine tanners and he had picked up the art of leather working by watching the tribe elders make sheaths for their knives and quivers for the arrows of the younger braves.
    Tyoga’s mother Emma was in the garden digging a crop of potatoes and picking broadleaf chard. The first hard freeze was only weeks away and this would be the final crop for the season.
    Tyoga looked up from the harness to see her stretch her back, pick up her basket of harvested vegetables, and walk toward him. He waited until she was by his side.
    “Mama, tell me about Davey,” Tyoga continued mending the harness he was working on.
    Taken aback at his question, Emma hesitated before answering.
    More than most, she had noticed the changes in Tyoga since his battle with the Runion wolfpack. She had not said anything because the changes had been so subtle that only a mother would know. She sensed, more than observed, the difference. This uncharacteristic question was more evidence of the change. Tyoga’s younger brother, David, had beendead for three years, and never before had he wanted to discuss the circumstances of his untimely death.
    “Why, Tyoga,” she replied while stretching out her back again. “Why are you asking me about what happened to your brother? You found him lying on the floor with that hideous reptile curled in the crook of his arm.”
    “You’re right about that, Mama,” he said in a soft voice, “but I want … I need to know more.”
    “All right.” Rather than recount the entire story, she waited for him to ask his questions.
    Placing the harness on the ground by his feet, he looked up at his mother standing by his side. “Why did you let him keep the snake, Mama?”
    “Davey loved animals, Tyoga. Not just some animals, but every creature that walked, hopped, slithered, or crawled.” She wiped her hands on her apron, and placed them on her hips. “Davey wasn’t like you, Tyoga. He didn’t know what you know. He didn’t understand the way that you understand. When he came walking in that very door,” she said while pointing to the front door of the cabin, “holding that half-frozen water moccasin against his chest to keep it warm,