Moccasin feet, small, petite, walk the leafy glade,

Morning sunrays through the bower alight on Indian maid;

Beautiful in innocence, love’s radiance within,

Ponytailed, two ropes of jet descend on olive skin.

Promised to another just as soon as she was born,

Lived in resignation, for her Father’s oath was sworn;

Trothed to Abernaki tribe, with two Chiefs’ bound accord,

Pacting peace between the clans, her future deeply scored.

Thinks not of her Father as she treads the trail of leaf,

Pushes out of thought the wishes of the tribal Chief;

Daughter of Chief Dancing Bear ignores ancestral choice,

Scared of Storms will only heed her one true lover’s voice.

Softly padding, buckskin cladding youthful, manly frame,

Handsome brave moves silently, Flash of Fire his name;

Sees not blooming peony, and hears no waterfall,

Thinks of but his fairest maid, yes, true love conquers all.

Shunning all his totems, never fearing retribution,

Loving only Scared of Storms, brooking persecution;

Makes a plea to ancestors, that they may forgive

Earthly love, and condescend to let two sweethearts live.

Moving swiftly through the glade, heart anticipating

Secret tryst, not far away Scared of Storms is waiting;

Runaway their only chance this lover’s maze to solve,

They must find a place where love can run free and evolve.

On the trail three warriors, coming on apace,

Stealthily they dog the spoor, in their deadly race,

Sent out by Chief Dancing Bear, fatal mission plain,

Neither sweetheart must return, true Love must be slain.

Stood beside the throbbing stream, Scared of Storms, afraid,

Hoping all will come to pass, the secret plans they’d made;

Fleeing from the tribal ire, could they ever find

A place to live in peace and Love, two hearts forever twined.

Then she sees a movement coming through the forest cloud,

Surely it is Flash of Fire, to their tryst avowed;

But three painted braves appear, the maiden catches breath,

This was Father’s Nemesis – This was certain death.

Backing to a streamside tree she hears their whooping cries,

Sees the gleam of triumph and the murder in their eyes,

Pure young maiden, helpless, in the grip of Balsa’s fork

Gives herself to destiny – then sees the tomahawk.

Flash of Fire watches as his deadly weapon flies,

Cleaving one of three avengers, instant death his prize,

Sees another lift his axe to kill his Love, his Life,

Hand moves in a heartbeat and he throws his hunting knife.

One more foe remained to best, Scourge of Bears his name,

Biggest man in all the tribe, the forest knew his fame,

Taker of a hundred scalps, in battles’ flaming hell,

Eyes of fire turned to ice as two loved brothers fell.

Scourge of Bears turned slowly, to face the young upstart,

His hand dropped to his oft-used knife, that flew as if a dart,

He raised his arm and took his aim, he’d never missed a prey,

Flash of Fire was weaponless, the blade soared on its way.

Scared of Storms watched helplessly, she saw the dagger fly,

She pressed herself back to the tree and gave a hopeless cry;

The balsa branch could hold no more, it cracked, and with a scream

The fated Indian maiden fell into the swirling stream.

As she hit the water Scared of Storms inhaled a breath

And lamented for her true love, she had brought about his death,

Defying tribe’s tradition, now her selfish dreams had cost

More than she could think of, now her Flash of Fire was lost.

Ripped along by current strong she tried to make for shore,

But cataract’s huge magnet pulled her into river’s core;

Faster, ever faster, then she saw the foaming ledge,

She hit the mighty waterfall and tumbled o’er the edge.

Time stood still, the maiden watched, as though from in a dream,

She plunged almost forever, to the bottom of the stream,

Then, kicking from the rocky floor she swam with battered purpose,

Far above, a glimmer, that was light upon the surface.

Out of breath and nearing death, the maiden, underwater,

Struggling ever weaker, this star-crossed  chieftain’s daughter,

Felt blackness fall upon her, as her life flashed through her head,

And stopped with Flash of Fire, her true love, now lying, dead.

Her body broke the surface, lifeless, towed by river’s tide,

Surely this was not the fate of virgin Indian bride?

Something mystic cleaved the air and breathed into the maid,

She lived again, but still the current had to be obeyed.

Surfing on the cascade, drifting far from lands she knew,

Torpid maiden, unaware, on river’s current flew,

And then, when hours, or days, or even weeks had boiled past,

The mighty river quelled its rage and dropped its pace at last.

Scared of Storms still floated, buoyed by some ancestral hand,

The river flowed, now softly, through a timbered, unknown land;

And as small eddies formed she floated out of current’s core,

And lay as one asleep upon the strange and shingled shore.

Flash of Fire instinctively dropped backwards to the ground,

The lethal dagger missed him by a hair, he heard the sound

Of death go swishing by, the lethal weapon loudly humming,

He looked across the clearing, Scourge of Bears was swiftly coming.

The brave leapt to his feet, this monster couldn’t be outrun,

He had to face him here and now, let destiny be done,

Barehanded they would battle with no witnesses to see,

Flash of Fire prayed his love would bring him victory.

His heart, his soul, his future life, his lovely maiden dream

Taken right in front of him and washed away downstream,

His blood turned cold, he faced the giant, ready for the worst,

Scourge of Bears came running, Flash of Fire reacted first.

He leapt and gripped a branch and swung his legs in rage and anger,

The bear ran at his quarry, far too late he saw the danger,

Two well-aimed feet, a battering ram, came thudding, might met might,

The ogre stumbled backwards, dazed and rocked, but still upright.

The branch then broke and Flash of Fire hit the earthen floor,

And looking up saw Scourge of Bears come diving with a roar,

And, knowing this would be the only time to win this test,

He drove the knife-like tree branch deep into the monster’s chest.

Rising to his knees he looked upon the grisly scene,

His foe’s red blood ran rivers down onto the forest green,

In Indian tradition, Flash of Fire sat by his side,

And waited with his enemy, until at last he died.

Three warriors dead, his lady lost, had only minutes passed?

He sat there brooding moodily, and then arose at last,

And set off with a purpose, with the hopefulness of youth,

He had to find her, dead or no, he had to know the truth.

As he searched along the harsh and ragged river shore

Thoughts returned of tribal life that he had lived before,

Named because of lightning, silver flash of fire so bright

That lit the sky for all to see upon his birthing night.

Childhood, happy carefree Indian would-be-braves would play,

And learn the skills of manhood, each one waiting for the day

They would run the tribal gauntlet, silently, despite the pain,

And when they’d passed the elders’ tests, the rank of brave attain.

He’d stood his ground in battles, grown in stature and in fame,

Always first to reach the prey as braves had hunted game,

Never really noticing his heart’s slow, gradual slaughter

At every time he saw her – Scared of Storms – the Chief’s own daughter.

His senses bade him caution, but their eyes locked every day,

He thought he saw an answered love, but had to hear her say,

This promised child of tribal lore, he knew her heart inside

Had love for him, her Flash of Fire, she had to be his bride.

The chance it came one fateful day in forest’s leafy heart

He realized they were alone, and fate had played its part,

She kneeled whilst grubbing forest bulbs then saw his eyes above

She jumped up, ran into his arms and there confessed her love.

He searched in vain, the river ripped and turned into a flood,

He stood atop the waterfall and cold dread gripped his blood,

Surely none could fall so far, survive the rocks below?

His hope died as he sat and wondered why, this fate’s cruel blow.

With bridges burnt and no return, and doomed to live alone,

No more a tribe, a totem pole that he could call his own,

For love he’d risked his everything, and thought he knew the cost,

He never figured on the price of Scared of Storms, now lost.

Meanwhile, Scared of Storms still lived, a faintly beating heart

Drummed softly in her breast, inside a body torn apart,

Lying by the river in a strange and unknown land,

Love’s true purpose dashed by Totem’s intervening hand.

Walking to the river on a shaded, leafy track,

White man with a beard is lost in thoughts now flooding back,

Memories of Ellen, she who would have been his wife,

Fate stepped in and dealt a blow to decimate his life.

Brad recalled the fateful day the stranger came to town,

Pockets filled with gold he said on Indian land he’d found,

Spending cash like water, buying whisky by the gallon,

None of Brad’s affair – until he laid his hands on Ellen.

Ellen sat with Brad, her golden hair let out to play,

A night to celebrate the setting of their wedding day;

The stranger lurched across the room, cheap whisky on his breath,

He looked at her, he looked at Brad, and in his eyes was death.

“What have we got here?” he cried “A pretty little honey?

Come away with Mike, that loser ain’t got any money!”

Brad jumped up, this rude intrusion wasn’t what they’d planned,

He went to speak – then saw the gun, now in the stranger’s hand.

“What’s this then – a hero?” Mike asked, brandishing the gun,

“Can’t a feller come to town and have a little fun?”

Grabbing Ellen by the arm he lurched towards the door,

The crowd all sat there silently, and this is what they saw.

Bradley dived, the stranger fired, the bullet flew above,

Brad then grabbed the gun and stood between Mike and his love,

The two men grappled, side to side they swayed in deadly fight,

Each man knew that only one of them would live tonight.

Brad then pulled the trigger and the stranger cried and fell,

Grabbing hold of Bradley’s hand he pulled him down as well,

He linked his finger onto Brad’s and as he died he pressed

The weapon fired and Brad saw Ellen’s blood well on her breast.

The crowd erupted, crying murder, grabbed the deadly gun,

Hear the cries, two deaths because he’d spoilt a rich man’s fun,

His finger on the trigger proved his guilt beyond a doubt,

Only one thing Brad could do – and that was to get out.

That was fifteen years ago, and almost every day,

Memories of that dread night would make their rueful way

Into Bradley’s thoughts, although they didn’t hurt no more,

He snapped out of his dreaming – there was something on the shore!

Indian maiden – dead! No, there was still a spark of life!

And judging by her wounds she’d seen her fair amount of strife,

She needed help and comfort if her life he was to save,

He picked her up in muscled arms and headed for his cave.     

Days turned into weeks and slowly, Scared of Storms, so battered

From the torrent’s wrath repaired, though it hardly mattered;

Flash of Fire was dead and so was everything she’d hoped,

All the happiness they’d dreamed of when they had eloped.

Live or die – the maiden cared not – crawling through the days

Even the attentions of this white man couldn’t raise

Objection to his ministering, she wished her life had ended,

Gradually, though dead her heart, her broken bones had mended.

As he watched the girl recover, Bradley changed the cave

Hanging skins strategically, her dignity to save,

Though her words were foreign to him, in her emerald eyes

He could read her pain and needs, the meaning realize.

Reading in her face her broken heart, he was afraid

Though her bones were mending, could this lovely Indian maid

Perish from a wound so deep that his skill couldn’t cure?

Day by day he watched the girl, she pained still, that was sure.

Finally, the day came and the maid could walk alone,

Bradley woke one morning and his Indian guest was gone,

Fretting for her safety he had hurried out to save

Just in time to see her walking slow, back to the cave.

Scared of Storms had made her choice, her heart of hearts had known

She would not survive out in the forest all alone,

A ghostly voice kept telling her despite fate’s dismal dance

She should stay, this white man maybe was another chance.

Sitting in the woods, alone, with thoughts of suicide,

Spirits of her Ancestors encouraged her inside,

Finally, she steeled herself, as would an Indian brave,

Let the future come what may – she limped back to the cave.

Weeks turned into months, the winter came and went, so cold,

Brad revealed the secret tunnel with the seam of gold,

Showed her piles of nuggets glinting in the candlelight,

Untold wealth for anybody, Indian or white.

Life went on so peacefully, and Scared of Storms was well,

Never thought of leaving, although Brad could always tell

When her memories would put a certain sadness in her eyes

She had lost a lover, too, that much he realized.

Dried wood split in two as Flash of Fire’s axe swung down

Logs to swell the winter pile, now six feet from the ground,

Working for this white man farmer kept him fit and fed

A homeless brave, no future, but a place to lay his head.

He’d wandered in the forest, ever further from his home,

His love, his tribe, his life was lost, forever doomed to roam,

Nomad like the river that he used as fate’s new trail

Eating little, caring less, his health began to fail.

Feverish and weak he staggered through a new-ploughed field,

Saw the hewn-log cabin as he tried so not to yield

To this weakness, spawned by sorrow, apathy and doubt

Fainted as the door swung back, a white man coming out.

Now he called the farm his home – a simple, silent life

Working every day to help the farmer and his wife,

One more set of hands was like a godsend to this man

Trying hard to eke a living from this virgin land.

As they nursed him back to health he realized his fate,

Pay his debt to this brave couple, and appreciate

A home to call his own again, where life could wander by,

Till the day he joined his Scared of Storms up in the sky.

Laying down the axe a thought came welling in his brain,

Grass grew by the riverside since recent heavy rain,

Picking up his bow he waved, the farmer understood,

Every time the brave went out to hunt, the spoils were good.

Now he walked along the river, hunting for the spoor,

There it was, a herd of deer, three or maybe more;

Upstream was the trail, he followed on without a doubt,

They would feast on venison before the day was out.

Far upstream he tracked the deer, then stopped to slake his thirst,

Nightfall would come all too soon, he had to find them first;

He drank deep from the river, splashed his face and wet his hair

He turned to hit the spoor – and Scared of Storms was standing there.

Scared of Storms near fainted, surely this could not be true?

Flash of Fire – Here! Alive! A bolt out of the blue;

Her life, her love was lost but no, by grace of Gods, alive,

How could she have doubted that her Brave would not survive?

Flash of Fire froze, a statue standing by the stream,

Surely this was serendipity, a hopeless dream?

And yet she seemed so real, just like the love he’d left behind,

Could this be a forest wraith, an angel in his mind?

Transfixed, they approached each other, too intense to speak,

One small silver tear came sliding down the maiden’s cheek,

Two hands lifted up as one, and silently entwined

Both then realized that this was real, their souls combined.

Bradley watched, behind a thicket, hidden out of view,

He saw the look upon her face, the spark between the two;

Instantly he understood, in this brave’s eyes displayed

A love that spanned a lifetime – she was his God-given maid.

Now he knew the truth – he loved this girl, yes, love had grown,

She had snared the heart he’d thought that no-one else could own,

Not once had he realized that his giant heart was laden

With the love of this sweet girl, his special Indian maiden.

A fated love triangle – in this lost and lonely place,

Bradley watched the happiness on Scared of Storms young face,

Now he knew how much she’d touched his hidden, inner soul,

His heart, once cruelly clove in two, now hungered to be whole.

Time stood still for Scared of Storms as she looked on her love,

Silently she thanked her Gods and ancestors above,

Could this be their second chance – a life to live and share?

Fleeting thoughts sped through her mind, and then she saw the bear.

Flash of fire spun, the bear came running on all fours,

Instant death in its embrace and in its snarling jaws,

Over near the trees discarded bow and arrows laid,

He pushed her sideways, drew his knife, and to the Gods he prayed.

The bear stood upright, towering over Flash of Fire’s frame,

Then cuffed the knife away, and Scared of Storms screamed out his name,

Then it hit the brave, who sprawled upon the rocky ground,

It looked down at the Indian and loosed a growling sound.

Brad had watched and waited, he had no love for this brave,

Nor had he a weapon, all were back up in the cave,

Maybe while the bear was busy killing this new stranger

He could grab the maiden and deliver her from danger.

Could he live life knowing that he’d let another die?

Would his lovely maiden ever look him in the eye?

Thoughts of Ellen came to him, watching from somewhere,

He knew what must be done – He ran out screaming at the bear.

Flash of Fire lay there knowing he was dead this time

He screamed up at the bear to try and give his love some time;

The bear turned back to Scared of Storms and raised a deadly paw,

But Bradley launched himself and, full length, hit it with a roar.

Bradley and the monster wrestled, at the river’s edge,

Huge jaws grabbed his shoulder and ripped out a fleshy wedge,

Neither would release their grip, their bodies in a lock,

Bradley screamed in agony, Flash of Fire threw the rock.

It hit the beast upon the head, a mighty, telling blow,

Bradley felt it falter and he tried to let it go,

But gripped by arms of death he yelled a final, goodbye scream

And pushed the bear, who tumbled backwards, with Brad, in the stream.

Flash of Fire knew the bear would never let Brad go,

He bowed his head towards the stream, as Scared of Storms sobbed low;

He stood her on her feet, and thanked their ancestors above

For sacrificing this white man to save him and his love.

A legend lives, until this day, about a golden cave,

An Indian Princess and her man, a banished Indian brave,

Who lived their lives in peace and love, in secret hideaway,

I believe they’re still alive, and still in love today.