~Chapter Two: Part II~

                                    

                                          


                          


                          
 I stared aghast at the prone form for a while, trying to keep as quiet as possible in hopes I wouldn't wake him and provoke attack. After all, I had no idea if this Indian would be as amiableas my friend Red Thunder had been, and either way — this was no boy, but a grown man. Not the sort of person one underestimated. 
                          
Shep sat on the other side of him, looking from to down at the Indian and back again, wagging his tail, pleased to have found such a prize. When after a few moments the man still did not move, I frowned in confusion. Crawling slowly over to his side on my hands and knees, I paid no mind to the fact that I likely dirtied my favorite dress.
                          
The Indian man was lying on his back, spread eagled upon the forest floor. Long, raven-black hair covered his face and exposed copper chest that glistened with perspiration. I noticed several interesting horizontal scars on his breast, a few inches above each dark nipple. He clutched what I thought might've been the remains of his shirt in his left hand. I leaned down in order to get a closer look and saw the buckskin garment he held was soaked in blood! 
                          
My healer instincts were roused to the surface. Seeing no wounds on this side of his body I gently (but not easily) rolled him over onto his belly with a grunt of exertion. The leaves and dirt clung to his skin, and as I brushed them away, I revealed a large gunshot wound marring his lower left shoulder. 
                          
Someone had shot him in the back. One of his enemy tribesmen perhaps? Who would do such an awful thing? 
                          
Ihurriedly ran back through the forest to fetch my basket where I'd dropped it, planning to use the linen cloth to attempt to staunch some of the bleeding. That must have been what the man had attempted to do with his shirt, before blood loss rendered him unconscious. He was lucky in some ways that the bullet still remained inside him, I could see — partially clogging the wound from pouring even more of his lifeblood onto the earth. On the jog back, Shep trotting closely behind me, I spotted some wild yarrow, horsetail, and blackberry leaves, whose medicinal purposes included staunching blood. I halted briefly to hastily pick and thrust them into my basket.
                          
When I returned to the injured man's side, I immediately cleaned his wound as best I could with the linen. Then I crunched up the plants I'd gathered in my hands, plastering them into the deep wound, which caused my patient to groan softly. I winched in sympathy but continued to pack the wound in, knowing this would help to preserve his life until I figured out the next step.
                          
After the trauma was sealed in with herbs, I took the linen cloth and wrapped it around his chest as tightly as I could, tying it off near his collarbone.As I worked, I couldn't help but admire his physique. Touching his lithe, muscled back caused flutters of excitement to leap in my belly and tingle through my limbs, but I chalked it up to nervousness. Anything else would be entirely inappropriate, and it wasn't like me to get flustered by a man!
                          
When I finished, the Indian groaned a little louder, shifting his body and managing to slowly turn over towards me as I sat back in surprise. The first thing I noticed was the contused bump forming at the corner of his brow. The man had clearly taken a blow to the head. He shakily brushed his long hair out of his damp face and looked up at me with deep brown, familiar eyes. He gasped hoarsely, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Winnie?" 
                          
I threw my hands over my mouth in shock, promptly rising to shaky feet and taking a step back, studying his features closely and comparing them to the image of my long ago friend in my mind. Although he was a mess, and much different than when I had last seen him, I could see the stark resemblance apparent in his face. 
                          
My heart lurched.
                          
I gasped and fell to my knees beside him, convinced of his identity. Clutching his cold, clammy hand in my own, I breathed out in pure amazement, "Red Thunder?"
                          
He grinned at me deliriously, nodded and whispered through chapped lips, "Did I not say.... we would meet again?"
                          
I gave him a wavering smile as my heart pounded with excitement and worry. "Yes, that you did."
                          
I looked around me, trying to figure out how I was going to get him back home, as obviously he could not be left alone out here by himself. Red Thunder needed the bullet removed, stitches, and continued care.
                          
"What happened?" I questioned him softly.
                          
Red Thunder gazed up at me groggily, and I took the time to let his strikingly handsome countenance brand itself as a new and permanent image in my mind. Even ailing as he was, he was still beyond a doubt the most attractive man I had ever seen. I could not believe I had quite literally stumbled across him like this!
                          
My Indian friend's skin, although pale from blood loss, was a lovely burnished tan. His brow was now more prominent, accompanied by long dark lashes, a broad aquiline nose, strong, deep jaw with a perfectly formed chin, pronounced cheek bones, and a set of plump, dusky pink lips. While many people may have said his long hair was a feminine trait (or barbarous) I disagreed. On him it was wholly male, and sinfully alluring. As I had once imagined, I almost did swoon on the spot. Had I not been sitting down, I just might have!
                          
Red Thunder took a deep breath and struggled to speak. It was with the same voice I had known all those years ago, only much deeper, his English better. "I was shot from behind, drinking from the stream," he croaked weakly. "Tried to find my horse, but fell."
                          
My eyes teared up, overwhelmed with the joyous emotion of seeing my friend again, while overcome with anxiety that he may die. My Indian was far from the stream now, and my heart panged in sympathy at how he must have suffered — attempting to travel while wounded and bleeding, and then sustaining even further injury.
                          
            "Red Thunder, I need to take you back with me. If I don't help, you will likely get an infection and die of fever out here."
                          
He nodded slowly in agreement, but spoke in half amusement, "Will you carry me?"
                          
I frowned a bit, thinking this was no time for joking, but seeing his point. "No I suppose I can't, but if I go back home I can return with one of our horses." 
                          
The sun would begin to set soon, so if I hurried, I could make it there and back with Red Thunder before dark. In the waning light, I could sneak him into the barn with none the wiser. No matter what, I had to keep him safe from my family. Who knows what they would do if they were to discover him? 
                          
Now that I had found Red Thunder, I couldn't lose him!