Date: Sun, 21 Oct 2007 23:29:55 -0700
From: Jon Hold <jonhold@earthlink.net>
Subject: Other Little House 31

Chapter 31
Convalescence



Three hours I laid there holding my patient. Several times I tried to get
up but each time the arm he had around my neck and shoulder would bulge
with hard muscle and hold me in place. I liked touching him, and the
smell of his body was powerfully masculine, but I really had some work I
needed to get done. When he finally woke up it was easy to get him to
understand that I needed to get to work. He let me up, but not before
hugging me to his side and nuzzling the top of my head.

I emptied his piss bucket first thing and he indicated that he didn't
need to use it again yet. I fed and watered the animals and then went up
to the house where I got a fire started in the stove and prepared a bed
downstairs for my guest. I quickly got a dinner started once the fire
burned down to coals and then hurried back down to my patient. I helped
him relieve himself and then released the suspension weights from his arm
and leg, indicating to him that he was NOT to move. He nodded in approval
when I brought Dancer over and he realized that he was laying on a
travois. Using the leather carry band over Dancers shoulders I hoisted
the travois poles up into place and then moved to the Indian's side to
make sure he was okay.

Guiding Dancer with my voice, which seemed to impress the Indian even
further, we took him up to the house where I dropped the travois poles
back down to the ground. Releasing the cross bar at the bottom so the
poles could come close enough together to pass through the doorway and
carrying the load myself, I slid the slick hide carrying the indian
across the dirt and into the house. I checked on Dancer, who was
industrially cropping the high grass in front of the house, and then
closed the door so that the heat from the stove could warm the house back
up. By the time I had carried several buckets of hot water to where the
Indian was lying on the floor the big living room was quite warm again. I
took the bedding away from around the Indian and started washing him
using clean cloths, some of the store-bought soap and one of the big
fluffy terry-cloth towels from Papa Rand's store.

As soon as he realized what I was doing the Indian gave me an eager smile
and willingly cooperated with the entire process, even though I know I
must have hurt him several times. Apparently, being clean was much more
important to him than a little pain. I just didn't want to take a chance
of slowing down the healing of his bones. When his front and arms and
legs were clean I washed between his legs. He stared directly into my
eyes while I was doing that and directly produced a truly impressive
erection. I don't think it was as big around as Brent's, but it was at
least as long, and quite possibly longer. A bit flustered by the way he
stared at me while I handled his naughty bits, I helped him to his one
good leg and he balanced himself with the unbroken arm against the wall
while I quickly washed off his back and into the crack of his ass, while
he bent over slightly to give me better access, and then dried him off.

I laid him down on the clean bed I'd made up on top of the cabinets under
the three big windows on that side of the room. I'd built the bed up high
enough so that he could see out of the windows. He looked out across the
cleared yard area and into the trees on the far side and then turned to
me with a huge smile and a nod of thanks. I smiled back and covered him
up with one of the cotton sheets, a wool blanket and then one of Brent's
wonderful light down quilts that were so warm and comforting. I quickly
replaced the old poultices with fresh and renewed all of the bandages and
then unbraided the Indians long, straight black hair and washed it for
him, using saponin root and then the spring scented blue flowers that
made hair so soft as it gave it that light, wafting scent.

I put another dry towel over the pillow and spread out the wealth of hair
to completely dry and then, giving a final tuck-in to the covers, went
back to the kitchen to finish preparing our dinner.

Not long after that I noticed the Indian rubbing at his midsection with
his bandaged hand. I went over to see what was wrong and realized that he
still had that impressive erection that was lifting the covers completely
up into the air. He also had a look on his face that said, "Please let me
be alone right now, I am SERIOUSLY horny!" I understood, but was worried
that he'd bust open the stitches in his hand and shoulder.

I lifted his head and removed the towel from under his now dry hair. Then
I pulled down the covers and spread the towel under his turgid display of
masculinity and across his deeply grooved and muscular belly. I took hold
of his fevered prod just below the bulging, foreskin covered knob and
started stroking the loose skin. His face went very blank and in less
than a dozen strokes he grunted once and started pouring long streams of
clotted papoose maker into the fold of towel I was holding up. When he
was quite done expressing his appreciation of the white-man's wank, I
stroked him lightly a few more times to elicit those great feeling, but
extremely sensitive, after tremors and then dabbed his cockhead clean
with the soft towel and covered him back up. He was sound asleep with a
smile of male satisfaction on his handsome face before I had the covers
properly tucked in.

Hours later, I put Dancer back in her paddock and fed and milked the
stock. I washed up and then moved the dining table over next to the
invalids bed. By the time I had dinner set up on the table the Indians
nose was flaring with his attempts to suck up every scent in the room and
he was everything but drooling down his chest. I propped him up on
several extra pillows I had stacked nearby and then sat down in my chair
and offered him a cup of broth. A panic-stricken look on his face, he
looked first at the broth with disgust and then at the rest of the
steaming food with the nearest thing to naked lust in his eyes that I'd
ever seen on a mans face.

Laughing, I pointed to the food and with gestures asked him if he'd
rather have some of the solid food instead of the broth. He threatened me
with a bandaged fist and a wild look in his eye for pulling such a joke
and then we both started laughing as I piled food onto two plates. I cut
the food on one plate into small pieces. Stewed chicken, oven bar-b-qued
brisket, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed corn and steamed squash with
brown sugar, all soft foods I though he could eat and digest easily. I
started off feeding him, but he really wanted to take care of himself so
I fluffed up a pillow in his lap to hold the plate and covered him and
the pillow with a fresh clean towel before pushing his plate down into
the pillow and wedging a spoon into the bandages around his hand. Some of
the food seemed strange to him and the hot tea I offered seemed to
startle him at first, but he ate everything I offered him, including
seconds, and drank great quantities of tea from the cup I held for him. I
was sure I would see that tea again before too long.

Supper went down well with both of us much more interested in sucking
down calories that trying to communicate. After dinner I washed the
Indians face and then cleared the table. After putting the food away,
cleaning the kitchen and doing the dishes I went back to put the dining
room table back where it belonged. The Indian was staring out the window,
looking wistful and sad. He knew I was there, but didn't turn to face me.
I don't think he knew that I could see the tears in his eyes just as
easily as he could see me in the reflection of the window. He wasn't
pretty. A hugely hooked nose and sun roughened skin took care of any
chance of that. His natural dignity, his male pride and sense of self,
his inner strength and personal power however showed through the rough
exterior and made him very handsome. I knew that he was a person used to
giving orders and having them followed, but there was nothing of the
dictator or exploiter in his face. Just the simple dignity and strength
that I imagined marked a great leader of men. Now that he wasn't so
horribly injured, I could see that this was no normal mortal I was caring
for. I went over and got my hairbrush and quietly sat down on the
ladderback chair. Gently, I combed out his hair and then braided it into
a fancy triple French braid that I'd been taught by the girls in the
brothel. A companionable silence fell over us as I silently worked and he
just as silently contemplated the other side of the glass window.

Unobtrusively, I laid a small handtowel down on the side of the bed and
then got up and put my brush away and walked out into the kitchen, making
sure to make a noticeable amount of noise before returning several
minutes later with his glass piss jar. I set the jar on the window sill
and then pulled down the covers and helped him spread his leg out to the
side. Retrieving the jar, I held it down low between his muscular legs
and held his cock in pissing position as if it were my own.

When he finished pissing, I shook off the last few drops and put his
foreskin back over the head of his dark mouth organ. Then I took the jar
out to the outhouse, removing the now slightly damp handtowel at the same
time. I used the outhouse myself and then came back inside and fixed up a
small bed for myself on the floor next to my patients bed. Once it was
ready I arranged the Indians bedding for him and made him comfortable for
the night. When I was done, he put his hand behind my head and brought
our foreheads together. He rubbed noses with me in a way that could only
be the Indian version of kissing and I was immediately flustered and
very, very horny. As embarrassed as I was, I was also painfully aware
that the Indian knew exactly what I was --- and accepted me as I was.
Blushing, I kissed him on the cheek and quickly retreated to my bed. He
started snoring a few minutes later, but I lay awake for some time trying
to understand my feelings towards the noble savage in my living room.

*****

Within the week my Indian friend, and he was becoming a friend, was
getting up and moving around with the aid of a crutch I had made for him.
He quickly learned to take care of his needs in the outhouse, and was
very pleased with the running water to clean up with. I insisted on
assisting him at first and it soon became a habit for us to use the
outhouse together. He made no fuss about normal body functions at all and
insisted on returning the favor the first time I washed his behind. We
kept that up and he seemed to take considerable pains to ensure that I
was spotlessly clean, even helping me with my enemas after he hobbled in
when I was giving myself one. He even felt up inside of me to make sure I
was clean which sort of embarrassed me, but which he took totally in
stride as if it was something completely normal that, as a masculine
prerogative, he did every day.

That night, he took me to bed with him and gently, carefully, made love
to me. He was very large when erect and seemed to understand how prudent
he needed to be to keep from harming me. He laid me on my side and curled
up behind me, putting his leg over my hips. Gently stroking me and
nuzzling me from behind, he put his foreskin covered cockhead against my
warmly pulsing anus and began to make love to me, keeping my whole body
involved as he nudged and enticed my bottom to open to him as he rode the
smoothness of his foreskin through my opening and then ever deeper inside
me. I cried as he completely entered me, as big around as Brent and
several inches longer when fully erect, he made me aware of how lonely
I'd been since Brent left.  We both knew that this was a temporary
expedient to ease our physical needs and relieve certain pressures, both
physical and psychological, but he was none-the-less the master cocksman
and I became his totally willing receptacle, which he acknowledged and
tried to show the depths of his appreciation for in the intensity of his
ministrations. He was eminently successful night after night as he
brought me to climax after climax and filled me to overflowing with his
seed. As he began feeling better he exhibited the need for physical
activity of the normally active man and started pegging me wherever he
could catch me, which I made sure was everywhere and whenever he felt the
need. He loved the bathing pond and would fuck me for hours there.

It was different though. Where Brent treated me as a man and loved me as
a man loves another man, the Indian treated me with dignity and respect,
and made love to me as if I were a woman. I didn't particularly object,
but it was a very different feeling --- which I came to like very much.
Being cuddled and fondled, cherished for my warmth and proximity, and
made love to as though we weren't going to leave the
bed/loft/meadow/outhouse/kitchen floor/stable/stall/against the wall...
for as long as required to completely satisfy both of us... All of this
had me bemused, walking around as if in a dream as I kept up with my
chores and did the cooking and cleaning. Chana, as he named himself, took
to leaving during the day and coming back with a brace of rabbits or
birds or some sort of game that we could eat. I knew that he was trying
to carry his part of the load and not be a burden, but I worried about
him. He finally let me come hunting with him after a bear treed him and I
chased the bear off with a stick and refused to leave him alone. He was
still not really healed and I chastised him long and loudly.

He had no trouble understanding what I was saying, even if we didn't have
a language in common. He listened for a bit and then just gathered me
into his arms, his tongue filling my mouth (something he didn't start out
knowing how to do, but which I'd been assiduously giving him lessons in)
and one hand covering my ass so his long middle finger could diddle
around inside of me. I had to admit that he had an interesting way of
distracting me... and that I didn't need to understand his language to
understand him any more than he needed to understand mine. We were
communicating just fine.

After that, Chana let me tag along and taught me how to snare small
animals and how to catch various types of bird and larger food animals.
One morning, VERY early, he led me down to where the creek went through a
copse of woods. We laid down in the damp under some bushes across the
creek from what looked like a clay bank rising up out of the other side
of the creek about fifteen feet. Before long I started to notice movement
in the bushes across the creek. Out of nowhere, one after another, five
long lithe shapes nosed the water and then slipped into the placid
smoothness, ripples in the water making magic the early morning sunlight
as it filled the clearing in the primal forest. The animals, which I now
realized must be the otters I'd heard about, seemed to bathe, and then,
just as abruptly as they arrived, they climbed out of the water and
disappeared.

Chana had shown me so much of nature that I had never seen before, or
never experienced as fully as he showed me. This lesson was driven home
when he slid over on top of me and wiggled and slid around much in the
manner of the otters. It took him no time to have me totally involved and
my knees were quite shaky as he led the way back to the house. I was
really quite enamored of my Amerind lover, and spent the walk daydreaming
about how he might take me next. I was so involved in my thoughts that I
didn't notice when Chana came to an abrupt halt in front of me. I walked
right into him and he put a hand back to keep me from falling.

We had just come into sight of the house and Blackhawk was standing by
the door, groundtied. I moved around Chana and ran for the house. Brent
came out just as I got there and I leapt into his arms. Brent staggered
and then spun around and around, holding me in his arms and kissing me as
if his life depended on it.

Brent suddenly stopped and set me carefully down on my feet, putting his
hand on his six-shooter and narrowing his eyes. I turned around and saw
Chana standing about 20 feet from us. I put my hand on top of Brent's
keeping him from drawing his gun.

"No, Brent. He's a friend."

Brent gave me an odd look and I quickly explained what had happened and
told him that Chana was still healing. Brent took his hand off of his gun
and moved me aside. He walked quietly over to Chana and raised his hand,
palm forward.

"Ya-ta-hey."

Chana looked at me and then directly at Brent. He stared at Brent for
what seemed the longest time and then glanced at me again before raising
his hand as Brent was still doing and repeated, "Ya-ta-hey."

Dancer broke up the tension by trotting up from the barn. I suddenly had
a strong feeling that I had some corral fence to repair. Dancer trotted
right up to Blackhawk and then quickly switched around so her ass faced
him. Using both back feet she kicked him in the ribs so hard he 'wiffed'.
Staggering he tried to back away from her but she had no problem keeping
up, kicking him over and over again until he finally turned and ran for
the creek with her in hot pursuit, ears back and bared teeth at the
ready.

I just stood there in shock but both Brent and Chana were cracking up,
laughing at the age old scene of pissed off wife cranking on wayward
husband. I was just wondering if maybe I might have some of the same
coming my way.

Brent waved his arms in a funny way at Chana and then told me to go get
the horses and put them up for the night. As I walked away Brent and
Chana were taking turns waving their hands at each other and I realized
that hey must have been talking in some kind of sign language. There was
a silent language of hands that the Chinese had taught me, but it was
pretty much only understood by people from the same school. I'd heard
about Indian sign language and it was unique in that just about all
Indians, no matter what tribe they were from, could make themselves
understood to just about any other Indian. I wanted to watch it some
more, but figured I'd better do what Brent had told me to do.

Dancer had Blackhawk up against some trees down at "their" meadow, and I
think Blackhawk was glad to see me. I took hold of his reins and he
followed me back to the barn without any backtalk at all. Dancer ran off
ahead of us and I think Blackhawk was relieved. He looked like he was
trying to say that being a stallion wasn't all that it was cracked up to
be.

When I got the horses settled in I did the rest of the chores as quickly
as I could and headed back up to the house. Chana and Brent were still
"talking", so I went into the house. Worried about what Brent might be
discovering, and his reaction to finding out that Chana had been screwing
my brains out, I took the only reasonable path and got busy so that I
didn't think about that stuff. I got the rest of dinner started and then
took fresh towels out to the wash shed and spread lime in the outhouse.
I'd been sleeping downstairs with Chana so I went up to the loft. I took
the dust covers off the bed and wardrobe, fluffed up the bedding and
pillows and generally cleaned the room up. The two older men came into
the house just as I was coming down the ladder from the loft. I took
Brent's gun and saddlebags from him and put them on the side counter and
then followed him and Chana out to the washhouse. I helped Brent strip
down and made sure he had soap for his shower and then stripped Chana
down and gave him a sponge bath. Neither of them had anything to say and
the tension was thick enough to butter bread with.

Dinner wasn't much improvement. Chana silently eating whatever was
offered him and Brent restricting his conversation to a few grunts and
finger pointings. By the time my dinner had been eaten without
appreciation the cloud of foreboding was more than I was willing to put
up with. I picked up the dinner dishes and THREW them into the sink. I
came back out of the kitchen and slammed the pan of cherry cobbler on the
table and without looking at either of them or saying a word I climbed
the ladder back up into the loft. I swear to God that if the ladder
hadn't been nailed in place I'd have pulled it up after me. I got into
bed and cried myself to sleep. The house was silent downstairs.

*-*-*-*

I woke up being held in Brent's arms, my nose buried in his armpit,
smelling his wonderful odor and feeling his incredible warmth. Fear that
I might loose him swept over me and I started crying again. Another
warmth moved up behind me and I was being held between two strong men. I
looked up at Brent's face. it was clear in the moonlight shining through
the window, and all I could see in his eyes was love and admiration. He
kissed me for the longest time, and then I felt Chana rolling me over
from behind so that he could show me how much better he kissed than a
white man. The same white man who was taking advantage of my trapped
position to lube up my behind and start pushing against it with a
trembling, drooling monster that had obviously not been treated right for
some time. So neglected was the monster that he barely got his head
buried when he began throwing up and spitting all over my insides.

"Oh! SHIT!" Brent wailed, trying to control himself.

Chana just barely gave the monster time to finish its convulsions before
twitching me around and using the monsters slime to plug my ass but good,
hard and all the way to the hilt. I cried out but Brent just pulled me to
him and covered my mouth with his while Chana screwed my ass like (you
should excuse me coining an expression) a wild Indian.

Have you ever taken two grown and virile men to bed together? Two men
trying to prove to each other who was the better, longer lasting, deeper
penetrating, exciting, powerful, talented, experienced, and polished
lover? If you haven't, may I suggest that unless you are in excellent
physical shape and are in possession of a recent clearance from your
doctor that you avoid the experience at all costs. The trial could well
be lethal.

These two spent the rest of the night trying to prove to each other who
was the better lover --- not realizing the entire time that *I* was the
better lover!!! Not that  I said or did anything to slow them down.

The morning sun found all of us considerably more languid. Brent had just
snuggled me up close to him and pulled my leg up over his hip. His dick
was behind my balls, nuzzling at the puffy and swollen lips of my
nethermouth as his kisses spread all over my face and his hands wandered
my body, stirring up all sorts of lustful feelings. I wasn't positive,
but I was getting the feeling that Brent had missed me. I was just
getting into kissing Brent back when I felt a certain horny Indian pull
up against my back and start nibbling at my ear. I soon had the noses of
two heated man organs sniffing around my butt trying to discover the
source of the leakage so they could plug up the drooling hole.

I gasped in surprise and tried to wiggle away when both blunt and well
used truncheons found the problem and started trying to force an entry at
the same time. Both men tightened their arms and held me in place as they
dueled with each other to see who would gain entry, and use of my well
used passageway leaving me with no choice but to try and relax myself
totally as both broad fuck tools drove into me at the same time. I tried
to focus entirely on the breathing exercises and relaxation techniques
I'd been taught as both men, surprised as they were at being inside me at
the same time, tried to control their newly aroused libido's and give me
a chance to adapt. What followed was the longest fuck session I'd ever
experienced as both of them synchronized and fucked me as if I were
plugged with one huge cock.

Then, flawlessly, so smoothly that one would have thought they'd been
practicing together for years, one would plunge deeply inside me as the
other withdrew right to the exit point, both at the same steady,
ass-drilling pace. They sped up and slowed down at the same times as if
they were following a symphonic conductor. Then one would hold still,
either deeply inside me or right at the rim of my supersensitive hole as
the other fucked hard at my hole only to suddenly hold perfectly still as
the other began fucking as if his life depended on it. They finished up
fucking me hard about a quarter stroke out of sync, which drove me around
the bend. I couldn't believe, or handle, the wild sensations being put to
me and came so hard as they were flushing my guts out with hot man cream
that I passed out. The last thing I was aware of was the sound of both of
them laughing, crowing together at their success. It was hours later
before we managed to crawl down the loft ladder and stumble our way out
to the outhouse.

Both men vied with each other in caring for me, but worked together
amiably in attaining their goal of getting me cleaned up and restored
enough that they could continue their fuck-a-thon. I was eager enough,
mentally at least, pulling at their limp dicks and playing with their low
swinging balls, trying to entice them into another round.

They finally shut down the shower and, carrying me between them without
even drying off, headed back for the loft. We stepped out into the
sunshine (Ok, ok... my feet were a foot off the ground, but I WAS with
them.) only to be confronted by a dozen tall, well-built young men
wearing little more than war-paint and carrying a variety of sharp and
pointy instruments.

Chana reverted to old stone-face in about a half a quarter of an instant
and let go of my arm. Brent set me on my feet, but held me up so I
wouldn't fall.

Chana said something abrupt in his own language and the warrior who
seemed to be in charge of the raiding party tried to explain what they
were doing there. I got the idea that he was trying to say that they'd
been looking for Chana for a long time and that they thought he was being
held and tortured by the white devils. Chana didn't even honor that with
an answer, just chased them off towards the creek and turned back to help
Brent carry me back into the house. The party considerably dampened, we
got dressed and went out front just as the braves returned from the
creek, sans weapons and war-paint. Chana became quite eloquent as he
explained what had happened, showing them the travois and making me show
them how Dancer helped me carry him. Then he showed them his wounds and
explained how I'd helped him, showing them the medicines and bandages and
such that I'd used. They seemed quite impressed with my ability as a
healer and seemed to take it as nothing out of the ordinary that someone
so talented would be a man-lover. Just about the time he was finishing up
a large party of indians rode up, most of them older than the braves that
had found us and one to whom Chana was very deferential. They waited a
bit until over fifty Indians had gathered and then Chana repeated his
entire story, really getting into it this time. I could see a master
story teller working on his presentation and elaborating and
demonstrating the finer points of his experience, even showing them how
I'd taught him to kiss, which embarrassed the hell out of me, especially
when the older guy that Chana was so deferential to insisted on trying it
himself. After a couple of false starts he seemed to get the idea and for
a while I just sort of forgot that we were being watched. When he finally
got done and let go of me I knew that he could have laid me down right
there and had me without a word of complaint in front of God, Country and
every Indian in the state. The man may not have been young but, by golly,
he had power to spare!

By the time the sun had started down there must have been over two
hundred Indians gathered around a huge bed of coals where the women were
preparing a feast that included a steer we'd slaughtered, a couple of
deer the hunters had brought in as well as an assortment of smaller
animals the young boys had trapped or caught. They were also preparing
Indian bread and a bunch of other dishes that I really didn't recognize.
I tried to spend the afternoon in my kitchen making enough food to share
amongst the large crowd but was constantly interrupted as Chana took me
outside to introduce me to newly arrived friends or braves came into the
kitchen for a kissing lesson or just to feel me up a bit. I had a feeling
that if I wanted to commit suicide by getting fucked to death, I
definitely had plenty of willing manpower available.

Two people that I got introduced to that day stand out in my memory. A
tall, narrow man wearing a tophat that spoke excellent English and
attached himself to me as my interpreter. The other had to be explained
to me. A beautiful, willowy Indian woman, who wasn't. She was a
"man-woman". A woman who had been born into a man's body. She was highly
respected and honored. Welcome in the men's meetings as well as the
women's. That night she danced for us. Coming out of the tent that had
been prepared for her by an eager group of the younger men. Apparently
she took care of their needs until they were married or if they were
having problems with their wives. She was wearing a doeskin dress so
supple I thought it was silk at first. Pure white so clean it almost hurt
the eyes even in the moon and fire light. Subtly embroidered and beaded,
I thought it the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen. Her dance was slow,
languid, starting so softly that her movements were felt rather than
seen. Her fan of blue bird feathers seemed to float through the air as
she told the story of God and the reaction of Earth, who held up the
animals and plants created so that the Indian would have sustenance and
warmth as they cared for God's creation. She told the story of the
generations who had come and gone. Their deeds, their pride, their
commitment to each other and the world they lived in. When the flap of
her tent finally hid her from view, I cried, knowing I would never
experience such beauty again.

Brent held me under his arm. We sat there together, staring into the
flickering fire until, quietly, Chana got up and started to tell the
story of his adventure. He told the beginning of his story, about how he
came to be injured and swept away in the flood. Then he nodded to me and
sat down. Everyone looked at me and I realized that I was supposed to
tell my part of the story now. Hesitantly, I got up. The tall man in the
top hat walked over and stood behind me. I started to tell of how I found
Chana and soon found myself totally wrapped up in the story telling.
Quietly urged on by the eager and rapt audience. I started acting out
what happened, miming my actions as I told of the injured man I had found
and how the beautiful Dancer had helped me save his life. Of how the
yellow men with slanted eyes from far across the great water to the west
had taught me healing and the care of men. Top Hat, as I called him,
eloquently filled in the gaps in my story and everyone seemed to nod in
approval as I sat back down, my story told.

Chana got back up to tell the rest of his story, all his listeners now
entranced by the story. He pointed to the windows, the walls that you
could feel, but not see, that he watched the world through as he healed.
He talked, much to my embarrassment, of my caring for him and providing
for his every need. He ended by calling me out into the middle of the
circle where he took my arm in his strong hand and, staring deeply into
my eyes so I would not fear, cut my wrist with his sharp hunting knife.
Then he cut his own wrist and bound it to mine with a leather strap.
Someone started to slowly beat on one of the drums that they had brought
with them and everyone stood. The he-woman came out of her tent and
joined them as they danced, slowly, facing into the circle shuffling in
rhythm first to the left and then to the right. A low chanting began and
Top Hat brought Brent into the circle which moved back and forth,
constantly circling the fire and the bound pair standing proudly together
in the middle of their united display of approval. That night I became
Chana's brother, and a Human Being.

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