long ago

Long ago two T'salagi tribes, known as the blue feathers and the painted people, in battled for generations both sides losing many sons and brothers, both sides refusing to yield. Until my father's father's father brokered an unsteady peace between our two tribes.

Every year The eldest born son of the chief of our tribe once he comes of age must battle the eldest born son of the chief of their tribe for control of the valley where the most food and animals can be found. Every spring the tribes would gather to watch our warriors battle. For the past five springs that warrior was me and for the past five years I lost. My people would not survive the winter if I failed again. Our reserves have run dry, we have hunted the animals until there was nothing left. I had to win.

I awoke in my bed frightened as I had been every day since last winter began and little tree died. My father tried to comfort me and assure me it was because she was old but I knew her **** was on me. How many more would perish because of my weakness? When I was younger my father told me I reminded him of my mother, if only that were true now. She was a great war woman.