The moon hung low, a great golden scythe surrounded by countless twinkling stars. A gentle breeze whispered through the cottonwoods, sharing the secrets of the night. Elayna’s head rested on Michael’s shoulder, and she thought she had never known such contentment, such a feeling of belonging. She liked living with the Cheyenne, she liked their customs, their friendliness, their belief that all life was part of the whole. They had a great reverence for the earth, for all living things. She turned her head and gazed at the man beside her. How was it possible that she could have grown to love him so completely in such a short time? They lived together in sweet harmony, grateful for each new day. He was a warrior, with a warrior’s inborn pride. He possessed a deep inner strength, an assurance of who and what he was. He was adept with the bow and the lance, he rode with the ease and agility that seemed to be inherent in the Cheyenne. He excelled at the hoop and pole game; no one could best him at wrestling.
