Greasy Grass River [Little Bighorn], Friday evening, June 23rd 1876 Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e* had spent most of the day scraping buffalo hides. In the afternoon she had sown a pair of Mocassins for her daughter Little Seeker. Then she had started painting the new Tipi Lining with Buffalo hunt pictures. She wanted it to look just as good as the one that the white soldiers had burned with the rest of her household three moons ago. The people of Old Bear’s village had done an enormous amount of work to replace their destroyed homes. Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e reckoned that the men had felled and prepared at least twelve hundred pine tree stems for the tipi poles alone. The number of buffalo hides necessary for the naked tipi planes had been around fifteen hundred. And that didn’t include the tipi linings, robes or any other household item. They were still rather poor, although things were slowly improving. They had two willow beds complete with backrests, pillows and cosy buffalo robes, a big one for her and her husband Black Coyote and a smaller one for Little Seeker. They were still short on clothes and household items. And toys and sports gear. The whole family of Little Seeker’s dolls as well as Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e’s prized Shinny racket, dark at the grip from the sweat of twelve seasons and full of dents from countless ferocious matches, also the beaded shinny ball – all these things had been either looted by the soldiers or been consumed by the bonfires they had erected from the People’s households while they had temporarily occupied the village. But that didn’t even begin to describe the painful loss. All the dear things that carry family memories, priceless heirlooms, presents that had passed between the spouses over the years, musical instruments, sacred items, and all the useful and often bitterly necessary things that made life on the harsh plains bearable – they had become prey of the looting soldiers and the flames. Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e steered her mare down to the river in the balmy evening. She gazed across the Greasy Grass River and let the scenery of peace and safety soothe her soul. The most important thing was that the catastrophe of Powder River wouldn’t repeat itself. What they needed now was security in numbers, and this they had! Like a chain of pearls the camp circles stretched for miles along the river. Thousands upon thousands of people were assembled, and newcomers from the Agencies and even from the Reservations in the south were bringing both welcome friends and warriors and worrying news every day. The vé’hó’e had been angry when the Peaple’s fighting men had finally repulsed the attackers at Powder River three moons ago. They were even angrier now, the talking wire said, that they had vanquished Three Stars on the Rosebud six days ago. Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e’s mind went back to the recent battle in which she had gained such war honours that she had been awarded a new name three days ago: Otséémėhé'e , Brave Woman. What a huge fight this had been! Had it not been for the watchful Shoshoni mercenaries, they would have completely overrun Three Stars! They had lost a lot of ponies, and quite a few warriors had been wounded, Black Coyote, her dear husband, among them! One fighting man of the People, Black Sun, had been killed. The Miniconjous and the Hunkpapa had each lost a man as well. And from what she had heard in camp, the Oglalas, the largest faction of the assembled tribes, had lost no less than twenty fighting men. They had paid an awfully high price for their victory… The people tried to convince themselves that this sacrifice would have been enough to scare the vé’hó’e off so that they would leave the People in peace. Also, the presence of Esevone, the holy Buffalo Hat and the Mahootse, the Sacred Arrows, the two most sacred totems of the People, gave strength to everybody’s heart. Little Wolf, the bearer of the Holy Bundle was present among the People as well as the holy Wheel Lance which had the power of making the people invisible before the eyes of pursuing enemies. They couldn’t be safer than they were right now. And thus daily routine had set in again. Young men and women were doing their chores, casting furtive and longing looks at each other. There was courtship going on by day and dancing at night. Couples were getting married and babies were born into this world with a future nobody dared to predict any more. Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e tried to imagine in what kind of world Little Seeker would grow to womanhood, but somehow no images would appear before her inner eye. She never left her lodge now without her six-shooter. She had known war with the vé’hó’e since her childhood days. While staying with family members in the south, she had narrowly survived the Sand Creek massacre twelve years ago, losing more relatives and friends than she could bear to recollect. More friends had been murdered in the Washita massacre eight years ago and more just last year at Sappa Creek. There had been a steady, deadly rhythm of attacks, retaliation, peace treaties and new attacks. All the while their land was being stolen, the buffalo slaughtered. It was hard to kindle the flame of hope in one’s heart these days. Things seemed to progress from bad to worse all the time. She had talked to her childhood friend Véhpotá'e** , who, although a woman, was the People’s best horse-breaker. She had arrived from the south the other day. The reservation in Oklahoma was a prison. Game was scarce, rations bad and too little to feed the people. The vé’hó’e were spreading discord among the People, appointing turncoats as tribal representatives and were doing everything to destroy the good way of life. Véhpotá'e had shown Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e her lodge made from whiteman-linen. It was awful. Although it would admittedly last a little longer than the hide lodges that required replacement every few years, the linen-lodges were damp and dark and compared poorly with the finely cured buffalo hide skins of real lodges which were translucent and bathed her home in a warm, golden light and soothing scents. She had promised to help Véhpotá'e make a proper lodge, She hoped she would stay with the free people. After all, with the old hunting grounds of the Southern folks overrun and taken over by the vé’hó’e, travel between the Northern and Southern folks was increasingly turning into a life-threatening run of the gauntlet. Mó'ėsá'eméóná'e took a deep breath and looked eastward. A storm was gathering… ________________________________ *Buffalo Calf Road Woman, pronounced Mo'sahmeóhnah ** Leaf, pronounced Vépotah _______________________________ General events, locations, people mentioned are all historical. Details, thoughts and conversations are fictional. There isn't a single line of genuine quotes from Cheyenne fighting women that would have found it's way into our historical records. _______________________________ Tech stuff: Marvellous Designer 4 (Cheyenne women's dress) Gimp 2.6 (textures) Poser Pro 2014 (figures setup) Cue 2014 Xstream (scene setup and render)