Page 11 - My FlipBook

“I can’t help being different, Grandfather; you know that!”
Red Dove looked at the ashy fire, as if to take courage from

the smoke rising from it. “Is that why no one listens to me?
Because I am half… Wasichu?”

The old man smiled and placed his hand gently on top of
her head. “You are different, but not just because your father
was white.” He removed his hand and turned away. “And
some day you will see that as a gift,” he said quietly. “You will

be special—”
“Special? How?”
“You will be Iyeska—”

“An interpreter, like Old Tom? I want to be like you.”
“I am Iyeska, as you will be also. And more. You will have
the gift of understanding, of what is behind the words that

people speak. You will travel between worlds—”
“What worlds, Grandfather? The world of the whites, the
Wasichu?”

“Worlds you cannot yet imagine,” he whispered. “You will
travel between them, explain them to others and bring them
together.”
Red Dove wanted to shout at him. Nothing was making

any sense. She stared at his hunched figure and dared to ask
the question that had plagued her since the white people
came. “So, will you send me away?”

Gray Eagle turned. “Only if you want to go,
Granddaughter.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and
she felt its reassuring weight. “We will not make you. Even

if it means we go hungry.” He tilted her face up towards his.
“Remember, we are the last of a free people.”
Red Dove breathed a sigh and felt the knot inside her

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