Page 3 - My FlipBook

Kantasa Wi
The Moon-of-Ripe-Plums

Dakota Territory—Late Summer, 1890

irls don’t hunt,” Red Dove’s brother said. “So go
“Gaway!”
Red Dove pretended not to hear. She pointed to the flock of
wild turkeys squawking and squabbling in the meadow below.

“We’ll go hungry if you miss again, Walks Alone, so let me try.”
She pulled her brother’s ash wood bow out of his hand.

He jerked it back. “I’m not letting you use my arrows,” he
said, glaring.
“I don’t need yours. I have my own. Wait here.” Red Dove
darted towards the old cottonwood tree. Scrambling up to the

knothole, she pulled out her secret treasure: a quiver of arrows.
She raced back but her brother was nowhere in sight. “I
told you to wait!” she cried.

1