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Small Bird was the perfect choice, especially as Swift Foot had saved her life years before. Their future had been decided by their past. But for their people to survive the coming darkness, the two would have to win each others hearts. On the sleeping mat or wrapped in furs, on riverbank or dusty plain, passion must somehow blaze to life between the half-breed chieftain and his new wife...and they had to start the fire soon, for dusk had already fallen.

Excerpt:

The Birth of Swift-Foot

Rolling banks of wispy, cottony-white fog shrouded a band of warriors moving across the prairie in the pre-morning grayness. Silent as the moist clouds concealing them, they followed the river.

Above them, Wi rose, painting the horizon with pale pinks and golds. Taking a deep breath, Wi stretched his light and warmth upward and outward, chasing away the last of the darkness. Satisfied that the day would be especially nice, he glanced down. Then frowned when he spotted the war-painted warriors taking advantage of the wan morning light and fog. Anticipating the imminent violence soon to take place below, the spark of light within dimmed.

Tate, the wind, howled his own protest. He rushed downward, sending the tendrils of fog across the rich green land. Reaching the warriors, he circled them. Go back, he howled. The revenge-bent warriors ignored him, pressing onward. Reaching a thick wall of trees, they dismounted and led their mounts through the silent woods.

Flowing above the budding trees, Wind swirled across the land until he reached a small encampment. His breath sent waves of green grass flowing across the prairie. Flames flickered in fire pits, and smoke from many cook fires were sucked high and far.

Unaware of the danger, men gathered to plan their day while women began the morning meal. Children of all ages embraced the dawn with the exuberance of youth. No one paid any mind to his howls of rage. Saddened and angry over his inability to stop more blood from flowing into the earth, he screeched upward, back into the heavens.

Pounding hooves along with high-pitched shrieks belonging to the band of Miniconjou warriors breaking through the thick stand of cottonwoods lining the river shattered the gentle spring morning calm.

Alerted to the danger, the band of Hunkpapas scurried to protect themselves. Camped away from the river, away from trees that could hide an approaching enemy, they had time to take action.

Men grabbed weapons and mounted their war ponies while women cried out warnings, grabbed their young children and ran out into the expansive prairie like ants fleeing their nests. Crouched low in the tall, dark green grass, they hid.

Warriors of all ages rode away from camp, toward the stream to meet the enemy with lances held high and outraged shouts ringing the air. Half a dozen youths ran to the large herd of horses. Mounting, their yells rose as they sent the herd galloping to safety. The aged, feeble and ill had no choice but to take refuge in their tipis.

As the attacking band of warriors crossed the stream, birds flew from the tree tops, frantically beating their wings to leave the melee behind. White-tailed deer froze in place for a heartbeat before leaping nimbly across the stream and out across the grassland.

A group of young boys ranging from seven to nine gathered upstream from the enemy whirled as one at the first war whoop. Calf-Boy, the youngest felt his heart slam into his throat when he saw the enemy riding out of the fog, heading toward them.

His uncle rode past. "Go! Hide!"

The moist earth churned up by the horses hooves pelted him, spurring him into action. He and the other boys wasted no time in heeding the command. While their skill with miniature bows and arrows might bring down a squirrel for the morning meal, they were no match against seasoned warriors.

Heart pounding against his ribs, he ran, his feet swiftly carrying him across the uneven ground. Fear bit at his heals. Had the enemy learned that the son of Runs With Wind and Sun Woman lived? Had they come to kill him as they'd kill his parents?

He ran between two large rings of tipis. A miniature tipi and two dolls lay in his path. The girls who'd been playing with them were nowhere to be seen. He jumped over the toys. Behind him, the sounds of a fierce battle raged. The enemy had chosen to attack while many of their warriors, and the visiting tribe's warriors, were out hunting.

Once he was far past the camp, he dropped flat into the tall grass. Dew clung to the grass, soaking him. On his belly, he lifted his head, parting the grass carefully.

Calf-Boy trembled when he saw that several enemy warriors had managed to reach his camp. Slashing at the hide walls of tipis, they yelled their victory. When they reached the eastern horn and the largest tipi pitched there, one warrior leaned out, his knife stabbing through the tipi belonging to his uncle--and chief.

Frightened, a woman and young girl stumbled from the entrance, seeking safety. Horrified, Calf-Boy watched the two warriors follow his ill aunt. She stumbled. Willow Song, his cousin who was the same age stopped to help her mother up. One of the warriors raised his war club. Helpless and unable to look away, Calf-Boy watched the woman who'd raised him fall beneath the blow. Then they ran her daughter down.

Spread out before him, screams of pain and victory ricochet through the air as his uncle's warriors fought off the enemy. More than one tipi fell to the hacking of knife blade or axe. Smoke from the cook fires inside the dwellings billowed, followed by flames licking at the hides.

Two warriors left the fighting behind to ride out into the grass, sending women and children running. In that moment, Calf-Boy knew the enemy had learned of his existence. They searched for him.

Frantically, Calf-Boy prayed for his uncle to come, to stop the enemy. He didn't want to die. He didn't want anyone else to die because of him.

A large rock dug into his knee but he ignored the pain and remained still until a frightened cry to his right brought his head around. A small girl fled place of hiding. She ran away from the enemy toward his place of hiding. The murdering warriors who'd killed his aunt laughed and followed.

One of them screamed and fell when an arrow found its mark in his back. Relieved, Calf-Boy spotted several of his uncle's warriors riding out into the prairie. With a cry of rage, the foe raised his club high--a life for a life.

Without thought, Calf-Boy grabbed the rock beneath his knee. He had to do something. He couldn't allow them to kill her in cold blood as they'd killed his aunt and cousin.

Rage and grief propelled him forward. These men had killed his aunt and cousin. In cold blood. Not in battle. He threw the rock with all his might, hitting the horse between the ears. The startled animal reared up on its hind legs, forcing the warrior clinging to its back to use both hands to regain control.

With his blood pounding in his ears, Calf-boy ran nimbly beneath the deadly hooves. He couldn't let them kill the small girl. Grabbing an arrow from the small quiver slung crosswise over his shoulder, he came out on the other side of the horse.

Using both hands, he stabbed the arrow deep into the surprised warrior's thigh.

The enemy screeched in pain. Calf-Boy scooped up the little girl. Tiny at only three winters, she felt light as a feather. She clung to his narrow chest tightly. "Hold on, Small Bird." Turning, he ran for all he was worth.

The pounding of hoofs beating at the earth rumbled beneath him. He didn't dare take his eyes off the ground flying beneath his feet to glance over his shoulder. He couldn't fall. Didn't dare falter. He ran. Ran until overtaken by the large black horse belonging to his uncle.

That night, in a simple ceremony with death in their camp, Calf-Boy was renamed, Swift-Foot and the legend of how the youngest warrior alive had counted coup and saved a small girl would be retold by friend and foe alike and follow the young warrior into adulthood.

Read Chapter One of WHITE DUSK

Reviews:

In 1808 Dakota Territory, half-breed Chief Swift Foot refuses to shirk his responsibility towards his tribe the Hunkpapa Sioux as his father did. Thus Swift Foot gives up his love for a white woman and agrees to wed Small Bird of the Miniconjou tribe. He hopes his marriage ends hostilities caused by his father marrying for love rather than duty of as a member of the Miniconjou tribe. Small Bird’s sense of duty reluctantly propels her to agree to the marriage too though she regrets that it will be a relationship of unrequited love.

Small Bird has loved Swift Foot ever since he saved her life years ago. However, she knows his heart belongs to someone else even though her visions show that she and her beloved share a destiny together.

The romance between Swift Foot and Small Bird is a beautiful story. The belligerence between the tribes is well written, but takes away from the lovely prime story line of the changing feelings and subsequently relationship between the lead couple. Known for her Native American historical romances, Susan Edwards has provided her myriad of fans with a delightful tale of love.

— Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviews

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