Blackwater Val
Standing straight, the man spread his arms wide and chanted low, the pair of tethered, blood-speckled hawk feathers dangling loosely below the razored blade of the tomahawk.
When he’d finished his nocturne, Salt wheeled and made his way out of the dark cemetery. Leaving food was no different than how the whites left flowers behind for their deceased, but if he were to be spotted here he would be deemed crazy for sure. He wasn’t crazy. He was just biding his time. His Sauk ancestors buried back there, the ones with honorable spirit warrior names like Deercreek, and Two Knives, and Red Sky Gall (he would not disgrace them by using their Christian-given names, even though it was a Christian gra
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