"Who... Who you?" she asked in broken English, staring fearfully at the white man before her.
The setting was a clearing full of small, pale blue flowers. Trees marked the boundaries of the oval-shaped area, and the tiniest bit of a breeze could flow through to ruffle your hair.
And in the center was the young girl. Not twenty feet away was the man from the attack three days before. His sandy blond hair was strange, a lock of it sticking up where he parted it. Square-ish glasses were perched on his nose, but they caught the sunlight and hid his eyes behind a mirror-like surface. The muzzle of his rifle was aimed at the girl's own chest, though an odd expression crossed his face as he brought it down to point at the grass.
"Sorry, I thought... No, I don't think it could have been you," he said to himself.
She noted the white bandage wrapped around his upper arm. It wasn't stained with blood, but she knew a wound lay underneath.
"Why... here?" she asked haltingly as she fought to remember what little English she's picked up from the various traders she had met before.
"I had a strange compulsion to find this place," he explained, breaking open the action on his gun so it couldn't fire accidentally. "I didn't think anyone would be here, though."
"My place," she said firmly, standing and placing her hands on her small hips. "Go away."
"Not until I know why I needed to be here," the man replied as he glanced around idly, taking in the scenery. 'Such a strange feeling...'
"Arm hurt? Ha," the girl laughed with pride as she gestured to the white wrapping. "Nice arrow, sad it not hit center."
"What are you saying?" the young man asked, not quite understanding.
The child folded her darkly-skinned arms over her chest and smirked. "I see you on horse, let arrow fly! Aim for center, but hand shake. Miss center. You here now."
"You... You couldn't have been the one to shoot me," the man said disbelievingly. He almost laughed at the idea that this girl -a mere child!- could be capable of even holding a bow, much less using one properly.
"Yes, was I," she insisted with a thumb jabbed at her front. "Brown and... red feather, yes?"
He froze for a second, the colors mentioned jogging his memory. The tail of the arrow did have brown and red feathers! Was she really the one to shoot him? But... But he wasn't just anyone!
Did that mean she wasn't just anyone, either?
"What kind of Indian has green eyes, anyway?" he asked, steering the topic off of him.
She clapped a hand over one eye and glared fiercely at the intruding man. "Quiet!"
"Oh, you don't like your eyes?" The soldier crossed his legs and sat down, the rifle lying on his knees. He plucked at a piece of grass and examined it before holding it to his lips and blowing. A strange noise came from his mouth and the piece of grass!
'What is he doing?' the girl wondered as he pulled it away from his lips and twirled it around between index and thumb. Curiously, she lowered her hand and took a few steps forward before realizing what she was doing. 'I can't go to him, I shouldn't be anywhere near him unless I'm told to hurt him! He takes our lands, after all!'
"Why you come here, steal from us?" she inquired, preferring to stand in case she had to run away at a moment's notice.
"I'm trying to become strong so I can be a hero to the rest of the world," the young soldier explained, glancing up at the child. She was clothed in Native American garb made of leather and other cloths traded by traveling merchants. Her black hair was free to hang down almost to her feet, and in her eyes there was a sort of strange intelligence that didn't often occur within children so young. Yes, there was something odd about this girl.
"What you mean?" she asked, not quite understanding.
"If I become stronger and bigger, I can protect the people I want to protect. Otherwise, I'm useless," he answered as a determined expression settled on his face. In fact, it was almost exactly the same as the one the girl had worn before she launched that arrow.
"Protect... Protect who?"
He pondered the thought. "I have lots of brothers and sisters to watch over. I need to protect them at all costs. And I have other friends around the world, too, that I'd like to protect."
"Brothers and sisters?" Her expression was curious once more as she stole nearer. "Many?"
The man-- more like a boy, in fact, nodded. "Yes, many many many."
"I have village, Chief," she replied. "Chief getting sick because white men."
"Is he really sick?" The look on his face was of genuine concern, and it unnerved the girl. Why should he care? He was one of the people causing her father's pain in the first place!
A sudden bird call interrupted her train of thought, and the soldier had no time to ask her for an explanation before she jumped up and bolted to the edge of the clearing. The hem of her brown dress disappeared into the bushes before he even had a chance to call out to her.
'I should probably leave, too, before I'm spotted' he thought while standing and closing the action of his gun. 'One man against many are never good odds.'
