Here's a snippet from Four Winds:
Hunter paced the floor of his mother’s longhouse. Memories flooded, bittersweet and sharp with regret. Once this place had been refuge, safety. Now it was dark, as if the walls had sprouted arms and hands that were now trying to suffocate him.
Panic was foreign to him, an emotion he had long since learned to control and push away. Hunter fought it now, refused to let it overcome him. Foolish that he should even consider letting it bother him. He had been to Canada countless times, had traveled every inch of this Colony the Onondios called New York, had even seen the Great Water they call the Atlantic. And he had witnessed, even caused, more bloodshed than ten men.
He forced himself to meet his mother’s gaze, which was a struggle all its own. Black eyes stared back, questioning, searching for answers when he had none.
Two Skies had aged since two winters ago, when Hunter had seen her last. Going on ten years now, she had been alone with no man to provide for her. Hunter’s brothers, River and Seeker, brought her firewood, hunted for her, which Hunter would always be grateful for.
Was his mother ever lonely? Two Skies had family, friends around her. She had no grandchildren yet, but plenty of little ones running around the village. Still, if she had a man, someone to complete the other half of her.
That was important. Even himself, always alone with regrets to haunt him day and night…Hunter knew the importance of a mate as much as he knew the hell of being alone. It was too late from him. He was a killing vessel, no longer capable of love and would destroy all who he cared for.
Steps approached from behind. Anyone else would likely not have noticed. However, years of stalking his enemies had heightened Hunter’s senses. To be taken by surprise could very possibly mean death.
Hunter did not turn, knew it was Swift River, his eldest brother by four winters. River had stormed after him the moment he saw him going into their mother’s longhouse.
Under different circumstances, any other past, it would be good to see River. More than good, like a weight on the world lifted. But not in this life. In this life, River was a reminder of the mistakes and regrets, one of which was more despicable than any wrongs he had done. And River would never let him forget it.
River folded his arms over his broad, tanned chest. Over six feet, well past two-hundred pounds. A shame River had never wanted to join Colonel Grey’s forces. River had fought many battles for the protection and power of the Hodenosaunee people, but had never wanted to ally himself with the white man. That was where he and his brother greatly differed.
“Why are you home, brother?” River’s expression was one he might give a stranger or enemy. “Why now? What sort of trouble to you wish to befall upon us?”
“If this is your way of claiming to miss me, I am grateful for your concern.”
“Not grateful enough to stay home, to even consider apologizing to her.”
River was referring to Two Skies. Hunter had never tried to apologize to his mother. None were good enough. He and Two Skies had spoke circles around each other all morning. Hunter had talked more about the weather than any other time of his life. No mention of his abandonment, his silence, or Stands Tall’s death.
He did not try to ignore the sting of River’s words. They were all true, nothing to be denied. Hunter had abandoned his family, his people, his heritage. To leave, even for the sake of improving his way of life, was abandonment. It was his family saw, all they would ever see.
“So now you kill women.”
“River.” His mother’s voice was stern.
Hunter kept silent. Word had traveled rapidly about the white woman’s presence in the village, that he had shot her. Hunter had not expected otherwise. Nor had he expected his family to see him as anything but a killer.
River’s expression was hard. “A white woman, the worst of the lot. Why did you not finish her off?”
“I made a mistake.”
River grunted. “Not your first.”
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