The young man teased his way back, seeming to loosen up a bit. The air around the two of them seemed to soften some, though it all stilled when at the 'camp' of her brother. Her long limbs, shapely and curving, carried her with all the grace and agility of a wild creature. Her silk black hair swung and floated about with her every movement, and her almond eyes fixed on him when he spoke. Her full lips tilted ever so slightly into a smile and she raised a brow at him. The small expanse of her waist gave way to a soft swell of hips that moved in the naturally seductive way that all women walked in. Without the heavy multitude of skirts that the white women wore, it was far too easy to become entranced by that feminine waltz of a walk. 

Ju-li-an walked heavy on the earth, leaving prints like a young stud horse might, unknowingly announcing his existence to every creature that came across his path. Wasula thought it a bit humorous since he sort of reminded her of those young stallions that pranced about, wanting to show off for one and all. She could almost see him side step dance like a stallion in front of a line of pretty young mares. His heavy-heeled boots would kick up quite the dust storm to show off his youthful power. 

With a soft humming, mostly to herself, Wasula let her traveling pack settle on her back, the wind rustling up her dark hair to swirl it about her bare shoulders. She still didn't completely understand his idea of betting on something that was sure to be a losing bet. Old men and warriors often bet stones or shells or bones in their games, so she knew some of the betting rules. It seemed rather foolish to bet on a horse one knew was lame to jump high without injury. She did listen to his view on it though, even if she didn't understand his point of view.  Instead she just a few small nods, to show him she listened and thought about it. Though Ju-li-an seemed to think about things quietly just like her.

He had been surprised at her climbing of the tree, and just as surprised at the sight of her before him, like it was all sinking in. He was receiving help from an 'Indian'. She could share the sentiment. It was an odd thing to be in front of someone and yet feel worlds away. What was he thinking? How did he see things? What did it all drive him to act on? But such curiosities were dangerous, even with someone like this man who appeared to be more peaceful than most of his people.

Following him as he led the way to him home, Wasula watched how he walked. Heavy footed, though it was little wonder considering how heavy all his clothes and things seemed to layer on him. A small swagger in his walk, like the natural showings of manhood confidence in most steps of men. His body led more with his shoulders than his chest. Young men of her people walked with heads up high and chests out, always sure-footed even in unknown terrain. Ju-li-an seemed to absently keep in mind where his feet led him. It was an interesting thing to watch for Wasula, to notice these little difference. It made him more and more of a curiosity. Her dark eyes strayed down his shoulders, down the line of his spine and to his backside. What? Any red-blooded woman would look, especially when so intrigued by someone so alien to them. It was a nice sight, though he was covered more than most men she was used to seeing. He would probably look far more handsome in fitted leggings and a war shirt, though that could just be her biased. 

Arriving at his 'ranch' Wasula peered around in alertness, slowly and unassuming, but always cautious. She may trust the young cow-boy something more than the shopkeeper in town, but his family did not earn any of her trust. After all, blood-kin could be as different as she was from her own brother. A large hut for livestock called a 'barn' loomed like a bulky half-mountain, the center of this ranch. Cattle, beasts more docile and kin to buffalo, a favor keeping herd to the white man, sauntered about in their open-aired cages. Ah, 'fences' that was the word. White men sure were lazy, raising their game where it could not flee and give proper honor to the meat. But then again, not many white men knew of true honor.

Of course, her white man seemed to have more honor than most, but perhaps that was because he was still young. Ah, but he was older than her. She forgot sometimes, his features always coloring towards the shy innocence of youth. Chickens in a large wake spread about noisily as pale-skinned children ran about chasing them. At least the actions of children were still akin to those of her people. The children stilled some, watching her walk with Julian, gleaming curiosity and slight fear in their eyes. What horrible stories did their parents tell them about people with dark skin reddened by the heathen sun? She didn't have to imagine too hard. Children of her tribe heard ghastly stories of white men enough to give a few nightmares.

Wasula stopped two feet behind Ju-li-an, the bigger hut- er, 'house' apparently the one belonging to his family. Wasula vaguely wondered how a floor could be stacked up on top of the first level to make it so tall. Didn't the floor ever fall through the top of the first level? She dismissed the line of intrigue to focus on the fearful woman sitting in the swaying seat who called to someone inside. Ju-li-an's mother? But why did she shout so fearfully? Wasula had no weapon in her hands, didn't make any sounds, and was being led by Ju-li-an. Why should this woman be so afraid? Baffled, she felt as though she didn't quite believe Ju-li-an about his father not hurting her.  

When the white man who must be his father came out bristled up worse than a sour-tounged rattlesnake, carrying a gun he seemed all too ready to use, her doubts multiplied. Her distanced from Ju-li-an lessened quickly, till she was standing just behind his left arm, dark eyes watching the old white man on the porch wearily. Though the mention that Wasula was a horse thief struck hard, almost as if she had been punched in the gut and kicked while down. To be called a horse thief was a shaming insult. Raiding horses was one thing. Stealing them for greed was quite another. Her face reddened a bit in anger, though she did her best to school her features into a stoic mask. It seemed as though she had many different tones of a stoic face, because this one was hard and intense, very unlike her softer one when talking with the young cowboy.

[i]Savage[/i]. A hideous term she was well aquatinted with. As if greedy white men knew the meaning to such a word. She let the old man have a morsel of a glare when he said he would kill her if Ju-li-an died. Foolish old man just wanted to kill her because she wasn't white. He didn't need a reason, but he presented one to everyone else as the labeling cause of his dislike. Wasula was all too familiar with this too. How could he hate someone he didn't even know? Easy. She didn't look like his people, she didn't act like his people, she was different and different needed to be erased from existence. Hateful man.

Ju-li-an left her outside, entering the stacked 'house'. Leaving her to stare down the hateful father of his and his wary mother. She kept her head high, her face impassive, and her eyes on the old man and his gun. There was nothing she could say to make this situation better. Any words from her would only anger the old man. And his trigger finger seemed to easily tempted. [i]Afraid of an unarmed woman,[/i] her thoughts scoffed in disbelief, [i]How weak he must be.[/i] The young cowboy kissed his mother goodbye before trotting down the porch stairs to her. Wasula said nothing as he mutely stated they were leaving. She pressed her lips together firmly.

She followed him, as the white folk liked it to be when walking with an 'Indian', her head high and back straight, each step confident, graceful and soft. They walked in tense silence for a while. She hadn't expected anything more than what had just happened, but it still hurt. To be seen as a petty, greedy thief. A viper waiting to strike. A vile creature who was less than simply due to her background and skin color. Once well away from his family's 'ranch', Wasula quickened her feather soft steps and took the lead. Maybe Ju-lian had forgotten, being reminded that he was 'better' than a savage like her, but he didn't know where he was going. They would circle the town till she found the trail. Such a large band of horses and raiders would leave a mark on the land, even if there was an attempt to cover it all up.

"What happened to your brother?" she asked suddenly and bluntly, her voice as tense and tight as when he had first spoken to her.