Wabi by Joseph Bruchac

man stepped forward. He was holding a small child in his arms. Suddenly I recognized him. It was Melikigo, Dojihla’s big brother. Apparently, even though he now lived in another village with his wife’s family, he had come to see this contest to win his sister. As he walked toward me, Dojihla’s father shook his head.
    â€œMy son,” Wowadam said, “there is not time enough for this.”
    Melikigo grinned as he placed his child in Wowadam’s arms. “Father, there is always time for a little friendly wrestling.”
    Wrestling. I should have expected it from him. His name Melikigo, means “He is strong.” I had seen, over the years, how none of the other boys—or the men when he was grown—had ever been able to throw him.
    He reached out to grasp my wrist. “Shall we try to throw each other?”
    I grasped his wrist in turn. I tried to remember the words I’d heard spoken when men wrestled.
    â€œLet us do so,” I said. “Tell me when to begin.”
    â€œNow!” Melikigo shouted. His big muscles strained as he tried to pull me forward into him so that he could wrap his arms around me. I didn’t move. He tried another tactic, pushing into me. This time I turned in a half circle, even though there was no way he could have moved me. He was strong, but I could feel how much stronger I was.
    I did not throw him, though, even though it would not have been hard to do. Instead, I stayed locked up with him as the two of us moved back and forth. Water was now dripping from his forehead. One or two times, I pushed a little too hard and had to pull him back so that he would not lose his footing. To anyone watching, it must have looked like an even match. Melikigo, though, knew.
    â€œEnough,” he finally said. He let go of me and I released my own grip. His eyes found mine as he nodded. I understood the message in his gaze. Thank you, his look was saying, for not making me appear foolish in front of my family.
    He turned to look at his sister. She had been watching us closely. I looked too, but Dojihla quickly turned her glance away from me.
    â€œMy sister,” Melikigo said, reaching out his hand to thump me on the chest, “this is a good one.”
    â€œHummph,” was all that Dojihla said in reply.

CHAPTER 20
    The Feast
    I’D SELDOM HUNTED IN THE daylight before. Things looked different than at night. You could see your prey from much farther away—and it could see you. That all took some getting used to. I’d also never used any other weapon to hunt with than my own talons. That took even more getting used to.
    But hunting with my great-grandfather Nadialid’s bow and arrows had not turned out to be that difficult. For me, the hardest part about hunting that day was not finding game and shooting it. It was remembering what humans like to hunt. I had just crept close enough to the most delicious-looking chipmunk when it came to me that humans liked larger food. Forget about mice, shrews (which have a nice sharp tang to them), baby crows (yummy and crunchy). Think about animals even bigger than bunnies. Probably not skunks.
    Wabi, I said to myself, think big. Think deer. Elk. Moose. Got it?
    At first, when I found the animals I had decided to hunt, they fled from me. I had never approached anything from the ground before, but always from the air. When you hunt from the air, you move with the wind and it carries you. On the ground, a hunter’s scent is carried by the wind. I finally realized that I had to approach with the wind in my face. Then they would not catch my human scent and flee.
    I did not forget to show respect. Each time I took aim, I spoke the words much like those we owls always speak before we strike. You who will feed me and my family, I thank you for giving me your life.
    My arrows hit just where I wanted them to hit. That was very satisfying. It felt almost as it used to feel when I struck not with arrows