The God Dog

By Robert Temple

“And he whispered to the horse, trust no man 

in whose eyes you do not see yourself 

reflected as an equal.” -Anonymous

Despite Stone Hatchet’s grumbling, He Who Seeks shadowed the strange creatures beside the river. What were they? Their skin? clothes? fur? dazzled the eyes. Bright reds and whites, dark rich browns. Eye-hurting silvers and golds that caught the sun. How many arms did these beings have? How many legs? As large as a buffalo, but so much more graceful, flashing manes and tails. Heads held high, they pranced beside the slow moving river, throwing up dust that swirled in the wind. This dust had first caught He Who Seeks’s eyes. It had led him and his two companions to a river brown with silt drifting past sparse cottonwood stands. Now he, Broken Nose, and Stone Hatchet stayed many bow shots to the north of the river, out in the yellow-green plains of hot midsummer, but close enough to discern humans jogging ahead of the billowing dust among the strung out column of fantastic creatures. Yet, even these humans were strange, taller than Our People, brightly colored feathers? adorning square cut hair, glittering bits of skin? scales? jewelry? at throat and arms. Huge dogs? loped beside the strange creatures, barking at squat, four-legged animals that rooted among the grass and large, four-legged, long-horned animals that lowed like buffalo.

Toward sunset, one of the god creatures at the front of the column flung up an arm. Next to him, another creature raised something that caught the sun’s dying gold, placed it to his lips, and played a long, dreadful wail that halted the column. Broken Nose yanked at He Who Seeks’s arm, and the three warriors of Our People fled.

They made camp on the plains, as they had every night since leaving the mountains—no fire, flattened grass for beds, a meager dinner of dried buffalo jerky, but the night air filled with the tang of roasting meat on the strange creatures’ fires. While Stone Hatchet and Broken Nose squatted with their food, He Who Seeks sat on his heels straining to hear the low nickers of the god creatures born on the wind.

“We are far from Our People,” Stone Hatchet said, but He Who Seeks studied his brother, Broken Nose, who chewed one thin strip of jerky no longer than a finger. A scrawny, bandy-legged man like Stone Hatchet and He Who Seeks, his face was pinched with hunger, hollow cheeks, jaw bones outlined beneath taut skin. Yet immense herds of buffalo sprawled across these grass plains, fat beasts with bawling calves, not the scattered bands of gaunt, wary buffalo that pawed for withered blades of grass among the cactus and mesquite basin of Our People. In three or four days, the three men would have to risk a hunt unless they stumbled upon another unwary jack rabbit or prairie dog. Two days ago, they had eaten a jack rabbit raw, not daring a fire out here on the vast grass plains of who-knew-what tribes and beings. The rabbit was bitter and stringy, but the only fresh meat they had eaten since losing sight of the mountains to the west half a moon ago. Our People were on the far side of those mountains.

“The Puha man told us to go across the mountains far into the grass plains and find a river,” He Who Seeks said.

“And we have done that.” Stone Hatchet swept his right arm back the way they had come. “We have done all that the Puha man said. It is time to go home.”

“We have not found the vision he said we would find at the river.” He Who Seeks put his hand to his heart. “I will go on.”

Broken Nose swallowed the last of his jerky strip and said, “I go with my brother.”

“You are both crazy,” Stone Hatchet said.

* * *

The long, terrible wail of that strange horn jerked the three warriors awake before sunrise. He Who Seeks snatched his bow and quiver of flint-tipped arrows and loped south toward the lowing of the strange not-buffalo, the barking of the strange dogs and the high-pitched squealing neighs of the god creatures. He meant to get close today.

But the wind shifted to out of the north, and the barking of the strange dogs turned to baying howls. Broken Nose’s insistent hand clutched He Who Seeks’s left shoulder, so they sank down into the grass and worked their way back to Stone Hatchet.

“We will wait for the wind to die down before we approach them,” He Who Seeks said.

“You will get us all killed.” Stone Hatchet jabbed his index finger west. “We should go home. We must warn Our People about the devils who live out here on the plains.”

“I will see these creatures,” He Who Seeks said.

“They are devils that burn like the sun.” Stone Hatchet yanked a tuft of grass out of the ground and flung it away. “We have seen them!”

“Not close enough. We do not know what they are, but I do not believe they are devils.” He Who Seeks gazed at Broken Nose. “Will my brother go with me?”

Broken Nose met He Who Seeks’s eyes for several moments, then breathed out through his nose and grunted assent.

* * * 

The wind did not die until He Who Seeks’s shadow was a small thing hiding at his feet, so the three warriors kept well out of sight and scent of the god creatures and their dogs, following the column’s dust trail. Shortly after the wind died, but long before He Who Seeks neared the column, the dogs howled anew. He crouched low in the grass and waited for Broken Nose and Stone Hatchet to catch up, while the baying of the dogs moved away from him. He saw a frenzied swirl of glints in the dust cloud ahead. Then a party of god creatures, surrounded by the pack of dogs, galloped northeast from the halted column.

“Now is our chance,” He Who Seeks said. Stone Hatchet’s eyes widened, but Broken Nose nodded. Crouched low to the grass, He Who Seeks darted toward two distant glimmers at the rear of the column. Every fifty paces or so, he glanced over his shoulder at Broken Nose five to ten paces behind and Stone Hatchet trailing them by half a bow shot. When he could make out bright horns? that faced front and rear on the creatures’ second heads, he crouched even lower, creeping forward a few paces at a time, squatting on his heels, watching the god creatures, creeping forward again. At a couple of bowshots distance, he sank down on his belly, crawling from sage clump to sage clump, until he was within bow range. Broken Nose inched beside him; even Stone Hatchet crawled within a dozen paces and a little to one side of the two brothers.

Then one of the wondrous creatures split in two!

And became a hideous man and a beautiful four-legged creature whose powerful haunches and long tapering legs were formed for speed. Larger than an elk, it pawed the ground with hooves like and yet not like a deer’s and nickered at the man who had walked a few steps away. He turned and said something to it in a harsh, outlandish tongue, but with a smile on his ugly, hairy face. The magnificent creature lowered its head and cropped the sage, and the man walked a few more paces (at each step, his feet jingled), shoved back the headpiece with the odd front and rear facing points, unlashed the strings at the front of his pants and relieved himself with a sigh. Then tying up his pants, the man strode to his god creature and swung himself astride its back. His fellow human said something to him in the harsh, barbarous tongue and pointed with a spear? toward the column. It was moving again, and the two god creatures with their human riders trotted after it.

Aware of the breath wheezing in and out of his lips, He Who Seeks watched the creatures amble east, trailing the column, while the sun inched behind him in the sky. Broken Nose lay beside him with staring eyes and bloodless face. When the god creatures were dots no larger than ants, Stone Hatchet joined He Who Seeks and Broken Nose.

“We have seen our vision,” Stone Hatchet said and pointed at the dots, still glittering in the distance. “We must go home and warn Our People.” Eyes still wide and blinking, Broken Nose curled into a sitting position and grunted—whether at the shifting of tense muscles or in agreement with Stone Hatchet, He Who Seeks could not tell.

“No, this was not a vision,” He Who Seeks said. “We were not dream-seeing with the eyes of our spirit-brothers. This we saw with our own eyes. We have not yet seen our vision. We must follow these creatures.”

“The Puha man said to follow the river, not devils.” Stone Hatchet gestured at Broken Nose and then patted his breast. “You would risk your brother and me, stalking them. This is not a wise leader’s decision.”

“Yet I am the leader the Puha man chose.” He Who Seeks stood up. “And I say we will go on. These god creatures follow the river. We will too.”

Broken Nose grunted, this time in agreement, and stood up next to his brother. He Who Seeks, with Broken Nose clinging to his footsteps, strode after the distant clouds of dust. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Stone Hatchet, scowl twisting his face, dogging him. Stone Hatchet is a brave warrior, He Who Seeks thought, but he is not a leader. He clings to the old ways, even when they fail Our People. We are of the Buffalo-Eaters band of Our People, yet across the mountains, when we manage to drive one or two lean bison over a cliff, grandfathers mutter of the old days, when half a hundred fat cows with their tender calves plunged over the cliffs at our hunts. Now Our People starve. They are restless, tired of growling bellies and children crying because their mothers have so little milk. Band quarrels with band. Something must be found to help Our People. New land, such as these plains with their vast herds of buffalo. New ways to hunt them. And yes, new creatures who run like antelope with men astride them.

Off in the distance to the north, dim, echoing booms thundered, but the sky was a cloudless blue from horizon to horizon. Not long thereafter, a single god creature and rider galloped out of the north and hailed the column, which turned away from the river and trundled north at a fast, jingling clip. He Who Seeks looked behind him. Stone Hatchet squatted on his heels, refusing to leave the river, but Broken Nose trudged along in He Who Seeks’s footsteps. How long would Broken Nose follow him? The Puha man had said they would find their vision at the river, and now He Who Seeks led his brother away from it. He Who Seeks asked his spirit-helper for guidance, but all his soul heard were his own thoughts.

Across the mountains, in the dry basin deserts, Our People were falling apart. The tall Nez Pierce drove them away from the Walla Walla Valley in the far west where deer and wapiti crowded, and the taller Crows drove them away from the eastern mountain streams thick with fat beaver. Raided their scattered camps, carried off their women and children. Called them a little people. Laughed at them. The warriors of Our People fought back. The Puha men cast spells to guide the warriors’ arrows. But each new spring found Our People fewer in number, more scattered, hungrier, and the Nez Pierce and the Crows taller and stronger and laughing, louder and louder. Then the Puha man of their band had sent He Who Seeks, Broken Nose, and Stone Hatchet across the mountains, far into the unknown plains beside a river to find a vision. A vision to save Our People. And now He Who Seeks headed away from the river. He pressed closer and closer to the strange creatures, swinging out west of the column, hoping the sun would hide him.

From out of the north, under a cloudless sky, thunder rang again—sharp, cracking booms this time, much closer. The column halted. At the front, a hairy-faced man astride a god creature raised a long club? and then out of the club—a flash of light, smoke and BAM! He Who Seeks, mouth agape, covered his ears to the echoes rolling across the plains. Beneath his hairy-faced rider, the god creature reared and danced until the man swatted him with the butt of the thunder-club. Another hairy-faced man raised the golden horn to his lips and blew a long pealing note. Then the column moved forward again, in the direction of an answering crack of thunder. He Who Seeks sank down on his knees in the tall grass to wait for Broken Nose.

The man had struck the god creature!

Straight between the delicate up thrust ears of that elegant head, the hairy-beast man had struck. He paid no heed to the indignant starting eyes of the god creature, cursed the outraged toss of its proud arching neck, and yanked on two lines strapped to a cruel bit in the god creature’s mouth. And long after its strange hooves ceased their mincing stamp, the man had held the god creature’s head twisted to one side. As casually … as casually, as if … as if the god creature were nothing more than a dog.

He Who Seeks stole a glance at his brother and saw astonished eyes and an aching set of the jaw like his own. Was Stone Hatchet right? Were these plains the domain of devils? With their pitted, hairy faces, their outlandish tongue and terrible thunder weapons, they possessed the powers of devils, but they walked like men, wiped sweat from their brows the same as men, and relieved themselves as men did. They were men, men with fearsome powers, accompanied by huge dogs and strange horned animals, and riding magnificent what? What were the creatures these men rode? Antlerless deer? gods? dogs? How had these men caught and mastered these creatures? What power did these creatures hold? Every line, every ripple of muscle, every light gleaming in the large brown eyes spoke of power. Power that served the men who rode these creatures. Power that these men treated with contempt.

That power kept He Who Seeks close to the column all day, long after Broken Nose pleaded for them to withdraw. He Who Seeks had to stay close to the god creature struck by the blasphemous man. The rich sorrel of its neck and body shone in the sunlight, but its long, tapering legs turned dark brown, almost black, like its mane and tail. A single white splotch, as wide as He Who Seeks’s hand, blazed high on its left rump. A beautiful, beautiful creature, it mouthed its bit, plunging its head again and again, despite savage jerks on its reins, snorting, stamping its hooves, sawing right and left. The ugly beast-man gored its flanks with tiny horns on his moccasins? that jingled and dripped red. Its large, dark eyes darted covetous glances at the lush grasslands. Once, it seemed to look straight into the eyes of He Who Seeks hiding among the sage, but the beast-man ripped its head to one side, breaking the contact.

Then the column caught up with the other party of god creatures and men who cursed the huge dogs and beat them away from several dead buffalo sprawled on the grass. He Who Seeks flattened himself on a slight rise overlooking the column. When Broken Nose crawled up beside him, he nodded, and they watched as the strange beast men tethered their god creatures to graze while they set about butchering the buffalo. Or rather their human slaves with the square-cut hair peeled back the skin of the carcasses while the hairy-faced men in the shimmering clothes and pointed helmets talked among themselves, lifting up skin-bags to drink a dark red liquid that dribbled down their chins. The longer they drank, the louder became their speech, and their laughter rang across the plains as obscene cackle. They waited only long enough for their servants to slice out the tenderloins, a few haunches and a tongue or two. While the dogs fought for the entrails, the hairy men had the servants strap the meat onto a couple of the horned animals and mounted their god creatures. Then laughing and shouting, they set off, their swollen-bellied dogs padding heavy-footed behind them, leaving two thirds of the meat to rot with thick furry hides still clinging to the carcasses.

While Broken Nose slipped down to cut strips of meat from the remains, He Who Seeks crouched on his heels studying the column rolling toward the river. What sort of men were these who offered no thanks to the spirits of the dead buffalo? Wasters of the earth. Arrogant with power. What sort of gods would choose to serve them?

But the beautiful, bay God Creature preyed on his mind. Unhappy. That was what it surely was. All that day, while the warriors of Our People followed the column back to the river, He Who Seeks pondered the God Creature and its power. Had it sensed him? It had seemed to look right at him. By the time they found Stone Hatchet, already chewing his supper, He Who Seeks had a plan, but he waited until Broken Nose had wolfed down his evening jerky and stretched himself on the ground.

“I am going to steal one of the God Creatures tonight.”

Broken Nose sat up, crossing his legs under him, but Stone Hatchet curled on his side, putting his back to He Who Seeks. “Now I know you are crazy.”

“One of the hairy-faced men struck his God Creature.” He Who Seeks leaped to his feet. “It is a beautiful bay God Creature, and it hates these men. It looked right at me. It called to me.”

“Did it call to Broken Nose, as well? No? I see.” Stone Hatchet laughed and rolled over, rising up on one elbow. “You say the Puha man made you the leader. You say we must follow these, these whatever they are. And now you say one of them calls to you and you alone, so you must go and steal it. I say go ahead. Go try to steal the hairy-faced devil’s dog. For that is all it is, a big dog.”

“It is a God.” He Who Seeks paced back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching.

“Gods do not carry men on their backs.” Stone Hatchet laughed again and nodded at Broken Nose. “Talk sense to your brother. He has gone crazy. He will get us all killed. Lost, our spirits will wander these desolate plains, forever cut off from the spirits of our ancestors. All to steal a dog.”

“It is a God!” Hands clenched at his sides, He Who Seeks loomed above Stone Hatchet.

“Perhaps,” Broken Nose said and got to his feet, “perhaps, it is a god dog. Maybe, you are both right. The hairy men ride them and make them carry loads, as our women lash camp supplies to our dogs, but these are huge strange dogs, full of a god’s power. So you are both right.”

“And I am going to steal one.” He Who Seeks smote his chest with his fist.

“Brother—” Broken Nose put a hand on He Who Seeks’s shoulder, but He Who Seeks shook it off.

“I said I am going to steal the bay God Creature.”

“You mean god dog!” Stone Hatchet said and lay back on the grass.

“God Dog then,” He Who Seeks said, “but a God nonetheless, with a God’s power. And I am going to steal it for Our People.” He knelt and lashed his stubby flint knife in its sheath to his waist. Then he seized his bow, loosed the bowstring and looped the braided leather cord around his neck.

“I will go with you.” Broken Nose knelt beside He Who Seeks.

“No. If I am crazy, as Stone Hatchet says, then only I will suffer for it. You and Stone Hatchet will live to tell Our People about the God Dogs.” Then He Who Seeks strode into the night.

A brisk cool breeze swept up from the river, carrying the smell of roasting buffalo and the crackle of the hairy beast men’s cooking fires. Smoke from the flames was thick and oily with sap; the beast men burned fresh cut cottonwood. That evening when they camped, He Who Seeks had listened to the thuds of their axes. Drunk with the power of strange blades gleaming with the strength of the sun’s rays, the beast men had attacked living trees. Their axes had bitten deep, felling in a few minutes a tree that would have taken even Stone Hatchet all day to chop down, but green wood turned good meat bitter. The hairy beast men were stupid with power.

But the breeze also bore all sounds from the beast men’s camp, and if He Who Seeks respected the power of the wind, it would hide his scent and sounds from the dogs in the camp. So he slowed his approach and crouched low. Thirty paces from the camp, he paused to listen to the coarse laughter of the beast men, the murmurs of their servants, the snarls of the strange dogs quarreling over scraps, the grunts of the squat four-legged animals. But where were the God Dogs? He edged to his left, parallel to the cooking fires. Yes, he heard the soft nickering of the Gods talking among themselves past the far end of camp. Then he picked out their silhouettes and, at opposite ends the herd, the silhouettes of two guards against the stars. He inched closer, keeping downwind, looking for the bay’s white rump patch among the God Dogs cropping the grass. One of the guards cast a look over his shoulder at the camp, then sat down cross-legged on the ground and devoted his attention to drinking from a leather flask. Soon, the other guard joined the first guard and held out his hand for the flask. He Who Seeks crept around the herd. Where was the bay?

Ah, there he was, farthest from the camp. A god, indeed. Head up, ears pricked, he stamped the ground awkwardly with one foot. What was wrong? What had the beast men done to him? He Who Seeks hurried toward the bay, rustling the grass. Instantly, all the heads of the God Dogs reared up. One let out a shrill neigh. He Who Seeks froze. One of the guards called out something and stood up. The herd milled around with jerky movements. Ropes hobbled their front legs. He Who Seeks prayed to his spirit brother to whisper in the bay’s ear, to tell him a friend was near. A cloud drifted across the half moon, darkening the herd. When the cloud passed on, the herd dropped their heads and cropped the grass—all but the bay. The guard sat down and reached for the flask.

But the bay stood as before, ears pricked, head up, now gazing straight toward He Who Seeks. Inching forward, He Who Seeks chanted a prayer in his heart to the God Dog, assuring it that he was a friend, that he meant to help it, that he respected its power. When another God Dog raised its head and gazed in his direction, He Who Seeks paused. He squatted in the grass, still singing the prayer in his heart, until the other God Dog lowered its head to graze. Then he edged toward the bay again, singing, always singing in his heart of his friendship. 

When he drew within four paces of the God Dog, it took a step back and snorted. He Who Seeks was still. Standing up, one of the guards called out, but the other laughed and then, choking on the dark liquid, took to coughing. The first guard laughed at his fellow and plopped back on the ground. Slowly, ever so slowly, He Who Seeks sat down cross-legged, facing the bay God Dog. Moonlight reflecting in its eyes, it stood with head up, legs stiff with tension.

You are my brother, He Who Seeks sang. I have come to help you. I will help you get away from these foul beast men, who curse you and strike you. And you will help me, your brother. Over and over, he chanted his song, while the moon made its walk across the sky and the stars circled in their long dance. The fires in the beast men’s camp burned low, and the two guards snored. Still, the bay’s head was up, eyes fixed at He Who Seeks, but its weight stood easy on its legs now. He Who Seeks uncrossed his legs and squatted on his heels. The God Dog backed away a step, but its head went down and snuffed the grass.

My brother is hungry, He Who Seeks sang first in his heart, and then tugging a handful of grass out of the ground, whispered aloud.

“My brother is hungry. I bring him food. I am his brother, and I care for him as a brother should.” He Who Seeks held out the tuft of grass. The bay, large eyes watching the tuft in He Who Seeks’s left hand, stretched out his neck and snuffed. Chanting his whispered croon, He Who Seeks inched forward. “I bring food to my hungry brother, sweet grass for his belly. I will always share with my brother, for I love him. I will always love my brother. Never strike him. Never curse him.” The tuft was within inches of the God Dog’s mouth. Now the tips of the blades touched the creature’s lips, and it opened them and grasped the gift with its teeth. “And my brother will love me. Share with me.” The bay munched the last of the tuft and lifted He Who Seeks hand with its nose, so he tore up another tuft of grass and offered it. It stepped closer and took the grass.

“My brother will love me. My brother will share his power with me. And I will honor my brother and love him always.” He Who Seeks caressed the God Dog’s jaw line. Finished with the grass, it raised its head, and its shimmering eyes transfixed He Who Seeks.

Out, out of the God Dog’s eyes poured the starlight, rushing into He Who Seeks heart, speaking to him, telling him of these plains as they once were, showing him a world of God Dogs roaming across the plains, feasting on sweet grass. Other creatures ate the grass as well. The antelope and buffalo. And others, huge fantastic creatures, as large as hills, with long curved tusks and fur thicker than a bear’s. And others, equally strange. All flourished on the plains, for the lion and the wolf took only what they could eat. Then another creature appeared, striding out of the northern snow and ice on two legs. Humans. The ancestors of Our People and all the people who now roamed these lands. They hunted the four-legged creatures of the plains. The buffalo, the furry hills with gleaming tusks, all the creatures who grazed, for the grass made their meat sweet. Sweetest of all were the beautiful, swift God Dogs. The humans lusted for the sweet meat. Soon all the furry hills were dead. The surviving God Dogs fled far away. No one knew where they had gone. Only a few buffalo and antelope were left. The wolf and the lion starved. The humans regretted their greedy hunger. Most had to go into the cold western mountains and eastern forests to search for wapiti and deer which were hard to catch. The humans mended their ways. Like the lion and the wolf, they hunted only what they needed to eat. The buffalo and antelope flourished again, but the humans forgot all about the beautiful, swift God Dogs.

But through all the long centuries of exile, the God Dogs never forgot the sweet grass plains where they were born. Far had they wandered across the earth, across freezing mountains with short bitter grass, across vast cold plains with tall sour grass. Hairy beast men had hunted them. Then enslaved them. Rode them to conquest. Fed them dry, tasteless fodder. Brought them across a lake of water vaster than any plain. Rode them back to the sweet grass of their beginning. Slaves.

Then the God Dog showed He Who Seeks two visions of the times to be.

In the first vision, He Who Seeks cut the bay’s hobbles and left it to roam the sweet grass plains—free. Then He Who Seeks returned to Our People, who stayed beyond the western mountains. Our People remained a little people, scrabbling for food in the desert basin and foothills. Their enemies, the Nez Pierce, the Crows and the Utes, prospered, waxing rich in fertile valleys and uplands, and laughing at the poor bands of Our People, eking out life where no one else wished to live, while across the mountains, the plains thundered once again with the hooves of countless herds of God Dogs. Wolf, lion, and human took only what they could eat and gave thanks to the herds of four-leggeds for the gift of food. Then many seasons later, the hairy beast men, who regretted nothing, spread onto the plains, slaughtering the herds of buffalo and enslaving the herds of God Dogs. Then they rode across the mountains, striking the Utes, the Crows and the Nez Pierce, taking their lands, slaying their warriors, and carrying off their women and children to weep in a distant land. But the hairy beast men looked at the lands of Our People, the dry desert basin and foothills, looked at the starved bandy-legged warriors, their scrawny women and naked, pinch-faced children, and laughing, left them alone to go on scratching out the same existence that their ancestors had for untold generations.

In the second vision, He Who Seeks cut the bay’s hobbles but looped his leather bowstring around the bay’s neck, leading the God Dog across the mountains to Our People, showing its swiftness, its courage, its power, and telling them it was their brother. Together,

the God Dog and He Who Seeks led the bravest of Our People across the mountains onto the plains, where both Our People and their God Dogs flourished. They became as one. The plains thundered with the countless hooves of the God Dogs, and mounted on their backs, Our People became a large people who struck fear in the hearts of all their enemies, lording it over the Crows, the Utes, the Nez Pierce and all the other nations of humans who belonged to this land. Then many seasons later, the hairy beast men, who regretted nothing, spread onto the plains, slaughtering the herds of buffalo and enslaving the herds of God Dogs. For a while, Our People struck fear in even these men. No beast man mounted on a slave could match the power of a warrior of Our People and his brother, the God Dog. But the beast men numbered more than Our People, more than the Utes, the Nez Pierce, the Crows, more than all the humans of this land, more even than the buffalo, the antelopes and the God Dogs. They rode across the plains, striking Our People, taking their lands, slaying their warriors, and carrying off their women and children to weep in a distant land. But in their songs, the beast men praised the brief glorious magnificence of Our People, their strength, their courage. The very name of Our People became in the tongue of the beast men a word of power.

The blazing light in the bay God Dog’s eyes blinded He Who Seeks. While He Who Seeks blinked sight into his eyes, the bay stamped a front hoof once, twice. A gasp escaped He Who Seeks. He barely saw the heads of all the other God Dogs jerk up. Then he heard the heavy thuds of two more beast men trudging from the camp toward the snoring guards. He pulled his knife from its sheath and unwound the bowstring from his neck. They weighed in his hands like two huge stones. The dazzling lights of the God Dog’s eyes still burned in his eyes. How was he to see? Power or life?

He heard one of the approaching beast men kick the ribs of a snoring guard. Then he heard a harsh laugh. He looped the leather cord around the bay’s neck, slashed its hobbles and led the God Dog away.

About the author

Robert Temple's short fiction has been published in several magazines and journals, including Gemini Magazine. In 2024, Mosaic Voices by SouthWest Writers awarded his story “The Wolf-Gray War Bonnet” first place in general fiction. In October of 2024, his short story “Philippe Richoux” won first place in the William Faulkner Literary Competition. Five Star, an imprint of Gale / Cengage, published his frontier novel The Strange Courtship of Kathleen O’Dwyer in 2022 as a hardcover edition, and Thorndike Press published it as a large print paperback in 2024. In 2024, Storytrade Book Awards named that novel a finalist in its action/adventure category. 

About the illustration

The illustration is of two horses running through a Western landscape. The National Park Service. In the public domain.