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    Helaku and a Horse Called Thunder
    Helaku and a Horse Called Thunder
    Helaku and a Horse Called Thunder
    Ebook70 pages1 hour

    Helaku and a Horse Called Thunder

    By C J Robb

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    About this ebook

    A hand illustrated story of a young Native American boy who sets off across the plains of Dakota to rescue his stolen horse
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu.com
    Release dateAug 7, 2013
    ISBN9781291516876
    Helaku and a Horse Called Thunder

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      Book preview

      Helaku and a Horse Called Thunder - C J Robb

      Longfellow

      Helaku And A Horse Called Thunder

      My name is Helaku. I was born on the prairies of Dakota on a day when the hot summer sun shone, baking the prairie grasses and causing the wild prairie flowers to fade and hang their little heads in weary surrender to the heat.

      My father, Mato, had spent a long night under the prairie sky, alone apart from the countless stars that burnt brightly like sparks from our council fire, his buffalo robe wrapped tightly around him to keep away the chill that falls on the prairie when the sun goes to bed, leaving the moon to bathe the grasses with her silver light.

      As the sun rose the next morning with his face freshly washed and shining, my father slowly rose from beside the dying embers of the camp fire and stretched the night’s stillness from his muscles.

      The sun climbed swiftly through the sky like an arrow from an ash wood bow and when my grandmother pushed back the deer skin flaps at the entrance to our tipi and called my father to meet his son, the sun came too, filling the whole tipi with golden light. So my father named me Helaku, which means full of sun.

      img0151.jpg

      I do not remember the day I was born but my father has told me the story many times on cold winter nights while we sat in our tipi, the smoke from the fire hanging low and stinging our eyes and my mother, Kiya, sitting cross-legged making moccasins from the buffalo and deer hides that she had tanned that summer, her black hair in braids lying dark and rich against her deerskin dress. 

      When my father began the story my mother would smile and gently tease him for making pretty, word pictures but I liked to hear them, especially in the winter, so that I could almost feel the sun as he entered the tipi with my father on that summer morning.

      When I Was Six

      When I was six my mother slowly began to grow fat. I did not notice it at first, it happened gradually, like a flower opening in the sun, but one day

      found I could no longer put my arms around her waist and lie my head against her stomach as I used to.

      I said nothing as I did not wish to hurt her but it worried me greatly. Yet she seemed happy, she sang as she went about her work and my father seemed happy too. He would pat her large stomach from time to time and smile gently at her as if to reassure her that he still loved her although she was no longer thin.

      It was not until the day that I overheard my grandmother discussing my mother with another woman that I understood what was to happen. We must ask the Great Spirit for a daughter, said my grandmother gravely, for what use are sons? A mother needs daughters to help her prepare the food and tan the hides of buffalo. The other woman nodded and clucked in agreement.

      The next day, while setting traps with my father for the prairie chickens among the swaying grasses, some of which were so tall they hid me from sight, I told him of my grandmother’s conversation. My father laughed, his great, booming laugh that seemed to shake the tiny birds that clung to the grass heads with their little claws, making them scatter into the air like drops of water shaken from a dog’s coat. "Your grandmother is very wise and you would do well

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