Read Online Wabi by Joseph Bruchac - Free Book Online

Dojihla sitting on their chest and making them eat grass.
    Of course now that Dojihla was a young woman, she no longer wrestled with the boys. That was not through any choice of her own. She didn’t seem to be afraid of anyone or anything. When a certain gleam came into her eye, it meant “Move out of my way or I will move you out of my way.” Isn’t that wonderful? But now, more often than not, the boys she had played with either acted bashful around her or stared when they thought she wasn’t looking. (They were extremely careful to not be caught staring. The last young man Dojihla had noticed gaping at her was hit in the face by a fistful of river mud.)
    Several seasons had now passed since Dojihla had led a group of other young ones on one of her quests. Her parents were relieved about that. I knew this for a fact, having listened to their conversations about their daughter. They used to worry that she would be hurt during one of those foolhardy expeditions, but they never told her not to go. Now, though, they had the opposite worry. They were afraid that she would never go.
    I watched them from my favorite hiding place in the cedar.
    â€œMy wife,” Dojihla’s father said, shaking his head, “it is now two winters since our son, Melikigo, married and went off to the village of his new wife’s family. We need a young man to take his place. Our daughter needs to finally take a husband.”
    â€œMy husband, Wowadam,” Dojihla’s mother said, “you are right. But I fear our daughter will never have a family of her own. She is so stubborn, and so critical.”
    â€œDo you think she will approve of the young man who is coming today?” Wowadam asked.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Dojihla’s mother replied.
    Dojihla’s father shook his head again and sighed.
    I saw their point. Love might have made me sick to my stomach, but it hadn’t made me blind. Graceful as Dojihla was, beautiful as she was, perfect as she was in form and movement, that human girl was just as finicky. I knew because I had been watching her so closely—as had every human youth in every nearby village. They all knew Dojihla. She was the lovely maiden with the sparkling eyes and the sarcastic voice—the one whose words were sharper than flint-tipped arrows.
    It had gotten to the point where suitors had almost stopped coming around. Most of them had become afraid of what she would say to any man foolhardy enough to seek her hand. With a few well-aimed words or a single gesture she could destroy the tallest, strongest, most capable suitor. However, there always seemed to be at least one who thought he could succeed where others failed.
    I flew off to take a look at the new suitor and found him walking along the river on his way to the village. His name, I soon learned—for he had the nervous habit of talking to himself—was Bitahlo.
    â€œI, Bitahlo,” he said, as he walked along, “will be the one to win her heart. I am sure of it. My song will show her how I feel. She will not be able to resist its power.”
    Then he began to sing it. It spoke of Dojihla’s beauty and grace. He was right about that. But when he came to the part about her sweetness, comparing her to flowers, swaying reeds, and a doe with her fawn, I shook my head with pleasure. I thought I knew how Dojihla would react to that.
    I flew back on silent wings and managed to conceal myself in the tree before Bitahlo arrived and stood in front of his prospective bride and her parents.
    â€œI have made this song for you,” he announced. Then he sang it.
    Dojihla’s parents looked over anxiously at their daughter when Bitahlo finished. I was anxious too as I watched from my perch in the cedar. The song had actually not been that bad. Also, to be honest, Bitahlo’s voice was good. What if that song actually did work?
    Dojihla looked up. Her eyes seemed far away, as if entranced by the