Deleted Scenes--Nokose and Singing Grass at Horseshoe Bend

 Happy Deleted Scenes Day!

Today, I'm posting another of Nokose's scenes. This time he's at Horseshoe Bend, or "Horse's Flat Foot" as the Creek called it (Cholocco Litabixee in Muskogee).

You'll find him waking from another nightmare to find Jackson's army and the impending battle only hours away.

Below is an image depicting the battle ground.

Nokose and Singing Grass at Cholocco Litabixee, “Horse’s Flat Foot”

March 27, 1814   
Sitting up with a start, Nokose used his shirtsleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead. He sucked the chilled night air into his lungs in an effort to slow the frantic pace of his heart.
Only coals remained from last night’s campfire. Nokose studied the glowing embers as he tried to forget the nightmare. He leaned back against the earthen wall built to protect them from Jackson’s artillery.
The massive barricade stretched across the narrow landward end of the small peninsula. The chiefs assured their warriors they were well protected behind it, yet Nokose did not feel safe. An advancing army by day and haunting dreams by night had shattered his nerves.
Movement came from the brave who had bedded down near him last night. “Did you hear something?”
“It was I. A dream. Go back to sleep.”
“No, over there. Something is amiss.”
Nokose heard it now as well.
A low rumble of voices penetrated the thick fog hanging about them. Unable to see more than twenty paces, Nokose made his way toward the sound.
The timbre increased and soon warriors scrambled in all directions like a disturbed ant pile. Nokose grabbed the arm of a passing Eufala warrior. “What is it? Is Jackson near?”
“He comes with the dawn.”
Nokose collected his few belongings and sprinted toward Tohopeka and Singing Grass.
Months earlier, the village of Tohopeka had been hastily erected to house the women as far as possible from the wall.
Many of them had joined in the labor of hauling dirt and stones to fill the gap between the two vertical log walls. When the last bucket of dirt had been smoothed into place, the women stood back with their men and admired the daunting rampart they had created.
Now, they lay in their cabins dreaming of better times. The women had been guaranteed that even under the heaviest assault, they would be safe on the Horse’s Flat Foot. Even so, Nokose would not have Singing Grass stay.
She had promised to leave before the enemy drew too close for her to make an escape, but now, Nokose wondered if it might be too late.
Jackson had pushed his men hard and covered the distance quicker than they had expected.
Nokose’ dashed across the expansive meadow soon to be a battlefield. Reaching the glade that nestled the village, Nokose streaked past cabins illuminated by hazy moonlight.
He stopped outside the dwelling which housed Singing Grass and two dozen other women. Using the wall of it as support for his heaving back, Nokose composed himself for what might be his last moments with his wife.
Certain he would never be well prepared, he opened the door. Unconcerned with waking the other women, he strode toward where he knew Singing Grass slept.
The essence of beauty, she lay with her hair loosed about her shoulders. Their baby daughter, Black Sky snuggled against her. He squatted next to their mat and woke Singing Grass with a touch to the cheek.
“Is it time?” she asked, instantly alert.
“It might be too late, but you must try.” He gathered the baby into his arms. Not waking, she melded her body to his. He caressed her smooth chin, and relished the warmth of her tiny form.
Silently, Singing Grass stood and followed him out the door. It was a short trek to the Tallapoosa River and the canoes moored along its edge. With a tender kiss to her silky cheek, Nokose wedged Black Sky in her blanket in the bottom of a canoe. He pushed it into the water then held it steady while Singing Grass stepped in.
Neither spoke, as they cut through the river. In unison, they dug their oars into the current and followed its path south around the sharp bend of the Horses’ Flat Foot.
Once Nokose felt certain they had passed the location on the peninsula where the barricade was located, he banked the canoe on the western shore. Tension filled the air they breathed. Nokose felt certain the enemy would be upon them within the hour.
Singing Grass pulled him to her and wept in silence. Her shoulders shook, so he pressed her tight against him hoping to pass his strength on to her.
He stroked her loose hair, his tone firm, insistent. “Follow the river until you reach Kossati. From there, you will find the villagers. Do not stop along the shore. If you tire, then rest and let the water carry you. But do not get out of the canoe.”
To be certain she had heard and understood the severity of his command, he pushed her away and peered into her wet eyes.
She nodded and rubbed her cheeks with the heels of her hands, reminding him of the young girl she had been when he first loved her. They had loved each other hard and well the last twelve harvests.
“You have made me happy man. May the spirits protect you.” As the prayer left his mouth, it sounded hollow. Useless.
He ignored the doom lodged in his chest and placed an oar into her hand. He tried to step from the canoe, but she would not release him.
“If all is lost, promise me you will surrender.” Her voice shook with fear. “Do not sacrifice your life needlessly. Come back to me.”
He nodded once, and pressed his lips to hers. Pulling brusquely away, he leaned his weight into the canoe. It moved into the current, but he clutched the side, reluctant to let go.
“Your rifle!” Singing Grass held out the weapon.
Nokose pushed it away. “Take it. Give it to Galena with this message for my white father, ‘May it take white lives no more’.”
“I will tell her,” Singing Grass promised.
“Now go! Row fast and hard. Even now, the sun lights the sky.” With a grunt, he shoved the canoe sending it into the current. He watched as Singing Grass pumped the oars and lengthened the distance between them.
When she disappeared into the obscurity of pre-dawn, he trotted along the river’s edge toward the battle to come. The one that would, one way or the other, end this grisly war.