The fire of the Springfield rifles outside the canyon slowly died down, surrendering to the howl of the east wind through the limestone crevices.
The winter sky of 1876 hung low, a murky ash-grey blanket spread over the peaks of the Bighorns.
Beneath a massive wind-breaking limestone boulder, Elena knelt on the blood-soaked slush.
She wrapped both arms around Grey Elk, leaning her slender frame over him to shield his chest wound from the biting wind and flying ice dust.
Grey Elk’s breathing grew harder with every passing second.
Each breath the chief drew was accompanied by a faint, wheezing rattle deep in lungs flooded with blood.
His granite-carved skin had begun to fade to a sickly pale, yet his amber eyes, gazing up at the fog-draped sky, remained terrifyingly clear and serene.
"Elena..."
His voice dropped to a faint rasp, swallowed by the wind:
"... First day you came..."
He paused for a long beat to swallow a bitter mouthful of blood, his eyes drifting out toward the silver-grey expanse:
"... Sunrise on Powder River... Hair color of ash-blonde... Eyes grey as melting snow."
There were no empty, poetic words.
The wild chief simply recalled the moment the white woman from the future tumbled into his land—a ruthless yet brilliant sunrise that had forever altered the fate of Talon Ridge.
Shaking, Grey Elk reached his rough hand behind his neck.
His movements were slow, feeble.
The knuckles, crisscrossed with bear scars that had once drawn longbows and deflected cannon fire, now trembled in violent bursts of exhaustion.
He unfastened the ash-grey eagle feather—the highest, most sacred symbol of the Chief of Talon Ridge—along with the leather cord braided with small turquoise ceramic beads bound around its quill.
He lifted Elena’s ice-cold hand.
Grey Elk placed the ash-grey eagle feather and the leather cord into her palm, then slowly, patiently folded each of her slender fingers closed, curling them tight around the keepsake.
The eagle feather was weightless.
Yet in the blood-stained palm of the thoracic surgeon... Elena felt it weigh heavier than all her titanium scalpels, heavier even than the burden of any life-or-death surgery she had ever shouldered in her life.
It was his life, his honor, and the entire soul of the wild chief.
Grey Elk looked deep into her tear-filled ash-grey eyes.
He didn't speak of vengeance. He didn't beg her to annihilate the blue-coats or carry on a bloody war.
"Keep it..."
His voice sank low and raspy, each word falling heavy enough to crush the bone-chilling cold:
"... Keep the story... the bloodline... the fire of Talon Ridge... from being erased from the world."
He looked at her, his eyes filled with an absolute entrustment, echoing the oath bound between them:
"Live... Elena."
Elena stared down at the eagle feather folded tight inside her fist.
Her chest constricted, aching so fiercely she could hardly breathe.
She offered no lengthy promises. Raising her head, she drove her sharp, ash-grey gaze into his eyes, uttering two short, unwavering words:
"I will."
A heavy silence descended upon Elena’s resolute promise.
The blizzard outside the canyon seemed to hold its breath for a single beat, leaving the smoke-drenched air terrifyingly still.
Grey Elk gazed at her pale face.
His amber eyes burned with the final sparks of a fading primitive fire.
He called her name softly, each word falling feather-light yet sinking deep into her bones:
"Elena..."
Then he looked absently toward the northern cliffside—where the deep violet shimmer of the time portal flickered and warped—whispering in an ancient cadence:
"... Wakan Winyan."
He looked deep into her eyes.
The chief's granite-carved face twitched into a rare, subtle smile.
He knew she harbored a strange secret. He had guessed that the place she belonged to did not lie on these plains, yet he never pressed, never demanded explanations, and never asked her to lay it bare.
His primitive understanding enveloped her—a peaceful surrender, letting go for the woman he had loved with his entire life.
Grey Elk’s amber eyes slowly drifted toward the snow-capped peak of the Bighorns.
His rough hand, crisscrossed with bear scars, holding hers... slowly began to loosen its grip.
The pressure in his fingers vanished.
The wheezing breath in his broad chest ceased.
The chief of Talon Ridge drew his last breath right inside Elena’s slender arms.
There were no agonizing cries. No painful writhing.
He passed away as silently and fiercely as an ancient cedar falling in a blizzard.
His deep amber eyes remained open, gazing proudly straight toward the mountain range of his homeland.
Elena remained kneeling, rooted to the blood-stained snow.
The sound of her own breathing echoed through her eardrums—loud, rapid, and agonizingly sharp against the absolute silence of death.
Reaching out a trembling hand, Elena gently stroked down his eyelids, which still held the dim flicker of a dying fire, closing the curtain on the fierce resilience of a wild legend.
Tears spilled over her ash-grey lashes.
For the first time since falling into this world...
Elena wept.
She made no sound. No gut-wrenching sobs. Only hot, clear tears silently rolling down her pale cheeks, dropping onto Grey Elk’s soot-speckled face, melting into the cutting cold of the valley.
"Wakan Winyan!"
"Elena!"
Kicking Bear’s urgent calls echoed from afar through the gunsmoke. Running Deer’s desperate roar calling her name shredded the freezing air.
The battlefield outside was collapsing.
Elena slowly lifted the ash-grey eagle feather.
Taking the leather cord braided with turquoise ceramic beads, she carefully wound it three times around her left wrist, tying it off with a firm knot.
She tucked the ash-grey eagle feather carefully beneath her buckskin dress, pressing it tight against her aching, heaving chest.
She had to stand up.
Elena pressed a bloodied hand down against the freezing stone.
Pushing strength into her trembling legs, she straightened her knees one by one, bringing her slender frame to stand firm against the howling blizzard.
She didn't turn back to look at his body.
Her surgeon’s mind and survival instincts issued a ruthless reminder: if she turned back to look into those closed amber eyes for even a single second... she would never find the strength to take another step.
Wiping a frozen tear from her lashes, Elena stepped out from the shadow of the limestone boulder, heading straight toward the calls of the surviving warriors.
She let go of his hand, so she could keep living.
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