Yes, that’s right. For the fourth time, i am offering a free copy of the Tradepaper copy of THE ANGEL AND THE WARRIOR to some lucky blogger — a $16.00 value. All you have to do to enter into the drawing is to leave a comment. Note that there are certain restrictions. This applies only to those addresses that are within the United States and the offer is void where prohibited by law. One also needs to be eighteen years of age or older to be eligible for the prize.
Let me say again, that to claim your prize, you must check back to the blog tomorrow — my posting of the winner will be under the main posting for the day. My schedule is intense…truly intense. So please do me a favor and check back tomorrow if you would like to see if you have won the book.
Okay with that said, why the number 4? Well, I was going to stop the Tradepaper give-away of THE ANGEL AND THE WARRIOR with my last blog. However, I’m not sure if it’s generally known that the number 4 is a number is sacred in many of the American Indian cultures — particularly so the Lakotah. And so, in honor of that, I decided to do another give-away — the 4th.
So, you might ask, why the number 4? Why would it be special to the American Indian cultures? I do believe that it has to do with the observations of Nature. (This goes back to research I did many, many years ago — and so I’m writing this from memory. Please forgive me if it’s not exact.) When one is living very close to Mother Earth, some things become apparent: First, there are 4 directions (North, South, East and West). Then there are the four seasons (Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn). There are the four acts of Nature: Wind, Snow, Rain and Fire. There are the four celestial bodies that are intricate to life: The Earth, the Sun, the Moon, the Sky (stars, clouds, etc.). So the number four.
Also, I notice that there have been some wonderful posts recently on the American Indian and different facets of their encounters with the U.S. Cavalry, as well as with government agents. One was by Jennifer Uhlarik and the other by Kristy McCaffrey. If you go back a few days in posts, you’ll see their blogs.
It’s interesting to me how misunderstandings and in some cases, pride and bull-headedness — have been allowed to harm so many innocent people, by a government that professed to be founded upon the principals of Freedom. Perhaps there were double standards in their day, but that doesn’t excuse for a minute, the destruction of people’s lives. By bull-headedness, I mean the demanding of $25.00 for a cow that wandered away from the herd into an Indian encampment, when the Indians did not trade in money, nor did they have any — and a refusal to accept an even trade for the cow — when in fact it was the owner’s negligence as much as anything else that caused the problem.
Communication — important thing. Also, fair-headedness and a willing to administer real justice — important things. We are all part of the human family. If an alien race were to come to this earth to conquer it, what a field day they would have — because it seems to me that one of the things that man does best is to allow himself to be divided over petty differences. Over and over again, he sets himself up as a target for anyone who knows the strategy of divide and conquer.
This all leads me to another excerpt from THE ANGEL AND THE WARRIOR. Hope you’ll enjoy.
It was then, by chance that she gazed up, and there, off in the distance, beneath a fiery-red sunset, she spotted Swift Hawk. At once, everything in her immediate environment, except him, faded to a dim blur, as if he, and only he were real.
She watched as Swift Hawk strode through the tall grasses, grasses and vines that rippled in the wind; his pony, weighted down with something, followed in his wake. That the grass hampered his tread didn’t seem to slow his stride. In truth, he looked determined.
He was quite a sight to behold, and she thought she would never forget the beauty of it, for the tall grasses mirrored the extravagance of the sunset, their whitish tops casting a pinkish-red glow over the land, the sky, and over him. And for a moment, a lump formed in her throat.
She drew in a deep breath, and as she did so, she sniffed, at once cognizant of the fragrant, late afternoon scent of grass, dirt and pure, oxygen-filled air.
He was back. The good Lord be praised. And if his glance told her anything, it spoke volumes, for he looked unswervingly at her. Hope blossomed, and for a moment, the native grace of the landscape reflected her mood, giving Angelia’s spirits a buoyancy that she hadn’t felt for many a day.
“Miss, ah, miss?”
But Angelia didn’t hear the old geezer by her fire; she had eyes and ears only for him.
Swift Hawk’s stride brought him directly toward her and her brother’s campfire, and within moments, he was there in front of her, for he had stopped his pacing only inches from the blaze. His pony snorted behind him, then commenced to munching on the grass.
Swift Hawk stood, his long, buckskin-covered legs far apart, arms crossed over his broad chest. And he stared down at her.
Gazing upward, Angelia drew herself onto her knees while her brother turned over in his sleep, as though nothing — not the old man, not even Swift Hawk — would interfere with his nap. Angelia squinted up at Swift Hawk as the evening sunset outlined him in reds and pinks and oranges. She tried to study him, attempting to determine what she could witness within his countenance.
Silently he stared back at her, and beneath the heat of his gaze, Angelia let her own glance drop to the ground. Cautiously, she breathed in and out, hardly daring to say a word.
And then he spoke to her, saying, “I have come to tell you that I have made my decision.”
“Miss,” piped up the old geezer, “Have ye heard nothin’ I’ve been sayin’ to ya?”
With her right hand, Angelia shushed the man, while she spoke directly to Swift Hawk. “Have you?” she voiced, bestowing a smile to Swift Hawk.
“Haa’he, I have.”
“Consortin’ with Injuns!” declared Mr. Wooster, coming up to his feet and shaking a finger at her. “Ye’ll come to harm, I tell ye.”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Wooster. Thank you. I’ve heard you,” Angelia said, though the man, for all the attention she paid him, might have been invisible.
Angelia waited, for Swift Hawk did not at once elaborate on what his decision was. However, unable to bear the anticipation, Angelia brightened her smile, cast Swift Hawk the most flirtatious gaze she possessed, and said, “Yes?”
Looking away from her, Swift Hawk stiffened.
“Of all the…” The rest of whatever censure Mr. Wooster had to say was lost to the wind, for he left forthwith; unfortunately his stench lingered behind him.
But neither Swift Hawk, nor Angelia paid the man an ounce of attention.
Smiling, Angelia again coaxed, “Yes?”
And Swift Hawk said, “I have decided that I will help you and your brother.”
THE ANGEL AND THE WARRIOR, by Karen Kay
Now in Tradepaper. http://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/4964/the-angel-and-the-warrior