Thread: The frontier and the guide (myself and Victorian_Virtue)

The sun was rising over the prairie. As it ascended the hill in the east, the warm yellow rays touched down on the small frontier base on the side of one of he many rivers out in the mostly unsettled western expance. It was not one of the large stone and beam forts that were so common in Illinois or Kentucky. But rather a hastily thrown together settlement of plank houses and a small proper fort, manned my two dozen army soldiers. Fort Jackson was located in western Missouri. The wild western part of the country that was arguably the end of civilization. Beyond the western side of the river, lay the largely unexplored and uninhabited land that had once all been Lousiana. Across prairie and planes, the Rockies lay in the far west. Almost as a wall that separated the Oregon territory and the west coast with the wild. The town was already beginning to bustle in the early morning light. The twon's only blacksmith could be heard hammering. No doubt making horseshoes for the army. Six horses were kept in the small stables at the oak plank army compound. It was they who were his steadiest customers. Unless some local farmer needed needed work for their wagon, chains or the like. Through recently, the small frontier town had seen more lively action. Colonists from the east had come out to stop. Gathering at Fort Jackson as sort of a staging ground before the push across the river and westward. Into the land of the Lakota, the Pawnee, Blackfoot and possibly even the Apache and the Comanche. The westward expanse was a perilously place to travel. A single dirt road led into the town from the east. Traveled largely by horse and little by more than a wagon. But the sun had revealed that a woman was slowly walking across the pale dirt road. Feet heavy with the labor of many days, she crossed into what could be considered the town limits and towards nothing in particular. Her dark features revealed that she was of Native origin. Her hair was coal black and was held back in a single braid my a carefully woven system. But her hair was also disheveled and her face covered in a mixture of dirt, sweat and caked blood. Her clothing was the pale beige of deer skin. Though it was well worn. The shirt on her back had originally been beaded and colored. But the dirt had caked on, and many of the beads had town off. Tears could be seen around the wrists, shoulders and waist. Her pants bore a similar sign of disarray. The moccasins on her feet were beyond tattered. The bottoms had almost completely worn and there was little left to protect her feet from the elements. On her back she carried a single deer skinned satchel. Inside was an empty water skin, a rusty knife, and a handful of dried corn. As the Native woman ambled into town, she ignored the looks that many of the prim and proper frontier women sent her way. Proud women with pristine dresses and white bonnets. They dragged their children off as the dark haired and morose young native made her way past the few houses around town and finally into the more business related area. Stopping by the town well. She stopped to draw the pail. Her arms week but still able to gather the cold water that she needed desperately. With a sigh, she filled her mouth several times before releasing the bucket and walking once more. Toward the center of town. In search of something.