—ELLA WHEELER WILCOX The day had dragged along. Restless, Leonida had paced often as she watched for Sage’s return. When the sun began sinking behind the mountains and Sage and his warriors still had not arrived, Leonida could not help but think that they had met with disaster. Hardly able to bear her thoughts, she focused them elsewhere. Going to Pure Blossom and sitting down beside her, she took Pure Blossom’s hand in hers. Sage’s sister was struggling to keep awake, also worrying about Sage, but her eyes drifted shut more often than not. “I’m sorry about the blanket Sage won’t allow you to have,” Pure Blossom said, as she rolled over on her side. “It is finished. And I did not burn it as my brother ordered me to. It is among my belongings. When I die, it is yours. Tell my brother that it is a special gift from me, not the white man. As it keeps you warm nights, always think of Pure Blossom.” “Don’t talk about dying,” Leonida scolded softly. “Soon you will be stronger.
