Guest Post of Mark Wildyr’s novel River Otter
The sun rising over the smoldering village promised a hot day. The sky was clear blue and cloudless, except for the cumulus of black buzzards circling expectantly overhead. Smoke from blazing lodges rode the wind, burning eyes and carrying the acrid smell of gunpowder and the stench of death across the prairie to the coulees and the short, wooded hills where the Dakota warriors had taken refuge. The very air tasted bitter to the tongue. They were tired; their horses, spent. Even the earth beneath their moccasins seemed exhausted.