Brooklyn walked from Dom's with a weird feeling. She couldn't believe that she'd made it all the way through the tattoo without a sound. She wasn't going to give Dom the satisfaction of seeing her cry out in pain. It's not like he was happy about her joining the Eternal Keetoowah. There was something about him that was different, like he actually cared about what happened to her. Every time they were alone he would tell her to be careful or to watch her back or something like that. Like after he'd finished her tattoo. She sat there as he put the final marks on her. “OK,” he said, “you're done. Just don't get up just yet.” He walked out of her line of sight and came back. “Here, you'll need this. It will keep that thing from getting all scabbed over and what not.” He handed Aquaphor. “Also if it gives you any trouble come to see me. I will take a look at it and make sure that everything is okay.” Then under his breath he muttered “I don't understand why they make you all go through this, I will one day understand their reason.” Just thinking about that made her wonder what that all was about. Like really,what was all that about?
Also he talked like they did in the old days. He had that accent, the one that makes it known that he has been taught in the old ways. It confused her because his use of English was good only he sometimes used the Cherokee words. It made her think about when her father was alive. He would sometimes speak to her in the old language and she thought that it was so beautiful. Even the way that Dom talked made him sound as though he was one of the elders one of tribe. Think of her father reminded her of his last words to her. “Don't let them get to you, u s di ue tsi a ge yv, when you get older you get away from here. Don't let them have you. A tu ya s do di uv. Promise me little daughter.” That was the last thing that her father had said to her. A few years later she got a letter from her father that said “A yv g ge yu i n hi u di a li so qua lv di.” Which means “I love you, Little Bear.” She got that letter when she was 16. She shrugged her shoulders and winced at the pain that shot through her arm. She got in her car and headed home.
The sound of her phone ringing woke her up at, she looked at the clock, two thirty in the morning. “Who the hell is it,” she said aloud to the empty room. She picked up the phone and looked at it. She couldn't read what it said, she'd taken out her contacts. She answered it.
“Hello?”
“Brooklyn, are you safe?” Asked the person on the other end of the phone.
“Um, yeah. Who the hell is this?” Brooklyn asked.
“I just wanted to make sure,” said the voice, not answering her question. She thought it sounded familiar. “Get some sleep.”
“Well, I was asleep before you called. Now, tell me who this is.” She demanded.
“I can't tell you. Just keep something sharp near you.” It was a man and he spoke broken English. Who was he she wondered as she hung up the phone. She sat there thinking about it for a few minutes until sleep consumed her once more.
