“Wolf, I’ve made my decision. If I am kicked out of school, I’ll go back to the Mojave, herd goats, and marry Broken Heart.” We’re sitting on the hill overlooking the school, and Lady Gray, my wolf dog, has been making a nuisance of herself, licking at my face and running around with Shadow, her father.

“What if he’s married by then?” Wolf askes.

Now that stumps me. Broken Heart is a nice guy and will marry soon. “Well, I don’t need to worry. The older women will fix me up with someone. It’s hard to say no to them.”

“Do you want to be married?” he asks.

I rest my chin on my knee; Wolf knows me, more so, since I confessed to him my attempt to murder a man. Wolf never revealed my secret, and he is the only person I trust. “Hell, you know I don't want to be with a man.”

Wolf smirks at me and says, “Yeah, yeah, and you don’t want to be with a woman. So why don’t you just become a nun, a fighting nun, with a sword and all that stuff?”

I land a fist hard on his shoulder and say, “That was mean.”

He says, “You needed it; Sir Bear Two Feathers sure isn’t knocking any sense into you.”

Grrr… I spot Pell trotting up the hill. She is the only other student at this school besides me and Wana who is tattooed. She wears arrowheads on her cheeks and dark geometric lines from her lower lip down her neck and under the collar of her uniform. She has the marks of a warrior given to her by her father and the welded gold septum ring of a Kaniwa woman. “What’s up,” I ask.

“The Viking is down in the Lion's office. I think they’re sending me home, back to the Amazon,” she says.

I start walking down the hill with Pell. She stops, looks up at Wolf, and yells, “You too, Lobo.” I don’t understand her following few words, but Wolf sure does; red-faced, he scrambles to catch up with us, and in three minutes, we stand in front of The Lion while the self-styled Viking, Erik Erikson, is at our side. Lady Knight Whisperblade stands behind us; the short, stocky ruddy-faced woman scares me.

The Lion starts, “I’ve called you here to hear Mr. Erikson’s proposal to save the Kaniwa tribe in the Amazon Rain Forest.”

The door opens, and Wart marches in. “Sir, I’ve just heard Pell is returning home. I volunteer to go with her.”

“Have you ever been to the Amazon?” The Lion asks.

“No, Sir, but I’ve squired beside Pell for the last four years and have learned her language.”

Whisperblade clamps a hand on each of her squire’s shoulders and asks, “Have you two been doing anything behind my back, anything I should know about?”

“No, Ma’am,” Wart says with a shudder. I know the rules; you cannot become pregnant, cause another to become pregnant, or marry and stay in this school. Besides, we are not old enough.”

Whisperblade snorts, “Answer carefully; what have you been doing?”

“Nothing, Ma’am, except talk a lot.”

Whisperblade’s interrogation is interrupted when Lady Knight Sir Amara Swiftblade enters the office and asks Pell in perfect Kaniwa, “Could you use another sword?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am,” Pell answers, hugging the young redheaded knight.

“Sis, how did you learn Kaniwa?” Wolf asks.

“It’s one of those gifts I have by being Maud’s birth daughter.” Amara answers.

“Ahem,” The Lion interrupts, “we have serious business to attend to; Mr. Erikson has a proposal.”

Mr. Ericson says, “Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know, the Kaniwa are threatened by loggers and gold prospectors, and I am one of those prospectors. Please forgive me, but I am an honest businessman, and I wish the Kaniwa no harm.”

Wolf snorts, so I elbow him. I’ll have to watch him and make sure he acts friendly to the Viking. He is dreamy with that huge mustache and beard… Enough of that girl. He should marry Whisperblade; she says she hates him, but I believe they existed for each other.

Erik continues, “I know of three unoccupied forests where they can live. I will provide any assistance possible to find a place for them, including paying your way to accomplish this task. I will even place one of my airplanes at your disposal. Your first task is to scout out these places and determine how to get the Kaniwa there. What say you?”

The Lion adds, “This will qualify as your required senior project; no classwork, no research, and no special oral exam.”

It doesn't take me but a moment to say, “Yes, Sir.” The other squires also volunteer. The meeting concludes with the six of us, seven counting the Viking, along with Lady Gray and Shadow boarding the bus waiting out front.

It seems Mr. Erikson knew we would accept; the bus he has stocked it with everything we need: satellite phones for everyone, two tablet computers, and the more serious stuff, our bows, including my beautiful seven-foot bamboo Kyudo bow and arrows, bulletproof vests, staffs, and swords. In Wolf and Pell’s case, they have their staves of life bonded to them by Pell’s father, Oure, shaman of the Kaniwa. So they won’t go far from them for long. The staves carry power, maybe magic, but I don't believe in that sort of stuff.

Whisperblade declines to be the leader, saying it is our turn. I think Pell should be the leader, but it’s not my choice. We hold a vote to elect Wolf as our leader because he is proficient in Kaniwa and the white man’s ways.

We arrive at the airport in Richmond, where Mr. Erikson buys our tickets and hands out our passports and visas, and we’re off, but without The Viking, who has other business. The long flights take us to Atlanta and Manaus. The Amazon forest is miles upon miles of a dark green carpet draped upon the rolling earth. Finally, the pilot announces that we are approaching Manaus, and I see more and more areas where the carpet of green is ripped, areas where trees were logged or burned to make fields. After landing, we retrieve our backpacks and weapons, as well as Lady Gray and Shadow, our best asset.

Mr. Erikson's agent, Senhor Herve, greets us and insists on taking us to dinner in a lovely restaurant; they even serve lobster from Maine. I suspect it will be the last formal sit-down meal we will have for a very long time. In the early morning, we are driven to the small plane airport to stop at a sizeable two-engine airplane. An old C-47 military cargo plane at least sixty years old, I shudder. The side of the aircraft bears the logo for Viking Transport Worldwide; go figure. Wolf and Ty, the pilot, have a few angry words involving his last trip to the Amazon, which brought Pell to us.

The argument settled to everyone's satisfaction. We board and put on earplugs. We struggle to find seats among boxes of machinery parts. Wolf goes forward to sit in the copilot’s seat. The engine’s startup, and we take off. It is hours before we land at a lumber mill, run by the very people who are responsible for cutting away the forest. We are pressed into service unloading the boxes of parts while Ty refills the plane's fuel tanks.

We take off on the last leg of our flights, and it is another hour before we descend to just above treetop level and circle a rough landing strip cut through the trees. Finally, satisfied with the ground, the pilot slows the engine to land; touching down, he reverses the engines hard, pulling us to a stop.

Wolf scrambles back from the front of the plane and shouts over the rumble of the idling engines, “There is trouble; drug runners are waiting just in the woods; we have to get to the woods fast.” Pell and Wolf waste no time jumping down from the door and running for the trees; taking the hint, I chase after them, the two wolves following me. Reaching the woods, we hide behind the thick green brush at the edge of a clearing. Pell points at a slight movement a hundred yards to the left and disappears into the forest. I can’t even tell which way she went; she’s fast and quiet. I stare at Wolf, who holds a finger to his lips. We head in the direction Pell indicated, and sure enough, we see rustling in the bushes, which I can tell is coming towards us. I have to depend on Wolf; he’s got the tracking instinct.

Wolf hunkers down and signals to Shadow. With a hand on the gray wolf's back, he points him in the right direction and whispers in his ear. The wolf disappears with Lady Gray following. It doesn’t take long before I hear the first scream, followed by the crack, crack, crack of an assault gun, an AK-47 from the sound of it. I already have my Kyudo bow knocked with one of my overlong arrows. Wolf stands up behind a tree, and I do the same. Then, on his signal, we step out and aim. I let loose, drilling my arrow into the shoulder of a scruffy man, whose gun goes off, tearing the bark off of the tree I had just hidden behind. I hear more screaming in the distance and shudder. The two wolves are bringing the men down. I’ve spent a lot of time with the Virginia State Police K-9 unit, teaching Lady Gray to disable men; I hope she didn’t kill anyone.

There is no more screaming, no more crack of guns, and no more growling from the wolves. Instead, the forest is too quiet, but not for long. The two wolves start to howl, a long hollow sound sure to make brave men quiver in their sleep.

Before the howling stops, Pell and the others emerge from several directions. Pell holds her black and white flint knife dripping with blood. She also has a captured AK-47 assault rifle.

Shadow and Lady emerge, both with blood on their muzzles.

“How many are dead?” I ask.

“Three,” Pell answers with a big smile. She sees my frown and says, “In your land, I obey your laws; in my land, I obey Kaniwa laws. Those men have killed Kaniwa.”

It turns out that our little Pell has the heart of a killer. I know because I once tried to kill a man. Will I become Kaniwa like Pell, like I became a Mojave?

My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of Oure, Pell’s father, a small, wiry man wearing a loincloth and crown of blue feathers. Pell kneels before him, and he bends down to kiss her forehead. She pulls off her uniform, down to her loincloth.

Wolf surprises me by also striping to his loincloth. I always thought it was funny that he wore one under his uniform.

Many Kaniwa hunters emerge from the forest, pick up our meager supplies, and hike towards the Kaniwa homeland. We didn't bring much, and it’s mostly in our backpacks. It’s an easy jog to reach Oure’s longhouse, where a crowd gathered. Wolf goes to one middle-aged woman and hugs her, receiving a kiss in return. Pell tells me she is Cunno, Oure’s first wife and her stepmother. From my previous brush with the Kaniwa, I am not surprised that everyone wears only loincloths, and all the adults, everyone over about thirteen or so, wear tattoos on their lower face and most of the rest of their body. Like Pell, the women wear a gold ring in their noses. Many young men approach me, and without saying anything, point to their tattooed chins and then at mine. I don’t understand what they're suggesting, but Pell clarifies it.

“The men are asking you if you’re married, and if you’re not, will you… Will you date them?” says Pell.

I think she’s being diplomatic. “Date, why me? Why not Amara? She’s better looking, with her freckles and red hair?”

“You have a beautiful mark on your chin; it is blue, and we don’t have blue ink,” She answers.

I look at the men who stand nearby, trying to get my attention, and point to a hunter staring at me. “Who is that tall one?”

“That’s Powtow; he’s all right, a good hunter.”

Pell’s not very enthusiastic about him, and I don’t like how he stares at me. A man standing near him has a sneer as he looks and whispers in Powtow’s ear. He makes my skin crawl.

I see one man outside the crowd, looking down; he glances at me but turns away when I look back at him. “Who is that one, all red in the face?”

Pell smirks, “He’s Upatu; he is too shy to ask a woman to marry. He should; he’s fun and tells good stories; I wish he would ask me. I would even become his second wife.”

“Second wife,” I ask?

“Didn’t I tell you? Older men take a second wife when they prove themselves. So many men die hunting boar. It all works out; my mother was Oure’s second wife.”

I stare at the little woman. “He’s married to Cunno.”

“Yes… Mother died, and Cunno raised me; she has no children. If a man is good at hunting boar, he will marry again. The second wife marries the man and his wife. So many men die hunting, and all women need a man; it makes sense. White men are silly with only one wife.”

I hang my head and walk away. How could I ever be a wife, much less a second wife? Who would marry me, a short-haired, tall girl with a big fat tattoo on my chin?