I took my tomahawk in my right hand and my bowie knife in my left and rolled to my feet to have as much freedom of movement as I could manage.Knife fighting had been taught to me by an expert, a Marine sergeant who had been in Nam, as well as in the Middle Eastern sand. He had a few scars to show that he had been in fights, but the fact that he was still walking around proved that he knew what he was doing with a knife. I planned to use my knife mainly as a defensive weapon and the tomahawk as my offensive weapon. The head of the tomahawk was steel and obviously made by Whites, but it had been taken from a Navajo, so I knew that it was an effective weapon. The head had a 2-inch-wide blade on one side and a 4-inch-long spike on the other side. The head must have weighed about a pound and a quarter, so it was the perfect weapon of its type.The unwounded man got to me first and took a swipe at me with his knife. I parried the swing with my knife while chopping at his arm with the blade. I need to work this issue.” Gone was the happy Matthew that had been lying with her only moments before under the tree. What stood before her looked like a child who had just been told his favorite toy had been destroyed, and she felt his pain. Together they walked back to the parking lot, neither saying much as the rain started to fall more heavily. Their afternoon had been cut short, and neither was ready to say good bye. They stopped beside his motorcycle, but he didn’t rush to get on. Instead, they stood there face to face, not a word spoken. Sierra stepped toward him and he reached out and pulled her close. It was the first time he had hugged her and she felt herself melting on the inside. It felt so right to be in his arms—like this is where she belonged—and she clung on tight. She fought back tears as she tried not to think of the fact that he was leaving her there to go back to his house where his wife would be waiting for him. She had never met her, but she hated.
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