Between Two Worlds
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 4
The Thunder Basin Crossing
The wind hit them like a physical blow as they crested the last ridge before the Thunder Basin grasslands stretched endlessly before them. Johnny pulled his bison coat tighter and squinted through the blowing snow, his heart sinking at the sight. Where the past three days had offered at least some shelter—scattered groves of pine, rocky outcroppings, the occasional coulee—now there was nothing but an ocean of white prairie rolling toward the horizon.
“Jesus,” he breathed, the word torn away by the howling wind.
Winona crouched beside him, studying the terrain with eyes that had learned to read the land like a book. Even she looked troubled by what lay ahead. “Thunder Basin,” she said quietly. “My people, we call it ‘Maka Owanjila’—the place where earth meets sky. Nothing to hide behind for many, many miles.”
They had camped the night before in a protected draw two miles south of the grasslands, and Winona had spent the morning hours working with the rabbit pelts they’d collected during their journey. Her nimble fingers, even stiff with cold, had sewn two water bags from the soft hides, waterproofing the seams with pine pitch Johnny had helped her gather.
“These will hold maybe three days of water each,” she had explained as she worked, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air of their shelter. “In Thunder Basin, water will be frozen deep under snow. We cannot dig through to find streams, cannot risk fire to melt snow during day. Too easy to see smoke against white sky.”
Now, looking out at the vast expanse they would have to cross, Johnny understood why she had been so insistent about the water bags. Out there, they would be completely exposed—vulnerable to spotting by anyone within miles, with nowhere to hide if pursuit caught up to them.
“How long?” he asked, though he dreaded the answer.
“In good weather, maybe four, five days,” Winona replied. “In this snow, with need to hide during daylight...” She shook her head grimly. “Maybe ten days. Maybe more if storms come.”
Johnny did quick calculations in his head. Ten days in sub-zero temperatures, with limited food, crossing terrain where every step would be visible to anyone looking. His stomach clenched with fear, but when he looked at Winona—at the determined set of her jaw, the fierce light in her dark eyes—he found his courage.
“Then we best get started,” he said, forcing confidence into his voice.
They waited until dusk to begin their crossing, using the last hours of daylight to study the route ahead and plan their first night’s travel. Winona had spotted what looked like a dry streambed about eight miles out—their first potential shelter where they could rest during the dangerous daylight hours.
“We travel only in darkness, only when snow falls heavy,” she instructed as they prepared to leave their last real shelter. “When wind is strong, it will cover our tracks faster. When sky clears, when snow stops—we hide.”
The moment they left the protective ridge and stepped onto the open grassland, Johnny felt utterly exposed. The wind here was relentless, driving snow horizontally across the prairie and cutting through even his heavy coat like knives. Within minutes, ice crystals had formed on his eyelashes and beard, making it hard to see.
Winona took the lead, breaking trail through snow that varied from ankle-deep to knee-deep, depending on how the wind had sculpted it. She moved with the steady, ground-eating pace of someone who understood that survival depended on conserving energy while making progress. Johnny followed in her footsteps, grateful for the path she cut through the drifts but struggling to match her endurance.
After two hours of walking, his legs burned with exhaustion from lifting his feet high enough to clear the snow with each step. His lungs ached from breathing the razor-sharp air, and despite his layers of clothing, he could feel the cold seeping into his bones.
“Winona,” he called out, his voice barely audible over the wind. “I need ... I need to rest.”
She stopped immediately and turned back, her face full of concern as she saw him bent over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Without a word, she came back and put her arm around his waist, helping to support him.
“I should have stopped sooner,” she said, guilt clear in her voice. “Sometimes I forget ... you are not used to walking in deep snow. Takes much strength.”
“I’s fine,” Johnny panted, though they both knew it was a lie. “Just need a minute.”
“No shame in being tired,” Winona said gently, but her eyes were scanning the prairie around them with obvious anxiety. Standing still in the open made them vulnerable, and they both knew it. “But Johnny, we cannot rest long out here. Too easy to see.”
He nodded and straightened up, drawing on reserves of determination he did not know he possessed. “I’s ready. Let’s keep goin’.”
She studied his face for a moment, then decided. “We take turns breaking trail. You follow my steps for one mile, then I follow yours. Share the work.”
It helped, though not as much as Johnny had hoped. Even following in her footsteps, the deep snow drained his energy at an alarming rate. By the time they reached the dry streambed Winona had spotted, he was stumbling with exhaustion, and she was having to help support him for the last half mile.
The coulee was a blessing—a narrow cut in the prairie that offered protection from the wind and concealment from prying eyes. Stunted willows and snow-covered grass provided some material for bedding, and the banks rose high enough to hide a small, smokeless fire if they were careful.
“We stay here until tomorrow night,” Winona declared as they slid down into the shelter. “You need rest, and I need to set traps. Might catch rabbit or prairie grouse. Need meat to keep strength.”
Johnny was too tired to argue. He helped her gather what deadwood they could find among the willows, then watched with admiration as she quickly and efficiently built a tiny fire using techniques that produced almost no smoke. The warmth was heavenly after hours in the brutal wind.
“How do you know all this?” he asked as she began setting up snares with materials from their pack. “The fire, the traps, movin’ through the snow ... where’d you learn it all?”
Winona’s hands never paused in their work as she answered. “My father, he teach me many things other girls do not learn. Says daughter of war chief must be strong, must know how to survive if enemies come to camp.” Her voice grew soft with memory. “My mother, she not always happy with this. Says father makes me too much like boy, too little like proper Lakota woman. But father says...” She paused, her eyes distant. “Father says woman who cannot take care of herself cannot truly take care of others.”
“Smart man,” Johnny said, meaning it. “Reckon that’s why you’re still alive to tell about it.”
“Maybe,” she said, but Johnny could see the worry lines around her eyes. “Or maybe I just bring more danger to good people who try to help me.”
“Don’t say that,” Johnny said firmly, reaching out to still her hands with his own. “Winona, look at me.” When she raised her eyes to his, he continued with quiet intensity. “You didn’t choose to be taken by them slavers. You did not choose for me to help you escape. But you are choosin’ to survive, to get home to your people. That ain’t bringin’ danger—that’s bringin’ hope.”
Her eyes glistened in the firelight, and for a moment she squeezed his hands tightly. “How you always know right thing to say?”
“I’s don’t,” Johnny admitted with a rueful smile. “Most times I’s say exactly the wrong thing. But with you ... maybe it’s just easier to speak truth.”
They settled in to wait out the daylight hours, taking turns sleeping while the other kept watch. When it was Johnny’s turn to rest, Winona insisted he use her buffalo robe in addition to his coat.
“You need more warmth than me,” she said when he protested. “I am used to cold. You ... you still learning.”
He was too exhausted to argue effectively, and the combined warmth of both coverings was indeed a blessing. But as he drifted off to sleep, he was acutely aware of Winona sitting nearby, keeping watch, her dark eyes constantly scanning the coulee’s rim for signs of danger.
When she woke him near dusk, there was good news and bad news. The good news was that her snares had caught two fat prairie grouse. The bad news was that the wind had died down, and the snow had stopped falling.
“Sky is clearing,” she said, pointing upward where stars were beginning to show between scattered clouds. “Tomorrow, our tracks from last night will show clear as writing on white paper.”
Johnny felt his stomach clench with fear. “So, what do we do?”
“We move fast tonight. Try to reach next shelter before daylight. If we cannot...” She shrugged with the fatalistic acceptance of someone who had lived with danger all her life. “Then we dig hole in snow and hope no one looks close.”
They cooked and ate the grouse quickly—the first hot, fresh meat they’d had in days. It put strength back in Johnny’s legs and warmth in his belly, but it also reminded him how little food they were carrying. Their supplies were intended to last the journey, but the extra energy required to move through deep snow was burning through their reserves faster than planned.
“How much pemmican and jerky we got left?” he asked as they prepared to leave their shelter.
Winona made a quick inventory of their supplies, her expression growing troubled. “Maybe six days if we are careful. Eight if we catch more game.” She looked up at him with worry clear in her dark eyes. “Johnny, if we get caught in bad storm, if we have to hole up for days without moving ... we could run short of food before we reach my people.”
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