The tribal encampment buzzed with the energy of new arrivals as Taniel led Elias and his family through the cluster of hogans, the circular dwellings rising from the earth like ancient sentinels. Smoke rose lazily from central fire pits, carrying the scents of roasting corn and venison, while women paused in their weaving to nod welcoming smiles, and children scampered closer, eyes wide with curiosity. The Navajo people, ever cautious yet open to those who honored the land, greeted the Hawthornes with warmth—hands extended in peace, voices murmuring blessings in Diné bizaad before switching to the broken English of traders. Elias tipped his hat, Clara offered a small bundle of dried herbs as a token, and the younger children waved shyly, easing the initial tension into shared laughter over Thomas's wooden toy horse, which one of the Navajo boys immediately wanted to race against his own carved pony.
Chief Many Horses emerged from his hogan, a towering figure in his fifties with silver streaks in his long black hair and a necklace of stallion teeth around his neck. His eyes, sharp as flint, softened as he approached, his werehorse spirit—a lineage shared in whispers among the guardians—sensing no threat in these newcomers. Taniel stepped forward, spear planted firmly, and recounted the journey: the family's search for land, their woodworking prowess, and the potential alliance it promised. 'They bring hands that shape the earth's gifts,' Taniel said, his voice steady. 'Not to take, but to build with us.'
Many Horses hummed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, then nodded. 'Words are wind. Show us your strength, Elias Hawthorne. If your skills serve the people and the herd, you have a place here.'
Elias grinned, rolling up his sleeves to reveal forearms corded from years at the lathe. With Clara at his side, they set to work on a massive pine log felled the day before by tribal hunters—a trunk thick as a man's waist, its bark still fragrant with resin. Father and wife moved in sync, axes rising and falling with practiced rhythm. Elias's blade bit deep on the downswing, splitting the wood clean, while Clara followed with her adze, shaving off splinters and evening the cuts. Chips flew like golden rain, and soon they had a stack of even planks, sturdy enough for framing.
Samuel and Thomas, the brothers, took over next, kneeling in the dirt with sanding stones and scraps of rough hide. At 13 and 8, they worked with surprising focus—Samuel's hands guiding Thomas's smaller ones over the edges, rubbing away knots and burrs until the wood gleamed smooth as river stone. Sweat beaded on their brows, but they grinned at the approving murmurs from the watching Navajo, who passed around water gourds filled with cool spring water.
Maria, with Eliza perched on a nearby stump 'helping' by clutching tools in her tiny fists, knelt to carve the planks. Her knife danced across the surface, etching interlocking slants—dovetail joints that locked like puzzle pieces, designed to form a resilient wall or roof panel. Eliza handed over chisels with gleeful chatter, smearing wood dust on her cheeks, while Maria's red curls fell forward, framing her concentrated freckled face. The tribe gathered closer, impressed by the precision; one elder ran a hand over the grooves, testing the fit as Maria slotted two pieces together. They held firm without a single nail, strong against wind or rain.
A cheer erupted—hoots and claps echoing across the camp—as the demonstration proved its worth. Many Horses stepped forward, his grin wide as he clapped Elias on the back with a resounding thwack. 'You shape wood like the spirits shape the canyons. Welcome, Hawthornes. Build your home here, work with us, and share in the herd's protection. The land provides for those who give back.'
With the tribe's aid, the house foundation took shape swiftly. Navajo men and women joined in, hauling stones for the base and digging post holes under Elias's direction, adapting to the chief's specifications—aligning with the path of the sun for warmth, near the stream but not flooding the sacred stallion corral. Axes thudded, laughter mingled with grunts of effort, and by mid-afternoon, a solid outline of footings and initial walls stood ready. Elias wiped his brow, surveying the progress. 'With hands like these, our house and workshop'll be up in two days flat. Never seen such willing folk.'
Many Horses nodded, satisfied, as the group paused for breath. Nearby, Taniel steadied a heavy oak slab for the family door, his powerful arms holding it level without strain, veins standing out along his forearms. Maria worked the wood with her chisel, her emerald eyes focused, but a flush crept up her neck as Taniel's grin met hers. 'Steady hands make for fine work,' he murmured, his voice low and teasing. 'Though I wonder if yours shake from the task... or something else.'
She hummed softly under her breath—a lilting melody to steady her nerves—unaware it revealed her singing talent, another thread in Navajo courtship: the trading of songs to bind hearts. Taniel's ears pricked, his werehorse senses catching every note like a siren's call. 'What song is that, Maria? It carries the rhythm of the plains.'
Her chisel paused, and she glanced up, curls bouncing. 'Just a nursery rhyme from home. About battlefield horses—strong stallions charging through smoke and steel, then returning to rest, to sire foals with legs ready for the next fight. Keeps the bloodline fierce.'
Taniel nodded, his dark eyes warming as his inner spirit stirred, hooves thundering in his blood. Horses—always horses. It explained the pull, the way her presence ignited his equine soul. 'You honor them well. Shows a heart that dreams of their power and grace.'
She nodded, a shy smile breaking through. 'Always have. Their strength, their beauty... it's like they're alive with secrets.' Emboldened by the shared moment, she kicked off her worn boots and peeled away her socks, sighing in relief as her bare feet sank into the cool grass. 'These boots are too stuffy after the trail. Barefoot feels right—free, like the earth itself.'
Taniel's gaze dropped, admiring her petite feet: lightly freckled arches, dainty yet long toes that flexed against the soil, showing care and fitness from years of walking workshops and fields. They curled slightly under his attention, rubbing together in a subtle wiggle. 'Strong feet,' he said, voice husky with approval. 'Healthy, grounded. They carry you well.'
Maria's blush returned, toes gripping the earth as warmth spread through her. He notices, she thought, heart fluttering. The feet I love showing off. A man who could sweep me up, kiss them like a queen's... and here he is. She straightened, eager to continue, handing him the next tool as he lifted the slab effortlessly to her new angle.
From across the site, Clara watched with a knowing giggle, Eliza balanced on her hip. She chatted with a cluster of Navajo women about reed baskets for storage and woven rugs for the floors, but her eyes lingered on Maria. Time for the talk, she mused. How to draw a man in—tease with a glance, touch that lingers. The ways I've kept Elias hungry all these years: slow strokes on his cock under the blankets, riding him deep until we both shatter. Basics to start, but enough to spark fire. That's how we made four babes, and Eliza last spring. If the trail hadn't called, I'd have more. Tonight, once the walls rise, I'll get my husband stiff and take that wooden log of his for a proper pounding. She bit her lip, thighs pressing together at the thought.
Elias and Many Horses sat on logs by a fire, sharing tobacco from a carved pipe. The chief chuckled, nodding toward Taniel and Maria. 'You bring skills, Elias, and steal our finest warrior's gaze. That one's heart thunders like his namesake.'
Elias laughed, puffing smoke. 'Took us in, might as well tie the knot proper. A union like that binds families—and futures.'
Many Horses grew thoughtful, then nodded. 'Not a bad path. Strengthens the tribe, secures neighbors who respect the herd. If the spirits will it between those two, so be it.' Both men sealed the idea with a firm handshake, eyes on the young pair.
Taniel shifted the wood again, his lean, ripped physique on full display—eight-pack abs contracting as he flexed, the deep V of his hips hinting at power below his breechcloth. Maria couldn't stop stealing glances, biting her lip as heat pooled low in her belly. Her bare toes rubbed and gripped the grass, curling tighter with each flex of his muscles, her arousal building in nervous waves. Taniel caught her look, his grin widening. 'Like what you see? The door's not the only thing needing a firm hold.'
She laughed breathlessly, chisel flying faster, the air between them thick with unspoken promise.