Atalanta's Story - Chapter 6 This chapter involved a lot of rework and back and forth with William Durr. My grammar skills are not the best so any errors that I left are mine. This is also longer than most of the chapters and the hardest to get right.

A lot happens in this chapter, some discoveries, some mysteries and Atalanta has her first date. She starts to grow up and assert herself a little bit.

Chapter Six

As I lay in bed later that night, I thought about what mom said about training with Manny and what she implied my body wanted to do with Jack. I pushed that to the back of my mind.

Since my change several months earlier I was kept busy and had not given any thought to the why’s or who’s. After finding I was more athletic gifted as a girl and tonight’s show of time-lapse motion I seriously had to think it wasn’t an accident. This meant that someone or something is targeting me.

As I started to drift off to sleep an image of Jack crept into my mind and brought with it the feelings of his kissing me.

Liz was also reviewing the day’s events and she admitted that the why or who of Alan’s transformation to Atalanta had not occurred to her before. A frown crossed her face as she recalled Atalanta’s desire to learn self-defense. A soft hum and moan from the room next to hers brought a smirk to her face as she rolled over and slid deeper under covers.

Early Monday morning as Manny and I were stretching I inquired, “Manny, did Mom talk to you?”

He nodded and wordlessly handed me two pairs of small cuffs whose size belied their weight.

“These are one pound wrist and ankle weights.”

I snapped each into place and experimentally shook my hands and feet.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I declared after careful examination of the circlets.

At each early morning session he brought me weighted cuffs and exchanged them each morning for others with different sizes and weights. He often gave me un-equal weights to help improve the balance for each arm or leg.

After the first week, we began with separate forms, katas as they were called, and once I showed competency in each he chained them until we joined the forms into a free-flowing choreography of movement. Interspersed were lessons using my eyes to hear, and my ears to see. After several months of training, I could see blindfolded or hear with earplugs on.

The dreams continued through that first week covering the four directions in consecutive nights and then repeating and always with me bringing the supply of corn to the same place. Every night the dream ended at that place. Each direction always leads to the same destination until by now I knew the landmarks and at least two of the locations.

From my research, by Friday afternoon of that first week I felt sure the craggy snow-capped peaks rising sharply from the floor of a valley had to be Mount Blanca and the San Luis Valley that I arrived at on each fifth night. The isolated domed peak could only be Navajo Mountain.

After discovering these mountains were sacred to the Navajo, I deduced the other locations in my dreams were also sacred locations.

The following Monday I had established to my satisfaction the other locations in my dreams as San Francisco Peaks and Mount Taylor. Moreover, I believed it likely to be Huerfano Mesa, the destination where I placed the supply of corn at the end of each dream.

I didn’t have a lot of time to reflect what meaning it held as this week Monday, Manny increased our running and conditioning regimen to include more katas as they related to what we were already doing. We spent an extra hour each day learning the individual forms. Manny called it building muscle memory and he said I’d get to the point where I could use it without thinking.

Thursday morning as we were warming up I said, “Manny I need this afternoon off. Tonight’s dinner is the four month anniversary and it’s kind of special.”

“What is the fourth month an anniversary of?”

I replied smoothly after a moment’s panic, “It has been four months since our move out here.”

“That’s all right,” he replied, “I have to leave in the morning for business for a couple of days anyway. That will give you time for your big date on Saturday too,” he teased.

“Oh joy,” I snorted.

“What’s the matter, I thought you were looking forward to it?”

“Mom thinks I should be less a tomboy and more like a lady and this is part of her way to balance out my self-defense training.”

“Instead of beating them up buttering them up,” he chuckled.

I punched him on the shoulder, “something like that.”

“Oh!”

“You big faker,” I declared.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “but you are going to make one fine lady Atalanta, you are already a beautiful girl. Learn to play the game. I can teach you this part but your mom will be the one to teach you the other part.”

“Ready,” he announced.

My horse snorted in the background at hearing his name. Turning around I pointed at the barn’s interior and whispered, “What’s that?”

I sprinted past him as he turned to where I had pointed, “Gotcha.”

That Thursday dinner started as every other did, with mom and Judy coming through the door just before dark and talking shop. The stove timer started beeping as they came into the kitchen.

“Dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes,” I declared removing the covered dish from the oven letting it simmer.

“Smells good honey,” mom replied giving me cheek peck, “anything I can do to help?”

“You can set the table.”

Ten minutes later I removed the bread placing it and the roasted chicken beside the salad on the table, “Dig in,” I announced setting at the table.

We did.

After eating, cleaning up and putting leftovers away we gathered around the table, “Excited about your date Saturday?” Judy prompted.

“Nervous is more like it,” I replied remaining neutral.

What followed was 15 minutes of advice; advice on what clothes to wear, dating etiquette, and then mom and Judy began retelling dates from hell. I zoned out.

Until.

“Wasn’t funny then,” mom noted, “but looking back it was those experiences that made me appreciate your dad all the more.”

I had never given it much thought; I assumed I would grow up find a girl settle down and raise a family. It was just something that happened.

Now as a girl and growing up female, it seemed I acquired a different set of priorities. We girls seemed to have a battle plan with strategies and a point system in place. What was worse is that it made sense to me. At least I could see how from this side of the fence it made sense to test your man. As the physically weaker partner and the one who for nine months was vulnerable having basic guidelines seemed wise.

As a male, babies seemed a distant and hazy concept but now I knew that when my period started that possibility would be a real and constant companion for the next three decades.

“You still have the dreams?”

I nodded, “Tonight will be 28 nights straight; four cycles repeated seven times.”

“Any ideas?”

I told them what I suspected about the locations and my research on the Navajo people.

“So you think your dreams have something to do with the Changing Woman lore of the Navajo?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I do. Changing Woman gave birth to the first Navajo people and the Navajo still have fertility rites today that rely heavily on that lore. The numbers four and five deem to hold significance and I have in my dreams run in the four directions seven times. Seven times four is 28 and 28 is the number of days and times of moon cycles and another cycle.”

Judy and mom smiled weakly at that forecast.

“My dreams seemed to be a modified version of a maidens’ passage into womanhood because in the Navajo tradition the young girl runs in each direction once and culminates on the fifth night with a tribal ceremony.”

“I take it that you haven’t dreamt the ceremony then?”

I shook my head, “I don’t believe I will either. I feel it here,” I replied cupping my stomach area, “that tonight is the last night for these particular dreams.”

“And then,” mom prompted.

I raise my shoulders palms up, “Wait and see, I suppose.”

She sighed audibly, “That’s not very encouraging.”

“Well mom,” I quipped, “this doesn’t even meet the level of unusual after spontaneously changing sexes.”

Nervous laughter greeted my proclamation. We talked a little while longer before I announced that my bed was calling me.

Sitting in front of my dresser, I started my nightly ritual after undressing and removing my bra and donning my old “ratty” flannel nightshirt. I stopped brushing my hair and reflected on the girl in the mirror. She had a contented smile in place seemingly soothed by the mundane task of brushing her hair. I grunted-yes a real Neanderthal grunt, a backlash at femininities relentless push. I then giggled at the cognizant dissonance that image produced.

Rising I padded down the hall to the kitchen to say goodnight.

“Atalanta,” my mom began as I kissed her cheek, “why are you wearing that ratty old thing?”

“It is comfortable.” The oversized shirt was a hand-me-down from my dad when I was Alan and wearing it gave me comfort at night and acted as a bridge between two worlds.

As the red numerals flashed 5:00 AM on Friday morning, I immediately woke from a sound sleep and after necessary morning rituals; I dressed in my habitual running clothes and then left our cottage for the stables to stretch and warm-up before my five-mile mad dash cross-country race.

This morning I chose the rather level mesa back of the ranch as it was relatively free of obstacles and shorter than our usual foray into the steep rocky inclines to the valley rim. I wasn’t interested in the view or the challenge that route offered today.

Slowing to a comfortable jog at the stable I began to walk, cooling down, on the path from the stables to our house feeling on edge and out-of-synch with my internal clock. Something kept picking at the corners of my mind.

Mom was probably just now coming awake as it was only 6 AM. I shortened my stride coming into view of the cottage.

“Honey what are you going to do today with all this extra time on your hands?” I had just walked into the kitchen after showering off the dust, grime, and sweat from my morning run.

“I think I’ll go riding, Ready needs to stretch her legs,” I answered taking a bite of breakfast.

“Like that,” mom accused.

I was dressed in boots, jeans, a tee, and twirling a baseball hat in my free hand with my hair tied back and minimal make-up applied.

“Mom,” I whined, “these are comfortable riding clothes and I’ll change once I get back.” It was true as a girl sweat and grime just plain made me feel bad. The perspiration seemed to coat my skin. I theorized that the small amount of hair I had as Alan helped to wick away the moisture.

“Atalanta, I swear you’re turning into a tomboy.” It was all so natural now the ebb and flow of conversation between us; it was as if we were always mother and daughter.

Liz momentarily froze as her words and actions sunk in and a few butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She felt a small amount of guilt rise with those butterflies; realizing that that she felt closer to Atalanta than she had with Alan.
She also realized that if she had the power to change Atalanta back into Alan she probably wouldn’t but if she could avoid it happening at all that she probably would. That realization brought home that humans were clearly adaptable.

“Honey,” she quizzed tentatively, “if you could would you change back?”

I bit my tongue cutting off the snazzy retort I had prepared instantly sensing a change in dynamics.

“To be honest mom I haven’t given it much thought at least not lately. I wouldn’t have deliberately chosen this path but it might be for the best,” I replied, sighing at this confession.

“How so?”

“I’m sure Alan would have found his … passion or his talent … skills, however you label it but losing Dad left me drifting. Being Atalanta though has challenged me enough that I haven’t had time to dwell on the … accident,” I replied biting my lower lip.

Liz in that moment realized that in helping Atalanta cope and directing the ranch’s clinic expansion she had healed from her husband’s death. She also realized they hadn’t properly mourned his passing.

Mother and daughter embraced silently crying, mourning the loss of the man in their lives.

“Great,” I moaned my eyes shining and sporting a smile a mile wide, “now I have to redo my makeup.”

A weight that we had labored under had lifted. We giggled nervously and then hysterically ending with a series of hiccups. I quickly retired to my room and redid my face.

“Don’t forget your cell phone and jacket,” mom reminded me as I returned to the kitchen.

“Got it covered,” I replied shrugging into the jacket and pulling the phone from a pocket.

“Honey I want you to know I loved when you were here,” she said patting her tummy, “when you were born, when we moved here, yesterday, today, and all the tomorrows.”

I knew, not an intelligent or mental knowing but a deeper emotional connection.

“I know and mom … I love you too.”

I felt like I was walking on air and literally skipped to the stables. Humming, I saddled Ready, checking the cinch to see that it was tight, and slinging a couple of canteens of water from the horn. I slipped a pair of binoculars and several power bars into the saddlebags and patted my pocket for the phone.

Satisfied, I led Ready outside and swung on to the saddle.

“Ready to stretch your legs,” I clucked to the filly as we cantered into the high desert.

The sun, over my left shoulder was warming, chasing the nighttime cold away. Still humming a familiar tune that I couldn’t place, I let Ready have her head as to direction and gait.

A couple of hours later I pulled back on the reins staring down at arroyo that Ready had unerringly headed for.

“I should have known,” I muttered and then slapping the horse’s neck, “girl what do you know that I don’t?”

Ready whinnied a “duh” in reply.

“We could do with a break,” I muttered, dismounting and leading my horse over to a stand of pines that offered shade and a meager foliage for her to munch on. After eating a power bar and washing it down with water from the canteen, I filled my hat with water and letting Ready drink her fill.

From the sun’s position, it was about 10 A.M., and if we left now I just had time to get back to the ranch by 12. I gradually became aware of a smell that seemed familiar yet remained elusive. The scent jogged memory centers that too remained just out of reach. But awakened memories brought with it sights and sounds.

My feet moved, taking me over to the trail that led down into the depression where the rope guide had been built to keep anyone else from wandering off. My vision blurred momentarily and my ears began buzzing; I stumbled down the incline.

On my hands and knees, I looked up and shaking my head to clear my vision and to fend off the bees that buzzed in my ears, I was dimly aware of Ready whinnying. The sun was warm on my back.

In the distance, an earthen dome-shaped hogan formed from the mist followed shortly by women of all ages in buckskins. They were busy by the fire and accompanied by soft drumbeats and chanting, recitals or prayers … a celebration or a … ceremony.

I watched a young girl … a young girl about my age emerge from the structure and go over to the fire. Her back was to me and I couldn’t see what she was doing at the fire or her face. I did see her break off and hand pieces of bread to those around the fire. I could tell she was tall, dark, and red-haired but she did look familiar.

She turned and went back inside the hogan after handing everyone a piece of the bread with her entourage following.

Rooted in place, I watched the hogan entrance intently for any activity. As I did, I became aware that the buzzing in my ears had lessened and the mist had become heavier, slowing absorbing the Hogan into its embrace. Over time, I became aware of the sun beating down and Ready stomping nervously behind me.

Climbing slowly to my feet and looking around I shook my head at the bleak landscape devoid of hogans, fire, or people.

“Weird,” I mumbled climbing back up the bank walking over to where Ready was pacing.

“Easy girl,” I spoke softly, scratching her behind her ears. Retrieving the canteen, I gave each of us a drink of water from it. Looking at the sun, I called mom to let her know I would be running late.

After tightening the cinch, I swung up on to the saddle and pointed Ready toward home while I contemplated what had happened that morning, and what it meant.

“Mom,” I called out in the apparently empty clinic, “I’m bac-k-k.” I heard a noise … a door closing in the back and the steady click-click on the tile and in seconds mom appeared in the hallway.

“How was your trip dear,” she asked.

I hesitated before answering, “Today was nice,” I smiled, “it felt good to do just what I wanted to. Thank you,” I added hugging my mom.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself today,” she replied stepping back and asked, “but what happened.”

“Huh,” I replied bewildered.

“Atalanta you have dirt on your knees and elbows; what have you been into?”

Countering I replied, “Mom, I’m a tomboy you said so yourself. But I guess I better go and clean up.”

"Wear something nice,dear," she replied sweetly.

“I know mom,” I replied exasperated as I left for our house knowing mom’s “something nice” was code for skirts and dresses.

Saturday morning came too quickly but the day was bright and sunny. After breakfast mom put her foot down; I wasn’t allowed to run or see Ready. No, I had to be mindful of the needs and time involved when a girl has a date. I’m sure mom emphasized that to make a suitable impression.

Needless to say, I was grumpy and breakfast was not as tasty as normal. I chalked it up to nerves. I grumbled when mom told me to take a long hot bath but once I slid into the hot scented and soapy waters, I didn’t want to leave. The heat seemed to soak into my body releasing tension I didn’t know existed.

“Atalanta you’ve been in the bath long enough. You don’t want to look like a prune.”

“In a minute,” I called back.

“Atalanta!”

“I’m coming,” I called reaching for a towel and rising from the water. I slowly dried myself taking a perverse pleasure in the deliberate action.

We spent the next two hours getting me ready; partly due because it took a while to convince mom I would freeze wearing the thin dress she had selected. She teased that is what boys were for until she saw I was serious and relented. I wanted wool or heavy flannel to bundle up in. We comprised with knee-high socks and a mid-thigh length skirt and blouse. I didn’t like the way my breasts stood out when I tucked my blouse into the skirt. And the wide belt around my waist emphasized the flaring of my hips and breasts.

She braided my hair into a modified Dutch look with the braid hanging down my right shoulder. Make-up followed by several discreet spritz of perfume on various places on my body and I was pronounced ready.

Lindsey’s mom was going to drive us into town and mom was picking us up in town afterwards. They were going to pick Jack and me up here. Jack was supposed to arrive early for inspection as it were.

Mom, camera in hand snapped pictures of me as I came into the living room. Sitting demurely on the sofa I whined, “Mom isn’t this a bit much?”

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but a girl wants to make a good first impression.”

“Okay,” I frowned. A knock at the door signaled Jack’s arrival interrupting what reply mom had formed.

“I’ll get the door and you stay right there.” Mom came in sight followed by Jack. He was dressed in slacks, a solid shirt, and shoes. He looked good but a pang of envy shot through me; it had probably taken less than 30 minutes for him to get ready for our date.

So not fair I groused to myself as he came over and sat down beside me.

“You’re beautiful,” he gushed and despite myself, my cheeks reddened.

“Thank you and you look handsome.” Mom had to take more pictures and some with us hand holding. At that moment, we heard Hannah’s car drive up.

“You kids have a good time,” she said as we rose from the sofa to leave with my hand clasped in his.

“And don’t forget …”

“I won’t,” I replied patting my purse where my cell phone was stashed as we walked across the threshold.

With an inward sigh of relief, I saw that George had claimed a backseat and I’d be setting up front and reclaiming my hand.

I’m not going into detail about that afternoon except to say it was enjoyable. The boys sprung for some food at a local diner of burger and fries and then off to the movies where we watched a thriller type movie. I have to admit to certain times in the movie where Jack’s bodily presence was welcomed.

I did kiss him, or he kissed me, or we kissed each other. It might have been all three but I’m not telling.

It would have been better had I not been on edge or get comfortable with heat setting in the theatre. After the movie, we went to a dairy place for ice cream and waited on my mom to arrive.

Monday I arose earlier to draw another bath and linger before I met with Manny for my self-defense training sessions. I hadn’t slept well waking often to find a more comfortable spot to lie on. The irony was that I slept like a baby when I was having those dreams but since they had stopped it seemed so had restful sleep.

I grunted in reply to Manny’s question about the weekend only half-listening. The other half was on my aches and pains.

“What,” I asked.

“Atalanta what happened? I go away for two days and you fall to pieces.”

That got my undivided attention. What had happened? Saturday and Sunday I chalked up to nerves but not last night or today. Time to man or was it woman up.

“Sorry Manny, I didn’t get much sleep last night. Can we start again?”

He nodded and he went over again explaining the use and theory behind katas. Despite myself, I found it interesting, and dutifully followed his instructions with the rest of our time being fruitful.

The rest of the day was a repeat of Sunday; I had to consciously remind myself to focus on the task at hand. Fits of daydreaming were followed by bouts of forced concentration. I felt off and out of sorts that mom commented about and at my lack of appetite at supper.

“Atalanta, are you coming down with something?”

“I don’t know,” I replied picking at my food.

Mom got up and retrieved a thermometer placing it in my mouth.

“You do have a slight fever,” she declared frowning, “I prescribe rest and aspirin,” she added handing me the pill.

“You’re the doctor,” I quipped rising from the table walking to my bedroom to undress for bed.

In the wee hours of Tuesday a scream split open the seams of night stillness and reverberated against the cottage walls.
The scream shattered Liz’s dream state and she sprung out of her bed and down the hall before she was fully conscious. She rushed into Atalanta’s room to find her daughter sitting up in bed sobbing. Looking wildly around the room, Liz spotted the dark stains on the sheets and gently released a pent-up breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Immediately she sat beside Atalanta on the bed pulling her into her arms offering soothing alms. “Su-sh baby it will be all right, I’m here.”

While she was comforting Atalanta, she was mentally kicking herself for not recognizing the signs earlier.

I had with support, coped well with a spontaneous sex change. In fact, other than sitting down to pee and more emphasis on appearance the male and female divide didn’t seem that wide. I hadn’t gone through puberty as a male so I had lost very little. My voice hadn’t broke and the effects of testosterone had not changed my facial and bone structures.

Instead, estrogen became the template of change that widened that divide into a chasm that I couldn’t ignore. The leaking fluids hammered home the differences in sexes and forced me to abandon any thought of the change being reversible. There was no escape!

“I’m sorry mom,” I sniffled, “I knew this was coming but …”

“It is all right sweetie. The first time is hardest.”

Mom took me into the bathroom and showed me how to take care of my needs. As I did, I was secretly glad that I had done some exploring with the little massager. Mom changed the sheets while I changed into clean clothes that included the nightgown mom harped about that I wear.

“That looks good on you,” mom noted pointing to the gown. And added yet another nail, I thought.

“I guess, but I still want my shirt,” I replied pouting.

“How about I make us some hot chocolate?”

I had not even gave the thought of anything to drink but chocolate was all I could think of now.

“Yes, yes,” I answered salivating at the thought.

“You wait right here while I make it,” mom commanded.

“Okay,” I meekly acquiesced.

She returned in a few minutes carrying two cups handing me one while she sipped from hers. We sat side by side on the bed in companionable silence, forging a shared bond between mother and daughter eons old.

I hugged her neck after we finished whispering, “I love you mom.”

“I love you too … daughter.”

We both wore goofy smiles.

“I’m giving you the next two days off. Don’t worry I’ll let Manny know that you’ve got a minor bug and that I’m keeping you at home.”

“Thanks, mom,” I replied burrowing under the covering and dropping off to sleep.

“Feeling better kiddo,” Manny asked me Thursday morning.

“I do,” I answered anxious to get started. I still felt compromised but felt I needed to resume normal activities.

"Glad to hear it. I thought you were coming down with something Monday.”

We began with same introduction as on Monday with him explaining the theory behind katas, to that, he added CQC (close quarter combat) skills using wooden props to defend or attack while learning where on the human body the 358 pressure points were located. I learned which pressure point was painful, which pressure point was lethal, and how much force to use for each one. He often demonstrated their effectiveness on me.

Mom wasn’t thrilled when I came home sweaty and dirty with the occasional torn clothing or skinned knee or bruised arm. I kept her placated by keeping my female training squared away.

If that didn’t seem to work, I pointed that Manny was keeping me too busy to mourn for Jack or go “boy crazy.” Mom didn’t buy that line as she knew I had told Jack I was too young to date and he was too old for me. But she tactfully skirted that issue.

Mom chose to home school me as did many of the parents. She reasoned and I agreed that it would help me to become acclimated to my new role in society. I was always a quick learner, even more so now, and already in advanced classes at my old school. I tested out of many subjects, so for much of my school day, I spent on second year curriculum subjects.

I judiciously applied myself to my schoolwork and to Mom’s and Manny’s training.

Despite appearances the two types of training meshed seamlessly. Mom’s subtle makeup tricks, different hairstyles and clothing options opened my eyes to using camouflage. Manny training in fine-tuning my senses paid dividends on balance and deportment. Mom’s warnings about doped drinks echoed Manny’s on subterfuge.

I dedicated myself to pleasing the two most important people in my life and inwardly giggled when both told me I was a “natural.”

At the fifth week, Manny began teaching me to use weapons: improvised, primitive, and modern weaponry. We begin first with diagrams and the parts of each and the theory on its design, which fit nicely with some of my science projects. I learned to use swords, knives, and spears as well as semi auto rifles, pistols, and bolt and lever-action rifles and that I had to learn to field strip and make minor repairs to them.

Manny built a gun range well out in the country where we wouldn’t be seen or disturbed. He rightfully concluded we needed privacy.

Within several months, I was proficient and comfortable with using all of them and we spent many a weekend shooting.

Manny surprised me with his graduation present of a necklace and pendant that was really nice and pretty. Mom though wouldn’t have been happy had she known that it contained a 2” fixed blade. Probably less so had she known my hairpins could double as deadly stilettos or my piano wire bracelets.

“Manny,” I teased, pointing at his regulation haircut, “I know you can’t use these things, how do you know about them?”

He grinned replying, “Situational awareness kiddo in case I meet a lady as crazy as I am. And I just did.”

The high-pitched growl of the ATV shattered the cold brittle dawn air as sound traveled easily in the frigid high desert air; the driver bundled and hunched against the freezing temperature. Alongside was a lone figure that effortlessly kept pace despite the rough and rocky terrain.

Manny was still impressed that a 13-year-old girl who had no history of outdoor activity or any training at defense could so easily assimilate its subtleties and nuances so quickly. Atalanta in three months had become proficient in and well on her way to mastering any of the weapons he introduced her to: assassin and improvised tools, melee and blunt weapons, blades, bows, and modern guns. More disconcerting though was her rapid immersion in the mindset and he worried.

She was a natural and in his experience, a natural was a natural for a reason. His sense was that once awakened, a natural by accident or design was thrust into situations to use those skills. He never expected to train one so young on a path whose members were limited in number and longevity. Worse was that she was a girl! He felt responsible and guilt.

He wished he could back out but doing so would be leaving her vulnerable, half-trained. No, he had to see it through, just as she did now; they were on the same path and linked in that.

They were a couple of miles from the ranch and already he could feel the cold creeping in despite the parka and fur-lined hood and boots. She, on the other hand was dressed in a windbreaker, light gloves and boots. A ski mask was her only concession to the wintry conditions. She seemed comfortable as her pink glowing skin testified.

He stopped at the ridgeline and looked into the channel, hewn from the mountain range. The small valley roughly 100 by 700 yards, brush choked and boulder strewn lay 200 yards below them and pointing north to south. He had hauled and erected plywood props to simulate urban scenarios. Humanoid targets were placed at 100-yard intervals and at 20-yard intervals inside the 100-yard mark.

Manny enjoyed the hours each week they spent honing skills in the solitude of the wilderness; tempered by the knowledge of the road he had unknowingly set her on.

“Race you to the bottom; the last one down collects the brass,” he heard her call and laughter on the wind. Instead, he watched her form floating from ledge to ledge in a mad rush to the bottom. He visibly winced.

I knew Manny thought I was reckless rushing headlong but I couldn’t help push his button and tease.

“Hey old man what took you so long,” I asked looking up from the bench after he cut the engine off.

“You going to break your fool neck one of these days,” he replied growling and handing me my gear strapped to the quad.

“What’s the plan for today,” I asked storing our kits.

“Hostage and rescue and then we’ll finish with the bow.

“Cool,” I answered finding my pistol and buckling it in place. Manny had made and installed spring assisted targets, some were separate, and other had several images on a single structure. The goal was disabling the bad guys while not hitting any friendlies.

After 90 minutes and several hostage rescue scenarios, we stopped for review and debriefing.

“Admit it Manny, that was perfect,” I griped after the third time he had me recount the same scenario.

“It was good,” he admitted, “but not perfect.”

“Humph, you just don’t want to admit a girl can kick your marine buddies’ asses.”

A quick frown crossed his face before he replied grinning, “Get your bow.”

I felt a moment of vertigo leaning over stringing the bow and the shooting stand was replaced by a rocky hillside seen from a height of several feet. I again felt the sensation of slow motion as I took in every detail and began moving towards an outcropping of rocks that was drawing me to it.

I heard the bleating before I saw the day old lamb shivering on wobbly legs, crying for its mother. Poor Baby! Another smell demanded my attention. On my left and directly facing his prey was a large mountain cat, poised ready to launch. In one motion, I notched and let fly a razor-sharp arrow that struck the cat in his shoulder just inches into his jump.
I notched a second arrow; a heavy broad head this time, that struck the cat in the front shoulders with force enough to move his course a few inches. It helped, too that the ledge that cat was on was slightly lower than the one the lamb was perched on. The big cat screamed as the arrow hit causing the lamb to flinch.

A third hunting arrow followed the first two striking in quick succession, the third hitting him a few inches just before his landing belly down scattering rock and debris, stopping scant inches from his intended victim.

“Damn, Atalanta I didn’t know you could shoot like that,” Manny shouted as he ran up to me.

“Like what?”

“Hitting a big cat three times in the air is what. Have you been practicing when I wasn’t looking?”

I shook my head, “Surprised me too,” I replied as we walked over to the where the cat and lamb was. The latter was still frozen in place and shivering, bawling on the morning air.

Manny raised his gun, “Poor thing I might as well put him out of his misery. He’ll freeze to death without his mother in minutes.”

“No!” I shouted marching over to where the lion and the lamb were and dropping to my knees; I pulled my boot knife making a quick incision under the neck. Five minutes later the lamb was wrapped tightly in the mountain cat’s warm hide.

We walked back to the ATV where I climbed into the passenger seat and waited while Manny gathered and secured our equipment. He produced a thermal insulator and wrapped it around the both of us.

“Where to?”

“Isn’t there a sheep camp a few miles in that direction?” I asked pointing south of our site. “They will be better able to care for this little baby lamb.”

Nodding he started the engine and released the clutch.

Several miles and 30 minutes later, we found the camp in a blind coulee that opened to the south with the campsite itself butted against the cliff. Though there wasn’t much vegetation in winter, what little survived did so in the protected lees and sheltered draws. There wasn’t much in the way of grass but there was enough. The camp showed signs of having been in place for a time.

The quad’s roar startled the sheep and the human inhabitants who quickly gathered.

One weather-beaten man in his 50’s or 60’s stepped forward smiling, his white teeth in sharp contrast with his sun darkened skin.

“Welcome to our camp, get down and stretch your legs. How can we help you? We have coffee or something to eat?”

“No thanks we’re fine, but …” the lamb interrupted Manny’s explanation with loud bleating, prompting the old man to cross to my side and lift the blanket.

“Ah, I see,” and then his eyes widened at the sight of the lion hide, “You got the lion too I see.”

“Had to,” I replied, “It was the lion or the baby sheep.”

He called for a shepherd to come and take the lamb.

“See if that new mother will claim this one?”

“Come with me,” he motioned for me and Manny to follow him to his tent, explain that they had a sheep that lost her baby just yesterday that would claim our lamb as her own.

Once inside he crossed over to a large trunk, pulled from it a strong box, and pulled some cash from it, carefully counting it and offering it to Manny.

“What is this?”

“Bounty,” the old man responded, “$300 for lions, $100 each for coyotes and foxes.”

“Give it to Atalanta, she killed and skinned it.” He stuffed the bills into my hands despite my protests.

“Take it child, you’ve earned it. It is worth every penny as these predators make it hard to increase our herd and profits. You skinned it too?”

“Surprised me too,” Manny admitted, “I was starting to teach her about using the bow and she just took off running.

The next thing I know she killed it.”

“You killed this lion with … a bow!”

I nodded sheepishly.

“Not only that,” Manny continued grinning widely, “she hit it three times while the lion was in the air.”

I gave him the look, the one that says shut up that seemed to jog his memory.

“Now that I think back on it how did you knew there was a lion or where it was at,” Manny asked turning to me and returning the look.

“I didn’t know; at least not at first and then I smelled him.”

The old sheepherder turned his eyes to me and quietly looked at me and then looked off in the distance and spoke in soft monotones as if reading a script.

“Around our campfires at night, when we hear the coyotes song or the cry of the panther we tell tales of she who rides the wind. Like a ghost appearing and disappearing at will, she protects the flock from all predators. In the old tales handed down from father to son from the old country, she uses lance, spear, or bow; though I suppose you can use modern weapons as well. Tell me child how long have you been practicing with the bow?”

Looking over at Manny, I swallowed hard, “I just started.”

“I was just teaching her the basics,” he confirmed.

“Ah, okay here,” he said handling me a 2 way radio, “take this radio.”

“Why?”

“I’ll use the radio to keep in touch … if we run into another lion and … if you just happen to be in that area.”

He had left a lot unsaid but I took the radio anyway. We said our goodbyes and we left for the ranch on the quad with me in the passenger seat. I had a lot to think on. The ride was in silence until Manny stopped on the crest that led down to the ranch buildings.

“Atalanta I need to warn you about what happened this morning. You are a 13-year-old girl, and people can and will take advantage of you if you are not diligent. That includes me. No, just listen,” he raised his hands when I started to interrupt, “Let me finish.”

“I hadn’t brought it up before because until this morning my training you was in the abstract, what-if scenarios that you are unlikely to need because of where you live as an example. I’ve told you that you are A Natural and you are. You pick up this remarkably quick for someone who has not been exposed to it before. But you have a skill that one in a hundred doesn’t have: The ability to transfer those skills to life situations as you demonstrated with the lion this morning.”

“Now here is the sticky part; people like that old shepherd will ask you to do things because you can. And you are likely to accept because you can. You are also more likely to intervene on behalf of the weak, the defenseless, and the young. You are not likely to be in a combat zone so you’ll need to learn to use the right tactics.”

I sat in stunned silence digesting his words. Finally I asked, “Are you telling me I can kill people … that I’m a killer or potential killer.”

“Yes and no. Atalanta what you have to understand is people with our kind of skills are very rare and in demand. And the universe seems to conspire to bring to us events that need us. Like the old shepherd, private security firms, government agencies, bounty hunters, mercenaries and freelance. I didn’t know any of this when I started but you have the advantage of my experience to lean on. The trick is not to lose who you are in some cause.”

“So what do you suggest I do; quit the training?”

“No, you need more training, not less. But I highly recommend you not respond directly to any messages from that old shepherd. I do suggest you carry a weapon though if you do run across another lion. I don’t believe you need the responsibility of a bounty hunter now. And believe me he will play on your sympathies if you do. Remember that it is you that is in charge.”

“Okay,” I responded digging out the radio and handing it to him, “why don’t you hold this for me, at least for a while.”

“Good idea,” Manny replied stowing the radio in his gear. “Let’s go home.”

The winter passed quickly without incident. Manny and I focused on both armed and unarmed combat as well as tactics and tracking. I spent much of my time outdoors: tracking and stalking predators, taking two more lion in the meantime. Manny redeemed them for me with the old man.

Mom, Judy, and Lindsey helped me develop my feminine skills and style and my girl lessons continued each Thursday night. I think the biggest takeaway was the bonding that took place among us: mom and me, and mom and Judy, and among the three of us. Lindsey and I continued to grow closer as BFF.

This was the hardest chapter to write but I hope you enjoy it. If you have any questions or comments I'll be glad to answer what I can.

Thanks