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An excerpt: They traveled a good distance before stopping by an open field to let the oxen rest. Mama busied herself about the wagon while Sadatina lounged in the grass enjoying the bitter stimulation of her kola nut. Her mind drifted to the shumba cubs. It had been hours since she fed them last, but not long enough for them to starve in her absence. Most of all, she hoped they had not forgotten her. Sadatina’s attention drifted to the road behind them. Someone was coming, moving at a running pace. She sat up and strained her eyes. What she saw chilled her blood. She jumped to her feet and ran to the wagon. “Mama! River men!” Mama looked up, her face twisted with dread. She jumped into the wagon at the same time as Sadatina and cracked her whip at the oxen. “Run!” she shouted at them. Sadatina scrambled among the grain and found her bow and arrows and Mama’s muder. She turned to face the road. The river men were coming fast, much faster than the oxen could run. She looked back at Mama working the reins and the whip and made her decision. She grabbed the weapons, took a deep breath and leaped from the wagon. Her feet hit the dirt and she tumbled, rolling the way Baba taught her long ago. She came to her feet and trotted toward the men. She recognized the man from the market immediately and a fearful chill ran through her body. He had come for her despite her refusal. The men flanking him stared at her coldly and she began to realize she’d made a grave mistake. “See?” the man said to his cohorts. “She comes to greet her new husband!” Something in his tone pierced her fear and transformed it to intense anger. She raised the bow and aimed. It was a small bow only meant for hunting, but a well-placed shot could kill the most formidable of beasts, and Sadatina was a very good shot. The river man was still laughing when her arrow found his throat. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. He clutched the arrow and fell to his knees, blood running from the wound and his mouth. His cohorts ignored his gurgling, springing toward her like dogs released from their chains. Sadatina only had time to let loose one more arrow before the men were upon her with nets and knives. She swung at them with her muder, careful not to get it tangled in their nets. The hungry smiles on their faces faded as they realized she would be no easy catch. They stepped away and circled her, one man waving his net, the other holding a knife in each hand. Sadatina turned with them, her hands sweating against the warm iron of the muder. She had no idea what to do. She’d practiced with Baba and Terte, but never had she hit them with the sharp edge. But never had she shot a man with her bow either. She looked at the river man writhing on the ground and felt sad for him despite his intentions. She did not wish death on anyone, but it seemed death was the only way to keep these men from claiming her. The man with the net moved in. He feinted at her head then swung the net at her ankles. Sadatina almost jumped over it, but the wet cords wrapped about her left foot. “Ha!” the man exclaimed. He yanked the net toward himself and Sadatina crashed onto her back. Her grip loosened on the muder but she did not lose it. The knife man appeared above her and she jabbed. His face crunched and blood burst from his mouth and nose. He cried as he clamped his hands over his wound and stumbled away. The net man kept pulling at her but wouldn’t come close. He watched the muder intensely as he scowled. He raised a trident, a wicked weapon with a three-pronged tip. If he had any intentions of claiming her as a wife, he had apparently forgotten them. He pulled at the net and jabbed at her with the trident. Sadatina winced as the tip scraped her neck, barely deflected by the wavering muder. She twisted and turned as she dodged the spear. Tears welled in her eyes; she was getting tired but the river man seemed relentless. His strikes drew more blood; she bled from her shoulders and the side of her head. “Sadatina!” Mama’s wail ripped through the deadly silence of her struggle. She turned to her right to see Mama charging toward the river man on the back of one of the oxen, flailing her whip against the bovine’s flanks and forcing it to run faster than it probably ever had. The river man was quick, but his instincts were flawed. He twisted about and threw his trident. The spear bounced harmlessly off the ox’s horns as the river man crumbled under hooves and ox flesh. Sadatina watched Mama tumble off the ox then lay back on the ground. She dropped her muder and threw her arms open. Her breath came heavy, her chest heaving as her wounds began to sting. By the time Mama reached her side she labored for breath. “Sadatina? Sadatina!” Sadatina could not speak. Her throat felt like it was packed with cotton. The fire from her wounds had spread throughout her body; sweat ran from every pore. She barely felt something being shoved in her mouth and her mouth worked by familiar hands. Moments later the burning subsided although she still felt terribly weak. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her body vacillating between hot and cold. She remembered throwing up at least twice, once a food-filled spewing and again a painful dry heave. Then she rested, her mind wrapped in a fog of peace, while voices whispered from what seemed far away. She strained to hear them but the fog muffled the words. She knew it was Baba and Mama, but she could make out nothing they said. She gave up and released herself to the fatigue reaching out to her.