Little Bee Lost
Little Bee sat in the shade of a small, scrubby tree. He had been playing with his bow and arrow, but the late summer heat had tired him. He spied a grasshopper on the tree’s trunk and gently coaxed it into his cupped hands. He shivered when the strange, prickly feet touched his palm. He loved all things small and crawly.
He was approaching his fifth winter and knew that he would need to start learning about being a warrior. He wasn’t afraid, but he would miss the time he was able to spend studying beetles and ants and all the jumping, flying, scurrying things that the adults didn’t seem to notice.
He glanced over to where his mother and three aunties were picking chokecherries. He had gotten far away from them while he was playing, but he could still see them, and he could hear their voices as they sang, talked, and laughed. Reassured, he slowly opened his hands so he could look at the grasshopper.
He was so focused on his find that he didn’t notice the white people until they were coming very close to him. Little Bee gasped, and the grasshopper jumped away, disappearing into the tall grass.