“Now I Am Your Wife,” Said the Giant Woman Who Inherited Her Dying Brother
He saved a woman from drowning. Now his tribe says she belongs to him by sacred law. Before we dive into the story, don’t forget to like the video and tell us in the comments where you’re watching from. The Earth was still that morning, not peaceful, just quiet.
The dry wind stirred the tall grass and moved through the brittle brush along the canyon rim. A rabbit darted from cover as the sound of hooves drew near. But there were no other signs of life. The sky was pale and wide overhead, still holding the last chill of the night.
Thor Madix rode along the ridge trail just above the river, one hand resting lightly in the rain and the other hanging loosely at his side. His coat was worn at the cuffs, the collar faded and stiff. He hadn’t shaved in days. The mule-colored horse beneath him stood steady, silent, accustomed to the silence they shared.
Torne didn’t speak unless he had to. At 43, he’d lived more life than he cared to. Once, a Union cavalryman had returned home with a shattered knee and a funeral flag in his satchel. His wife and daughter died of fever the winter after his return.
Since then, he’d kept to himself, managing cattle on a hidden stretch between the canyon rim and the tree line. People left him alone. He preferred it that way. That morning, he was checking the south fence line after a storm had passed two nights before. He hadn’t slept well, his knee ached more in the cold, and the storm had loosened half of the eastern post last spring, so he didn’t trust the ground this time either. When he dismounted near a bend in the trail, where the fence dipped close to the river, he could already tell that
something was wrong. The post he’d replaced last fall was leaning again. The ground had given way. He bent down to check, bracing himself on his good leg, his fingers digging into the damp earth. It was worse than he’d thought. The river had risen more than it should have.
Another season or two like this and the land would be completely washed away. He frowned, slowly standing up, one hand pressed against his small back. Then he heard a splash, not like a fish, not like driftwood, but a heavy human. His head jerked up, peering into the water, squinting against the glare.
At first there was nothing but the current and the spray. Then movement, a half-submerged figure writhing weakly in the water. An arm extended, then vanished again. Panic shot through him quickly. No time to think. He moved fast, dropped his tools, took off his coat.
A limp, damned Midun. He hit the slope hard. He slid down the embankment. The boots cut through the soft ground until they reached the water’s edge. She didn’t stop, she just submerged. The river was colder than she’d expected. It took the air from her lungs. The current pulled at her legs.
She pushed forward anyway, her arms slicing through the water with powerful strokes. Her knee screamed, but she kept going. She surfaced once right in front of her, her young face half-covered by black hair, her mouth open as if she were trying to scream. She reached her in three more strokes, grabbed her by the waist, and kicked hard so they were both back on the bank.
She was barely conscious, her skin cold, her lips pale. The soaked deerskin dress she wore clung to her body. It was torn at the neckline, exposing the soft upper part of her chest, where her breath came in shallow drops. Her feet were bare.
She had scratches on her arms and a bruise forming over her 100. Torne dragged them both to the bank, dropping to his knees beside her. He pulled her to her feet, supporting her from behind. She coughed, gagging at the water, then lay still. Her eyes opened barely, dark brown, muddy with fear, but alert.
He studied her young face, maybe 24 at most. Apache, her pulse still strong. Her heart pounded in her chest, and he noticed her hands trembling. He looked toward the river, waiting for someone else to come. Family, a horse, a shout, nothing, just wind and water. “Where the hell did you come from?” he murmured softly. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
He looked around. His mind was already mapping out the next steps. He couldn’t leave her there. She was too cold. She was barely breathing. Drying her off was the priority. His cabin was half a mile uphill. It had blankets, firewood, and a bed. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, one under her shoulders, the other under her knees. She was heavier than she looked.
Soaked and limp, her head
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