Red Moon Rising

Red Moon, Spirits, and Dark Woods

It was a flat barren land of scrub, jackrabbit, and the occasional tumbleweed. Little Feather rode his pony over it letting the wind guide him. It was cold and bitter. "The Spirits are restless. I hear them moaning about it."

Jack, his pony, twitched his ears and leaned away from the wind. He didn't like being out here any more than Little Feather did. They were miles from home. The dust was thick in the air and bit both their eyes. "We'll stop soon, my animal brother. I remember Black Crow's sheep camp. You do too. I can read your mind. That is where you are taking me."

The Dine tribe had lived in this bleak place ever since the Whites had put them here. Living was harsh and brought death before its time for many. The legends of past were a small comfort. They did not fill an empty belly. "There. See? I told you I could read your mind. Here we are."

"Ya te hay." Little Feather shouted out his greeting as he slid off his ride. Black Crow's door flapped in the wind. He was nowhere to be seen. "He won't mind us seeking cover. You can stay inside with me. Come on."

He didn't have to pick up the reigns. Jack followed him inside the Hogan like a puppy. In the safety of the round mud hut, Little Feather studied the windstorm outside. It had carved a red moon in the dim sky. There was no place on this earth like this land which owned him.

The Whites thought they owned the land, even the dark forest that Little Feather had visited once with his cousin. They had seen many strange things but the dark forest left a strange hunger in his breast while dancing in the healing Nikaa ceremony for their sick uncle.

It was outside the tribal boundaries but the ancient ghosts didn't care. When they called in 'The People's' dreams, it was wise to listen and do their bidding. With the rising wail of the song prayer, Little Feather knew White Elk would die but not alone. The clan was everything and he would have time to say his goodbye. "That is one thing we have found in this hell hole, a way to greet death with a song."

With the dust clogging his lungs, Little Feather forced the door closed to the elements raging outside. "Are you there, grandfather?" He knew that spirit well. That one watched over him and often visited in his dreams. Sometimes he came when Little Feather called and needed some company. Tonight his insides were as restless as the storm was outside.

He sat and rocked himself, humming one of the old dances. Little Feather liked to practice them. They had a lot of power. "There you are. What kept you? Did the wind blow you in?"

Jack whinnied and snorted. The animal could often see ghosts better than Little Feather could. He didn't know why that was so. "I'm sorry my stomach grumbles. It is hungry. Just ignore it and tell me where you have been and what you have been doing."

They sat that way until Little Feather grew sleepy. His grandfather didn't want to stay and walk in his grandson's dreams. That was alright. Little Feather was tired. The long ride had been weary making for the pony as well. "The Whites don't know what they are missing. Their ghosts haunt their fears. Ours, are our family."

Black Crow came back home with the passing of the storm to find his cousin there making Jackrabbit stew. He had been lucky, trapped and killed it with a rock. Storms were not good for creatures in the open.

"Ya te' Hay."