Gwa-nath-nahn - the Doe Who Jumps High sat in the grass, slowly winding a mass of tangled wool around a stick, carelessly fiddling with the soft green blades between her bare toes, carefully turning the scrambled pile into a ball of usable fiber. Her time spent in the wild and carefree prairie passed in bounds, like a stone cast to skip across a quiet pond, barely allowing for recognition of the simple beauty of a sunset, how it casts rays upon a virgin sky, breaking the barrier and rising into full splendor, calling all living things to open up their petals and turn flowers into the fresh air, to crow madly at the sun, to chirp and rise to greet the new day. She silently yearned for a ceaseless calm like this, right before dawn where the entire world is in a state of lucid dreaming, enjoying their most intense and forbidden passions in the secret of ones own mind. It was in times like this where silence grabbed her attention, the voice of God shining through with the first rays of the sun, quietly whispering solemn promises of better days, and love. There was so much love to be discovered in this world, tied tightly into knots and clustered tight in the gut, released like a whip to strike and blow, grabbing its victim in a wounded embrace to hold it tight until death had its way. She raised her arms to the skies, casting a wide arc into the air with her fingertips, softly humming a repetitive melody.   Straight black hair fell in long folds around her slender body, blowing in the early breeze like wisps of smoke curling lazily around a fire, whirled away and then sucked back into the flames, wildly churning in fine black threads. The world opened up, stretching fingers of life into the darkest places and arising a deep feeling of longing. Lust for something driving us forward into the unknown future, laying everything to chance in a futile plea for recognition in the endlessly changing world, where stories become legend and dreams are forgotten, brutally dismembered over time into fragments of memory, the exact context unclear.  Muted afterwards so only the brightest moments show, details fixed and congealed. The yarn spun into matted clumps uneven and discolored, as thick as 8 gage wire in the thin spots but ready to be woven on grammas floor loom into a rug or some other necessary garment. Gwa-nath-nahn picked up the spool and placed it into her basket, slowly standing up, and her legs half numbed from the afternoon of her almost trancelike position, legs crossed and tucked under. She turned around and took a single step, let a small gasp from between delicate lips, and fell back to the soft earth, crouching low into the blowing grass, one hand instinctively reaching under her heavy dress in nervousness to toy with one of the several decorations around her neck.

The two boys were careening through the meadow, obviously drunk, their sloppy strides cutting wide swaths into the upright stems that waved in the withering sunlight. They each clutched at a fairly empty bottle, occasionally stopping to raise their heads and swill a large portion, gasp and sputter, then continue their loud jesting and obnoxious behavior. By the sights of it the two had been up all night drinking in a similar manner, most likely celebrating the marrying of her sister who was lucky to be coupled to the son of the chief, but for her family there was no advantage, there was no special place in the Hogon for them, any lands or sheep in dowry, but knowing their daughter would live comfortably was enough satisfaction for their simple requirements. Her father was the storyteller for the clan and his fathers before him for as long as history could serve adequately, passing tales of history and bravery down the lineage to the firstborn son. Many nights Gwa-nath-nahn would curl up into thick blankets while listening to her grampa vividly retell their favorite legends in the dim firelight, waking up late into the night to sounds of Coyote padding around their hut in search of scraps, her mind wildly making up fantastic visions of dark wicked dancers in the shadows cast by scraggly juniper trees.

Now she lay in the grass, trying desperately to blend her brightly colored dress into the beige landscape to avoid being sighted by the pair of unruly boys headed in a saw toothed beeline directly toward her. Even as easily spotted as she was, they were so heavy in the drink that it took almost stumbling over her before they got their wits about and heavily declared a slurred victory, twirling slightly before sinking down onto the earth beside her in two solid thuds. She rolled from between them but the boys laid their heavy arms over her, pinning her against the scratching blades of coarse grass. To her, the outcome of this was inevitable and much feared, as these two were far beyond any chance of remembering their foul deeds when the hangover lifted later the next day, and there was no chance she could defeat their strength and brutal force. Her lips clenched in fury as they felt over her probing fingers gliding under the thick robes, pulling at the ties to expose her dark skin, ripping at her neck to grab a careless grip onto her hair as they readied to take turns mounting her, the other boy holding her down by the hair, his evil laughs mocking the tragedy of the situation. She swung her head violently into the nose of the boy holding her and he lost his grip, pulling furiously at her hair around the neck. She stood up immediately and began running, hoping to get as close to others as possible before the murderously angry duo overtook her again, her clothes hanging untidy and loose from her shoulders, her messy hair sticking to soft cheeks streaked with tears and dirt. As Gwa-nath-nahn ran, again her hand went unconsciously to her necklaces and she stopped suddenly as a cry split the sky behind her, ricocheting off the mesas and caverns with a supernatural agony. The necklaces had broken off in the tussle, one more valuable to her clan then the lessons learned by some of the stories they told, and she bravely turned back toward her pursuers to face them, unknowing what she would do when they approached, only knowing that they could not steal one of the necklaces from her.

Grampa had always told the story with such vigor that we often thought he would fall over from a heart attack at the climax of the vision, where Turquoise Boy and Corn Pollen Boy appear to the lonely shepherd and give him the wheel of life and death, but everyone in the Hogon fell quiet when the story was finished, dwelling in the provocative tale and its important yet tragic ending. This day was no different than the first time it happened, and Gwa-nath-nahn slowly walked back to the lone boy who stood, weeping in the trampled meadow and staring bewildered at the charred grass in from of him where the other boy lay in a smoldering heap of char and filth.  He looked at her as she approached and his eyes glazed over in hatred, unquestionable fear bubbling from his clenched and bloody fists. He turned and ran the opposite direction, far away from the clan to live in shame and wonderment, in disbelief of what he had experienced that morning. Gwa-nath-nahn bowed slightly to the ground, placing her hands before her on the burning flesh, and removed her necklace from the rubbery fingers clasped around it, saying a solemn prayer of thanks to the Great Spirit for its protection.