As I heard the cry of the last wolf, I knew it was over. It didn’t seem the least bit fair as it barely had a chance to begin. Then again nothing ever is on this side of the valley. Fair that is. I didn’t have to be there to know that Moon beater had captured my girl. I had only to close my eyes to see his arm wrapped around her neck, his hand unnecessarily clamped over her mouth. She was from this place and knew it’s cost. Sound would be hard pressed to escape from those lips. Though she had helped me to raise 3 strong warriors and 3 speakers of the spirits; she had also helped me bury 2 Ringbearers and close to 6 or 7 enemies over the years. Traveling west I heard the notion of something called karma. A belief that we would eventually get all we had earned, and what we really deserved. I couldn’t get myself to believe in it though, no matter how hard I concentrated and cried. I had seen my baby sisters throat ripped open and bled dry. The work of a wolf who wasn’t even hungry, whose territory was secure and whose cubs were full. Having known not a second of hunger but a life of cruelty. I couldn’t see a place for this belief in our world. Yet I knew that I should, worse even, that she would want me to, and that only served to make me all the sadder. A better man would wish for a swift painless death for his wife. One that allowed her to to keep her honor and let her take her place with the Children who preceded her in death and waited patiently to cover her in flowers and incense thanking her for the short but peaceful lives she alone had given them. Each time giving a little more of her beauty, a lot more of her soul. She had always seemed at peace with the terms and always eager for another baby. It shamed me now that in later years I had kept her from this her greatest wish. Seeing even the shadow dancer’s wife lose her life to bring another into the world, I had been afraid. Though I would never have admitted it. Not even to myself, not then. It had been pure naked fear and selfishness that had driven my actions. Keeping her from fulfilling her path, her peace, and her key to happiness in both this life and the next. Had she been with child this season; it would have been far too dark an omen for anyone to take her. Especially a man like Shadowbinder. Though he possessed many faults; taking the gods for granted was not one of them. Before now I had always found it peculiar that a man could so easily disrespect his family, his friends, even his wives; but when it came to his gods and consequences that he could not immediately pinpoint, somehow he finally found restraint. Now I think I was beginning to understand. To see a woman as beautiful and obedient as my sunflower in the prime of her life and not bearing fruit was fair game for another to see if he could do better. I knew this but in my arrogance and my faux strength I must have assured myself that no one would dare. I put my head in my hands and let the tears fall “No one would dare what?” Take what was mine? Rise up against me? Had I thought I was a bloody god? Obviously I thought I was just as powerful or just as righteous for I had somehow considered myself cloaked in protection. Lest I wouldn’t have been so shocked by my current predicament. Shadowbinder could not know and Sunflower would not say that my strength was merely a farce. I put it on when I wanted to prove a point or worse to feed my pride. I used it as many others wield a crutch. Pulling it out to use on another when feeling low. Hell, I had even used it to win my precious Sunflower but somehow failed to use it to keep her. Or to use it at all where or when it counted. Perhaps in this my wife’s kindness had finally failed her. It had certainly failed me. For she never pointed out my shortcomings. It only occurred to me later that to her they probably didn’t exist. What poor material had the gods fashioned the likes of me from? Here I was. Truly alone with my thoughts and my gods. Blaming all my problems on the kindness of my wife. Not her ruthlessness nor her cruelty; for she possessed neither, but her kindness. As if the word itself were somehow linked to weakness instead of the bravery it demanded of even the strongest of this or any other tribe. When did this sickness first afflict me and how did it take me so long to notice? Did I lament that I hadn’t been there to protect her. Or assuage her fears at the very end? Did I even once consider her soul, making the perilous trek to the stars all alone without even her horses to guide her. Was I worried for my younger children, that they would grow up without a mothers love. No. If I am to have any hope of joining her someday I must admit that I had already sold my oldest daughter’s happiness for a mere chance of getting back mine own. Jasmine was 16, past due for marriage, but I had seen her and her mother laughing amongst themselves recently hadn’t I? Sorting the laundry in hushed tones and quick girly giggles. How had I missed such clear and obvious signs? Sunflower now allowed Jasmine to do her younger sisters braids, a clear honor and I now saw with shocking clarity, a preparation. How had I missed something so important unfolding right in front of me? The hunters son had been taking Jasmine for daily walks, teaching her to track, and leaving the appropriate flowers outside her window. Yet still I had refused to see it for anything more than puppy love, children playing at the real thing. Had my whole life passed me by so unawares? A thousand things seemed to hit me at once. All the little tidbits and clues that I had formerly missed came together like the last few pieces of an intricately beaded jigsaw puzzle. Yet the center piece still eluded me. Just beyond my understanding lay an answer I could take to the tribunal, perhaps even escape with my wife. Of course I could never show my face- PRIDE. A voice interrupted my inner monologue. Whether it was me snapping myself out of my inner reverie or something else entirely; I don’t think I’ll know for sure till my dying day. What was clear was that getting my wife back or possibly just her body, so at worst she would be fully prepared for her journey to the stars and at best she would be back with her family; now seemed like it had at least a small chance of coming true. I had learned my lesson and would be as giving with my seed as she was willing to receive. More importantly, no matter how sick someone was or how dire circumstances seemed to be. I would never give up even a breath of hope or belief in my Sunflower or any of the family we had created together again. The way I saw it this included new or soon to be members as well; and for this I was extremely grateful. The hunters son and I had a plan together within hours. Because Moonbeater was from our tribe we could not bring accusations without proof. A husband feeling his wife’s distress and sharing a look across a valley would not do. We even had a word for this which translated to roughly “ seeing what one wants to see in order to enact vengeance “. For in our tribe every man had a right to his vengeance, it was how he upheld his honor and that of his family. As soon as the plan had been agreed upon it was put into immediate action. Though the time was dire and fraught with peril I could not help but think what a fine addition this young man would make to my family. By the gods had I truly been that deep into my self imposed hibernation? As soon as he heard that Sunflower had been seen the hunter’s son had thrown himself into the rescue effort without a single thought for himself. Which was already more than I could say and she was my wife of more than 22 years. Our horses flew across the valley. Seeming to travel by wing and smoke instead of hoof and rein such was their ferocity and speed. Their emotions matched only by those of their riders. They cut behind the waterfall and reached the other side of the valley in a time that hadn’t been matched since the last skirmish for power when the old chief had the audacity to die without leaving any sons. War cries and arrows beat them to their destination by seconds. The smell of man and beast mingling like their common goal. Wet from the waterfall they pulled up on the enemy encampment and stopped. They all sensed it at once, whether or not they realized it. Fisticuffs, who only moments ago had been ready for the fight of his life, was already crying openly like a woman unashamedly. He didn’t remember getting off of his horse but he must have in his shock as he approached the rock by himself. There was his beautiful Sunflower. Still as the rock beneath her. The look, he realized guiltily; falling into a kind of stupor. Even from across the valley, if he hadn’t seen it surely Shadowbinder must’ve felt the heat and hate in that one quick glance. After having felt it, he dare not risk keeping her alive. He looked at his wife for one of the last if not the last time and finally lost it. Tears continued to fall from his eyes like hail in the midst of a violent storm. They did not act like a balm for his eyes but more like gasoline on a fire. The more that fell the more there seemed to be ready to replace them. “Sunflower” he murmured to her as though she could still hear and brushed her hair with his open palm as softly as he would a baby. That hair, that had always seemed to be in her eyes in life, finally lay in perfect braids. As though she had spent her whole life practicing just to get it right this one last time. Her tan skin was much too pale giving her the look of a porcelain doll. One far too expensive for playing with but used merely for display. When one of their daughters had become obsessed with owning one such doll he could not understand why he had so adamantly refused her. Perhaps this was the answer. Nothing more than an unnatural premonition. For refusal was something he had always found much easier where his sons were concerned than his daughters. He never really questioned it until this moment. They were harder to refuse because rather than being the spitting image of their father. His daughters, no matter who they favored physically, were always more like his wife. Rather than spending their days with him learning to hunt and the art of war. They spent nearly all their time with their mother and sisters. Picking up her mannerisms, her way of speech, even the way she walked. Something she would never do again in this life he thought soberly. He suddenly became aware that not only his children but all the children of the tribe were looking to him in this moment. Even the chief seemed to be looking to him for a sign. He bent down and kissed his wives cold lips slowly memorizing the texture and lamenting their lack of moisture. Make her beautiful he said and nodded to his daughters. They were ready like solemn Christmas elves that did not enjoy their work but were enslaved to repeat it year after year. His children began to prepare their mother’s burial clothes with a strength he’d not given them credit for. After all, she was far too young to have them sitting at the ready. Jasmine had wordlessly taken her mothers place in caring for the younger children. How could he only moments ago have been thinking this would put a dent in her happiness? Even the high hunter and his son seemed to genuinely enjoy being around all of her brothers and sisters; whatever the age. In spite of his agony he smiled to himself. Sunflower would be proud. He realized the hunter was a widow for the first time. He supposed he’d always known it. The pox had taken his wife some 16 years ago. But he actually realized what it meant and what this man must’ve gone through for the first time only when he knew what it felt like. Were human beings such egotistical creatures by design in order to keep the species alive? Or merely a cosmic joke that seemed to harm every species that had the misfortune of coming across them, including their own. There would be no fire tonight, no discussion of the pros and cons. The gods had chosen his family to host the first victim. So the gods had chosen him to decide. He watched his new family ( most of the same people yes but so markedly changed that they would seem very different to those who hadn’t bothered to see them in a month’s time or worse yet a year) looking for a sign but found he didn’t need one. He would not, could not, make the mistake of trying to be something he wasn’t. He would not do what he thought his wife, his children, or even the chief would want. The gods had chosen him and so he would decide, but found it wasn’t a decision at all. At that meal he ate with a hunger exasperated by the knowledge that his mourning would begin tomorrow and that he would take no nourishment save for that of the sacred plant. So he ate heartily, ready to give the reasons for his answer and fight for them if need be. This seemed to be a lesson he must continue to learn. He would work hard on it. Harder than he’d ever worked before if required, but he MUST start giving people the accolades they deserved. His children, his chief, his enemies, his tribesmen , even his horses. He was no longer a young man. Far from old, but in his thirties he was no longer young either and his own father had faced his own trials long before making it to this age. It is said in our tribe that every man will go through a soul defining series of obstacles in every lifetime known simply as the trials. They are different for everyone and it is not for us to judge how easy or difficult these trials may seem. For no two men’s hearts are made of the same soil and what may grow easily in one man’s heart may struggle to survive in another’s. Just as milkweed may grow in abundance in one swamp and dill weed may grow at the edge of another. His son heard it first, beginning somewhere on the other side of the table and though he was still feeling the almost intolerable weight of melancholia he knew he must join in. Though he did so with no gusto, excitement, or even curiosity. Whatever would be would be. If his mother’s kidnapping (he could not just yet bring himself to say death) could not show him that then the others supposed nothing would. It began quietly at first as if only the children were drumming; and perhaps they were. Slowly and with an almost purposeful rhythm. It began to pick up. Where first only fingers were used they slowly became closed fists. Then utensils and blowing on the tops of bottles til finally reaching its finale in a crescendo of different beats on dIfferent drums that seemed to have come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Accented by hoots and wails and little girls humming that though unplanned had come together with the same beauty of a symphony that had been practiced for untold hours. With the same precision it sped up to the point where it sounded almost like a louder version of a human bee hive until suddenly and with the same precision that made it seem calculated, the music stopped completely and all at once. There was no need to formally ask the question and at this point really no need to answer it either. However these were the way of things and so it must be done. You could hear a pin drop as the chief merely lifted one arm to signal quiet but otherwise not moving from his cross legged position on the grass. “Young Muskrat, “ he began, “There is not a man here who doubts your trials have begun. Unfortunately there is not a man here who can make this difficult decision for you either. I only ask that you do not make it lightly, or rashly, or without thinking of the consequences that may befall every man, woman, and child of this tribe. However, I can see by the lines on your face that you have done all of this and more. You are ready with your answer than?

I am.

And it is as I suspect?

It is.

Very well brother. I still need you to say the word.

The word is war my chief.

As I thought. Let us take a moment of silence for the beautiful brave and fallen Sunflower.

The tribe bows their heads and closes their eyes, holding each other’s hands for almost a full 5 minutes. Most of them taking the time to talk to their gods in their own special ways. Others remembering Sunflower or thinking of their own loved ones and how if this could happen to such a prominent member in broad daylight. It could surely happen to any of them at any time. And funnily enough, Muskrat’s decision at this time, would not be questioned whether openly or inwardly, by a single member there. Given what happened later; all I can say about that is. Thank the gods for the meticulous record keeping by our stewards, Firebird and Chrysalis. For when blame is seeking a scapegoat; there is not a man alive who can stop her from her course. Every generation seems to think they know more than the generation before; even though they weren’t there and therefore can’t possibly know the trials of their fathers. So it would be the same with this one, and the one after that. But this particular generation had something almost all the other’s lacked. Truth and righteousness was for once on the side of those who started what was to be one of the ugliest wars in the tribe or it’s allies history. After decades of dealing with the opposition, the good people of the valley had finally found the strength to stand together and say enough. Whether it would be or not, however, at this point it was anybody’s guess.