The stuff of nightmares is not only relegated to unconscious thoughts upon a pillow, safely beneath an eiderdown.
Thunderbird ascended on the heady currents of air that bore her high above the vast landscape of Túwaqachi. She stretched her broad wings, the heat lifting her through the silence, her glossy brown feathers shimmering in the sunlight.
The early morning sunshine shot up the ice-covered valley. It glinted off the backs of slumbering mastodon, reflected between the antlers of caribou.
For whom do you cry, my son?” the Great Spirit asked.“I do not know.”“Yes, you do.
This is a time of change,” the Shaman said. “This is a time of enormous power.
Do you understand the meaning of the soil beneath your feet?
The other Clans will soon arrive. The greatest times of our family are before us. And so are the darkest.
We must love our slaves, Papa. We must love them as hard as we are able.
West Point—The Key to the Continent and Independence.
I refuse to believe the people of Texas and all Americans in the world have forgotten us.
Do not fret, my brother, my child. For the buffalo will roam the plains once more.
We live in a complicated society, Bromley—one that is changing and which does indeed need to change. But do you not think any change must begin within our own family gathering?
There were no stars, only the darkness and an arctic chill that had intensified since the first thin, blood-red stripes of sunrise shimmered on the ocean’s horizon.