Page of Stone

Dark Moon was gone, Low Cloud lamented. Gone forever. The Clan Wise Man had gone back to the place whence the Puma People, like all creatures treading upon the Great Mother's mesa or flying under the Great Father's sky, had come, and whither they would all return. And so never again would be see all the moons that had been and those to be and share this vision. Young Low Cloud bad never known a time without Dark Moon's sage presence to reassure the Puma Clan of the Sky Father's constant blessings, even throughout this endless drought Not that Low Cloud allowed himself to be sad. That would be disrespectful. No, he was happy for Dark Moon like every other member of the Clan, none of whom thougbt the Earth Mother had called Her Wise Man back to Her womb too soon, because that would be blasphemy. Yet during the burial even the Sky Father Himself had shed misty tears, just enough to moisten His beloved Spouse's sandstone breast. Dark Moon gone? It could not be. Yet it was. Because Low Cloud was not dreaming, but rather walking across the withering Sleeping Mesa's Sacred Long Arm toward a promised harvest awaiting him despite the many moons with almost no rain. Only three nights ago, Dark Moon had said in the Great Kiva, Low Cloud, Go out alone to the Long Arm's Fist and eat from the fruit that has ripened there and the Sky Father will bless you and the entire clan. In the Great Kiva after the funeral the Elders had debated the wisdom of Low Cloud's solitary mission until the embers grew weary and fell asleep. And then Black Snake, the Clan's Eldest Elder, finally spoke. He said, During such a drought no pinyon forest on any mesa arm can offer up bounty, but if Dark Moon told Low Cloud to march out to the Fist and pick its fruit, then, Young Brother, you must go. The other Elders concurred in these wise words, and as one voice they asked the Sky Father to bless their Young Brother's undertaking beyond any hope or sense. So now Low Cloud was treading among patches of withered com in search of what could not be. And when he reacherl the mesa-top edge, he continued along the precipice. That the Puma Clan's Wise Man was gone forever kept striking him like a false omen, like a dream that was merely a dream and not a vision, but it was true. Worst of all, Dark Moon had left the Clan without naming a successor, a choice now up to the Sky Father alone. May it come soon, Low Cloud prayed. Not for his own sake, but for all his Puma Clan brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers. A canyon wren's sharp trill brought him to an abrupt halt just as the brown sandstone beneath his feet