He had seen many moons come, and many a winter go by in his years. Always he had felt sad at summers end. The quieting forest surrounding him seemed to echo his hearts emotions. It would not be long now before the big snows came and it was time again to move his people to a better, warmer place. It was going to be hard this year, harder than most he feared. The Buffalo were fewer, and more wary than ever. They had learned to fear hunters from the noise of the Whiteman's Fire sticks. Such a terrible waste of life he had never seen. He wondered how their hearts must be different from his. How they were able to inflict such pain and suffering without any remorse for the loss. Maybe they were not one with the earth. But how could they not understand? How could they not feel the beauty of the wind, or hear the song of a summer's morning? He thought about those things for a long time before he fell asleep.

The gentle rain woke him, like a lovers caress. It stroked his face with softness and care equaled only by his wife's fine touch. Her rough calloused hands having the ability to turn soft like the moss of the trees. How he missed her, his woman, his love. It had been many summers since her passing, and still he could feel her breath on his face when he was still. He dreamt of her laughter often, and of how her fine body felt pressed against his in the night. What a wonderful woman she had been. Strong and smart, always seeming to know just the right words to calm a crying child, or to sooth an angry young warrior which was in many ways the same to her.

She used to love it here, on top of the mountain. He tried to imagine her sitting beside him. Trying hard to feel her closeness and remember the scent of wildflowers that always seemed to find their way into her hair. He thought about all of the wonderful days they had shared, long walks through the forest, making slow sweet love in his canoe when they were first wed. She never seemed to age to him, instead becoming more beautiful with each passing season. He never tired of her, never once wanted anyone else since he first saw her on that spring day so long ago. It was her that had allowed him to become the man that he was. He questioned whether he would have ever become Chief without her gentle guiding spirit.

As he walked back towards the village, he imagined again that she was beside him, holding his hand; laughing and talking all the while they walked.

His son found him on the mountaintop two days later. He was curled upon his side as if he were holding something very dear. And he was smiling.