Can You Count the Rain
Little Owl held the tipi flap open and waited for permission to enter. Trails of sacred smoke poured out of the opening and flowed upward. The acrid scent of the smoke mixed with the smell of sweat, blood and urine. He let the scent envelope him as he prepared to enter. ‘You may enter Little Owl.’ Running Elk spoke slowly, with a raspy voice. The oldest of the tribal elders, he also acted as their medicine man and shaman. He paused and looked at the young one who had just entered, feeling his...