I made up my tent, where hunting is good,
It stands on the land on which stood a large wolf.
His strong spirit protects my home
And keep me safe when I roam.
The season is coming when I need to kill the deer;
Will it succeed or die before winter is here.
Yellow Moon lay awake, like the star fade slipped through the hole in smoke. False Dawn lit the eastern sky, while the birds wake destroyed the silence. The day the list of tasks they fulfilledSpirit of thinking, sometimes difficult to prevent them from completing the count.
There were constant problems to find dry wood for the fire to be smoked, filling the three jugs of precious water and the endless stretch of pemmican for winter provisions. Yellow moon silently rose from his bed covered with bear fur spruce needles, left the tepee to collect supplies of dried meat, a bag of dried berries and nuts. Keep the basket of food would be strong for her Grey Wolffor hunting.
Only one full moon to pass before the snow came. Yellow Moon hated for this beautiful place they have called home all leave the spring and summer. Collect firewood early enough the cost of a day's journey, and Gray Wolf hunting was better two weeks in the north.
From his perch in a larch, Gray Wolf was waiting for a sign of deer. A light snowfall hid his scent and the muffled sound of the forest. He began his muscles stiff from hours on the road sectionfar above the earth.
Finally he saw a dollar and two young surf does not bark only ten men lengths away. Their path will take the easy striking distance. The arrow to the string twanged, brings immediate death to the dollar and the promise of survival for his family. Many moons wide on the south bank of the river was a special place waiting for the new home of the Feet Blacks.
Yellow Moon as much as their homeland, a sense of adventure provoked loved exciting ideasthe journey ahead. A comfortable place on travois lined with rabbit fur would guarantee the safety of their two winter-daughter, a small feather. The root of the botanist said many large fish live in the river and fertile soil for crops. The bag of semi-precious in their coverage would be in a place of honor Ravel.
Yellow Moon as the bow turned into the new day to start the fire, the stories of white wild wind sailing ships are not seen at Monte Martheir vision. Only the dangers of starvation and disease floating in his mind. A spark in his spirit alive their will to survive, because his body grew the seeds of the future head of the tribe of Blacks Feet.
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