A Lone Man

“You can’t keep me here!” shouted Strong Wolf.

“You are injured,” said a voice I did not recognize.

“You will not be able to walk forward

unless we treat your injuries.”

Slowly I opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor

of a stone house—similar to the kind of dwelling

I knew my ancestors once built.

Painfully I turned my head and saw my brother.

He was sitting upright, his arms crossed and his face

twisted in anger. The middle of his right leg

was covered in leafy bandages.

I tried to sit up but felt a sharp pain and stopped.

Glancing down, I discovered that my left shoulder

was also wrapped in leafy bandages.

“Where are we?” I whispered to Strong Wolf.

“You are in my home,” said the voice I did not recognize.

I turned again and saw an older man standing at the

far end of the room. He was tall, with long, silver hair

and weathered skin. I blinked a few times.

Was it my imagination or did he glow a little?

“I found you at the base of the canyon,” he said, his

face grave. “You are fortunate to be alive. The Creator

has his eyes on you. But your wounds are very serious.

You require deep medicine and healing.”

“We’re fine,” declared Strong Wolf.

“We don’t need any of your medicine.”

“It is not just my medicine I wish to give you,”

said the old man. “And yes, you do need it.”

Wincing in pain, I sat up. “Who are you?” I asked.

At this the old man gave a soft, sad smile.

“I am a lone voice, a lone man. The last of a people.”

I blinked and looked to Strong Wolf.

He seemed just as confused.

The old man went on. “Long ago, during a time of

drought, my people turned against each other and

eventually destroyed one another. I alone remain.

For many years the Creator has allowed me to live—

to warn, to teach, and to help others find their way home.”

Strong Wolf snorted. “Sounds like you

are the one who needs medicine, old man.”

“Be quiet!” I said. “Show some respect to this man.

He saved our lives!”

“And why did he need to save our lives?”

Strong Wolf sneered. “Because of you!”

“Me?” I repeated.

“Yes, you!” he barked. “It’s because of you

that we fell down the canyon in the first place!”

“And who moved to the other side of the canyon?”

I retorted. “Who left our community, divided our people,

and broke our mother’s heart?”

I didn’t mean to say that last part, but in my anger

I was not holding back. Strong Wolf had to know the pain

he had caused us. And he had to pay for it!

“I led them away from your tyranny,”

countered Strong Wolf. “I led them to peace!”

“Peace?” repeated the old man. “How do you

define peace? Nothing in your manner tells me

that either one of you is at peace.”

Strong Wolf hesitated and I smiled inwardly.

“And you,” said the old man, turning his gaze on me.

“Are you not the Wellspring of your people?”

I stared back at him, confused. How did he know

I was the Wellspring? I nodded slowly in reply.

“And you have allowed this to happen?” asked the old man.

“Excuse me?” I said with furrowed brow.

“The Creator taught that leadership is a call to service,”

said the old man. “A true leader puts the needs of his

people before his own. A true leader is a servant who labors

to knit the hearts of his people together so as to preserve

their past, present, and future. Yet you have placed the

burden of responsibility on your brother and his followers.

In so doing, you have actively participated in the division

of your people. You have blinded yourself to the part you’ve

played in this conflict. Tell me,” continued the old man.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen your brother?”

I hesitated before shaking my head. “I don’t know.”

“Fifteen seasons of harvest,” said Strong Wolf, his voice flat.

“And during that time have you ever known a day of peace?”

asked the old man. “A day when you did not wish the other

would end the conflict? Have you ever known a day wherein

you did not think ill of one another? Have you ever known a

day when you did not feel hatred for one another?”

In that moment our mutual silence

spoke louder than we ever could.

“It seems to me,” said the old man, “that both of you

were trapped in a canyon long before I found you in

this one. Falling down the edge was merely an outer

manifestation of an inner problem.”

“Trapped?” repeated Strong Wolf.

“Don’t you know a way out?” I asked.

“Can’t you take us home?”

“I can take you to a path that can lead you out,”

said the grey-haired man. “But I cannot take you home.

Your injuries prevent you from climbing out on your own.”

Strong Wolf shrugged. “Then we’ll wait until we heal.”

“Oh, your leg will heal,” said the old man.

“And eventually, his shoulder will heal too.

But those are not the injuries to which I am referring.

I speak of deeper injuries—those found in your heart.”

Once again Strong Wolf snorted,

but the old man continued speaking.

“I can lead you back to your lands,” he said.

“But if your hearts do not heal—if you do not turn them

toward peace—then you will never find your way home.”

“Crazy old fool,” muttered Strong Wolf.

“What must we do?” I asked, ignoring Strong Wolf.

I did not care if the old man was crazy. We needed

to get out of the canyon and clearly he was the

only one who could help us. “How do we heal?”

“The Creator has placed medicine in all things,”

said the old man. “There are plants and methods

that can heal our bodies. But the medicine you

require must go deeper than skin and bone.”

“And where do we find this medicine?”

said Strong Wolf sarcastically.

“Within the Five Legends,” said the old man.

“Legends?” I questioned.

Maybe Strong Wolf was right to be skeptical.

The old man put a hand on his chest. “Yes, the medicine

you need must be heard, understood, and then felt here,

in your heart. Then you must live what you learn. For your

hearts need awakening and healing. And for this purpose

the Creator gave us these Five Legends—so that all the

Two-Legged Beings might heal and walk forward.”

I spoke slowly, measuring each word. “And if we listen to

these . . . legends . . . you will lead us out of the canyon?”

The old man nodded.

“We will listen,” I said, without looking at Strong Wolf.

The old man smiled. “Then let us pack. Tonight we rest.

Tomorrow, at first light, you will begin

your journey homeward.”

Strong Wolf frowned and shook his head, as if to curse his

rotten luck. He did not speak to me for the rest of the night.

Trailwalker and Youngwalkers

We woke up early the next morning and readied

ourselves for the journey. Carrying only what was

necessary in our gatherings bag, we packed water,

food, tools to make fire, and blankets.

Our host gave us these things as gifts and I thanked him.

Strong Wolf grunted and gestured toward his leg. It was still

wrapped in bandages.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he muttered.

The old man tilted his head and nodded toward the

outside. “There is a walking stick against that tree,” he said.

“I believe it will help you on the trail.”

Strong Wolf snorted and hobbled out the entrance,

leaving me alone with the old man.

“You see how he is?” I asked.

“He is disrespectful and ungrateful!”

“Perhaps. Then again,” he added with a smile, “your brother

just fell down a canyon. I might be grumpy too.”

“This journey will be good for him,” I said smugly.

The old man stopped what he was doing and looked

at me. “You think so? With an injury like that,

I would think it would be hard.”

“Good,” I said, unaffected. “He’s made things

hard for us.” Then, under my breath, I added,

“It’s time he learns what it feels like.”

The old man spoke to me in a quiet yet firm voice: “Thunder

Bear, before we begin, you need to understand that this

journey is not only for your brother—it is also for you.”

“Me?” I said, incredulous. “This isn’t about me!

This is about him. He’s the one that started all of this.

He’s the one that needs to change!”

“You are only partly right,” said the old man. “This journey

is about your brother, but not in the way you think.

It is also about the way you walk in your heart. No matter

how someone else treats you, what matters most in your

walking is how you view them in your heart.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I protested.

“This journey isn’t about my brother—but it is?”

“Indeed,” said the old man. “For we travel only as far and

as high as our hearts will take us. And if our hearts are

at war with each other, then we travel nowhere.”

“I don’t understand,” I muttered.

“WE, young son,” he said slowly, “have much to learn.”

His words took me by surprise. “WE?” I repeated.

“Who are you, really? Tell me your name.”

“My name?” repeated the old man, thoughtfully.

“Call me . . . the Trailwalker.”

“The Trailwalker?”

“Yes.” The old man turned his attention to his remaining

supplies. “And I shall call you . . . Youngwalkers.”

“Youngwalkers?” I asked, thinking about my age.

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

The old man shouldered his bag and grinned.

“Well, compared to me, everyone is young.”

And with that he pushed aside the blanket that served

as a door, crossed the threshold, and went outside.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my own gatherings

bag and followed the Trailwalker.

Fire and Flood

Following the Trailwalker, we walked along the river

at a gradual incline. The route he chose was fairly

even and we made good time despite our injuries.

Leaning heavily on the walking stick, Strong Wolf

gritted his teeth and pushed himself onward.

He was determined to get out of the canyon.

He did not speak to either of us during our walking.

That did not bother me in the slightest, for with each

step I became more and more convinced that our

current predicament was all his fault.

Toward the end of the day we stopped to make camp.

As we began to unload our gatherings bags, the Trailwalker

shook his head and pointed to a cluster of trees.

“What?” I asked.

“Do you see the debris?”

I nodded. A filthy collection of twigs, branches, and

shredded bark had collected up the trees.

“That debris marks the flood line of this canyon.

After sudden rains this peaceful river will swell to

double its size. The extra rainwater will pour into the

canyon and cause a flood. In mere seconds

the river will reach as high as that line.”

I looked back at the flood line and

realized it was well above our heads.

“Will we be safe here?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” said the Trailwalker with a smile.

“Unless you want to go for one last swim.”

I quickly gathered my things and called to Strong Wolf.

I told him we were moving.

“Why?” he demanded, looking around.

I shook my head in frustration. He hadn’t heard

a word the Trailwalker said! “Because it’s what

we’re supposed to do!” I shouted.

At this, Strong Wolf cursed and shoved his things back into

his bag. Inwardly I was fuming. Why couldn’t he just stay

with the group and listen? I followed after the Trailwalker,

who led us to new ground, just above the line of debris.

For the second time we unloaded our gatherings bags

and started to make camp. Once that was done, the

Trailwalker invited Strong Wolf to build the fire.

Strong Wolf took out his fireset, carefully knelt on

his injured leg, and began the process of creating fire

from sticks. After some time, Strong Wolf stood up,

yelled angrily, and threw his fireset to the ground.

“I can’t do it,” he growled.

“I can’t kneel on my leg for that long!”

“I understand,” said the Trailwalker.

His peacefulness took me by surprise. “You gave it a good

effort. The Creator honors that.” He then gestured to me.

“Thunder Bear, would you give it a try?”

I smiled. I was good at building fires. I took out my fireset

and began working. To my surprise, however, I couldn’t

make a coal—not even smoke! Frustrated, I tried even

harder, eventually cracking a part of my fireset.

“What is this?” I exclaimed.

“Something’s wrong with these firesets you gave us!”

The Trailwalker shook his head. Standing, he took

the remaining parts of our firesets and began working.

After a minute or two, he had a large coal. It glowed bright

red with heat. He placed the coal in a nest-like tinder

bundle and gently blew on it until it burst into flames.

Acting quickly, he placed the tinder bundle

on the ground and began feeding it with small twigs.

Soon we had a small but comfortable fire.

I stared at it, confused. “What went wrong?

Why couldn’t we do it?” I asked.

“Making fire is not an easy or quick process,” said the

Trailwalker. “It often takes many attempts, and many

failures. It is not until the fire maker learns how to unify

all the pieces—to work as one—that a coal can be created.

In our haste we sometimes forget that all parts, seen and

unseen, need to be in harmony for the coal to be created.”

“I don’t understand,” said Strong Wolf.

“What are you getting at?”

“To put it simply,” said the Trailwalker, “your hearts have

everything to do with creation. With a heart in war, you

cannot create—only destroy. There is a war inside of you,”

the Trailwalker went on. “Let me explain it with the first

legend. It is called The Legend of the Sacred Fire.”