THE VISION SHARED

By Atonia Walpole

He built himself a permanent lodge at the top of the sacred mountain as a young man. He had come every year on his vision quest. Now entering his thirtieth year he came again and made his offerings. Moving in the pattern of a cross, he sucked the tobacco and blew the smoke to the four winds. When he could no longer walk he lay down on a bed of sage and waited for his visions to appear. Again the same vision that had so frightened him in the past appeared. He was an eagle soaring high above so that he could see his whole nation of people. He crossed over the Paha Sapa (Black Hills) and turned his eye to the east. The land was golden in color and he turned his eye back to his nation and watched the people fade away. He dropped down to get a better view and saw a woman with golden hair standing on the sacred mountain, Inyan-Kara. As he swooped down to dislodge her from the place, she pointed a shining arrow and the eagle began to fall to the earth.

When he woke he was bathed in sweat. The vision was not good and he believed it meant the end of time for his people. For three years now the same vision had come and he told the Holy Man of what he had seen. Although he was greatly respected now as a visionary, this particular vision had been interpreted differently than he had seen it. He believed the woman would take the last one of his people and they would be no more.

Eye of Eagle was born of a Lakota father and a woman dragged from a wagon train who became his mother. He remembered her though she died when he was only ten years old. Her hair was red like the clay and her eyes like the sky. He had three sisters, none of whom looked like their mother. Eye of Eagle was called Jason by his mother, who taught him her language and how to read from a book she called Bible.

 Jason was tall, his eyes were of water and sky, and his hair fell in dark brown waves with a red glow to it. He had been taunted for his looks from the time he could walk and talk and had learned to fight at an early age. His skin was now dark from the sun and he wore his hair in braids down either side of his face to hide the waves. He could not hide his eyes nor the bow shape of his lips but his strength and boldness as a warrior had won him the respect of his people.

He had taken two wives, both of whom had died in childbirth. He had one son who was being raised by his father’s sister. They were in summer camp now down on the prairie and the hunters were after the buffalo that would see them through the winter months. He had come alone to the mountain top,with no one preparing the way for him this time, to fast and meditate.

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Belinda Chalmers with her friend Mary Rice were vacationing at a ranch near Hill City. Daily they rode the trails while the cute guide gave descriptions and the history of the area. Mary and the other girls were more interested in the guide and fellow riders than a history lesson but Belinda listened and tried to get the feel of the place. It was Sioux country and she tried to imagine just how it had been, all the westerns she had ever seen helping to put her in the time and place.

“As long as the rivers shall run and the eagle flies,” the land was to belong to the Sioux but it had been a lie. She lost the rest of his tale and stopped her horse, looking out over the rocky outcroppings, thinking of the plight of the Native Americans and what they must have suffered. The government had offered money for the Black Hills but the Lakota had not accepted it. It now lies in a bank account, still gaining interest. Once gold had been discovered the land was no longer the home of the Sioux nation.

“Belinda, come on! You’re missing the story!” called out Mary, who stopped her horse and turned around in the saddle, waiting for her to catch up.

“I’m coming! Go on ahead. I’m not going to get lost.” She thought how nice it would be to ride out here alone, find a rock to sit on and just think. Since her break-up with Brad her friends were keeping her busy with trips here and there, nights out on the town, movies to see. Though she appreciated their concern, she'd still like to have a moment to herself to think about what she wanted to do. She would most certainly have to change jobs. Seeing her former boyfriend with his new secretary every day was self-inflicted pain and she wasn’t into that.

“Hey, Belinda, you don’t wanna ride back here all by yourself now!” It was Jacky, one of the ranch hands. He was cute but Belinda wasn’t interested in anybody else right now. He wouldn’t give up and always found a way to be by her side. Every night they camped out he was there, bringing her a drink or trying to engage her in conversation.

“You know ,Jacky, actually I do want to ride back here alone. Do you mind?” She hadn’t meant to be rude but he wasn’t one to take a hint.

“No offense, Belinda, but you’re missing out on a lot of fun we could be having, you know?”

“I will not ride another foot if you don’t go away and leave me alone. I’m following the trail. You can hardly get off it, so please don’t worry about me.”

Belinda knew the trail would eventually end up back at the ranch and wasn’t concerned about following a group of over-stimulated twenty-something’s. Jacky finally gave up and rode to catch up with the rest of the gang. It was a chance to find that rock and she took it. Tethering her horse just off the trail and taking her backpack, she set off on foot to the outcropping below her.

She pulled out her camera and started taking pictures. The view went on forever, much better than what you could see from the trail.  She thought there must be an eagle’s nest somewhere nearby and followed the beautiful flight above her snapping pictures.

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Inyan-Kara

Eye of Eagle had been fasting for two days, drinking only water. He moved outside his lodge and sat down on the stone, turning his eyes to the sky and then to the earth and toward the sacred mountain. He blinked and looked again, standing now to get a better look. It was his vision coming true. A woman with golden hair was shooting silver arrows at the eagle. The eagle did not drop to the earth; perhaps he had time to warn his people. He watched her for some time until she finally sat down on the rocks. He wondered if he could kill this woman he could save his people.  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. He had the power to change the future he knew was coming. He went back inside his lodge, donning his buckskin leggings and shirt, stuck two eagle feathers in his headband, strapped on his knife and picked up his rifle.  He went down the mountain to where he’d left his horse staked and mounted. Following the trails he knew so well he made for  Inyan-Kara.

He’d climbed up the rocky mountain and was now level with her on the outcrop. He shaded his eyes against the sun, finding she had her eyes closed and was sitting cross legged with her palms open to the sky. He tilted his head, wondering what spirit she hoped to contact. He sat very still on his horse and waited for her to see her fate.

Belinda was miles away letting her mind drift from one thing to another. She hadn’t heard the horse come up on the side of the outcrop. Something entered her mind, a vision of a Native American. She could see his face and feathers, two feathers. Something was odd about him, though. He looked very fierce so she tried to convey that she was not a threat and meant no harm. Then she heard the soft blowing of the horse and a quick clicking sound not made by an animal. Opening her eyes, she looked to her right. It was the vision she’d had. Was he was real?

“Hello there,” she said softly.

He was surprised that she would speak to him, knowing he brought her death. He sat up straighter and tried to look even more menacing. She was standing up! A little fear ran through him, not knowing what powers she might have, but he quickly dispelled any fear by sliding off his horse and pulling himself up straight.

“Are you from the ranch? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” she said, knowing he had just entered her meditation. He didn’t look very friendly, “Can you speak? Is this your property? I mean I will leave…” He was walking toward her.

He stopped and considered where he might kill her. Not on the sacred mountain...that would not please the spirit. He could take her to his lodge and make a sacrifice of her. He furrowed his brow for a moment and went back to his horse. Pulling a long strap of braided leather with him, he turned back to the woman. He would tie her up.

“Um, I don’t know what you have in mind, but I think I'm going now. I’m staying at the ranch and they'll be looking for me.” She was afraid of him with his strap of leather. What did he think he was going to do dressed up in his costume? She started to run but he was quick and grabbed her arms, wrapping the leather tight around her wrists.

“Hey! You can’t do this! Just let me go, okay? You don’t want to do this, mister.”

Grunting something, he pulled her toward his horse. He jumped on the blanket saddle and holding on to the braided leather pulled her behind him then started back down the mountain.

Belinda let out a scream. He stopped, said something she couldn’t understand and jumped back down, forcing a piece of cloth in her mouth. Her eyes were wide and wild. She was being abducted! He turned her back around and she saw his eyes, cold and aquamarine. He wasn’t an Indian after all, she thought, just some pervert. She kicked out at him but he pulled the braided leather tighter on her wrists and jumped back on his horse. He took it slow so she could keep up going down but when he started back up the other side she kept stumbling and falling, causing him to stop until she got to her feet. He said something to her in some language she couldn’t place, and carried on, tugging her up the side of a mountain trail.

“Hey, hold up a minute! I can’t do this anymore. Just do whatever it is you want right here, okay?” Her wrists were bleeding, shirt torn and her arms scratched and scraped.

He stopped and turned around on his horse, looking keenly into her faceThis could be a trick, her pulling back all the time. No, it wasn’t much farther and once he got to the top he could kill her.

Belinda was holding on to the strap with both hands, trying to ease the pressure on her wrists, as her hands had turned nearly blue. She was half sobbing and nearly being dragged by the time he stopped and slid off his horse in one easy motion. He pulled her toward his lodge, trying to decide where to kill her.

He’d turned his head looking toward a rock when she caught him with her knee to his crotch. Her eyes blazing and swimming with tears, she jerked the strap as hard as she could and spit out the gag.

Eye of Eagle bent double with the pain but, used to dealing with worse, was quickly back up, throwing her to the ground. He would kill her right here and pulled his knife, falling on top of her, the knife at her throat. She let out a little sob and he looked into her eyes.

“Please don’t kill me! I don’t want to die yet! I’m too young! Oh, God, please just let me go! I promise I won’t say a word about you.”

He was heavy on the length of her body and close enough for her to smell him, smoky and musky. “Please,” she said softly and tried to smile. She saw something shift in his eyes. He didn’t move and she noticed they were breathing at the same time. The knife stayed at her throat until he yelled something and pulled it back. She started to scream again when he stabbed it into the ground next to her head.

He closed his eyes, breathing hard now. He’d looked into her eyes but it was the word that had stopped him. ‘Please.’ He remembered it, remembered his mother saying 'please, Jason'. The language not spoken since she'd died had mostly left him. How could this woman know that word? He had failed and he dropped his head on her shoulder.

Belinda was afraid to move, not knowing what he might do next. She felt his breath on her neck and looked up at the sky. The eagle was circling above. What did it see down here? Does it think we’re lovers? She blinked at that thought and tried to turn her head.

He raised himself up on his elbows, still on top of her, looking into her eyes again. “Please,” he said softly.

Belinda’s eyes widened. “You speak English?” He didn’t answer her but rolled off and sat up, his head on his knees. She’d seen something in his eyes, seen that the hate was gone. She lay still, noticing the knife by her head. She might be able to just grab it and tried to move her arms but he was sitting on the strap.

“Hey, my hands are turning black now. You think you could loosen the strap up a bit?” she asked, hoping not to set him off again.

He raised his head and looked at her, no expression on his face. He couldn’t catch all the words and didn’t understand what she said.

“My hands?” she said, pushing them toward him. He looked down at them and picked up his knife, cutting the bonds with one swipe.

She sat up, trying to flex her fingers to bring the circulation back into them. Then she looked up at him and frowned, seeing the alarm in his face. “What is it?”

He thought he shouldn’t have cut the strap as she might now call her spirits to help her. He narrowed his eyes. The woman was supposed to come for the last of his people. That would be him, he realized now. She had come for him but only after his people were gone. Maybe he could let her take him and the rest would somehow survive. Anything to change his vision. He would do anything.

He sat up straight and closed his eyes, chanted something, then handed her the knife.

Belinda’s mouth fell open. She looked up at him in amazement as he ran a finger across his throat and leaned his head back. He wanted her to slit his throat? She looked down at the knife and placed it on the ground. He opened his eyes, looking sideways at her, picked the knife up and handed it to her again, leaning his head back. This was crazy! Oh, well, she could do it. too. She drew the knife back, yelled out “NO” and stabbed the ground by his side.

He still sat cross-legged on the ground, his eyes now wide, looking into hers. Belinda sat back on her heels. “I can’t kill you. Heck, I don’t even know you.” She thought he was very strange, indeed. “I mean even if I did know you, I can’t kill. What is your name?”

He  stared at her. Name, he knew that word. “Name,” he said.

“Yes, your name.” She pointed at him. “My name is Belinda,” she said, pointing at herself, realizing she was speaking as to a child.

She was using his mother’s words. His mother called him Jason. “Ja-son,” he answered.

“Nice to meet you, Jason, though I still don’t know why you dragged me up the mountain. Can you tell me what it is you want, why I'm here?” Somehow she didn’t think he was going to harm her.

He liked the way she said his name the way his mother had said it. He couldn’t follow her language. She spoke too quickly so he said nothing and sat very still.

“Okay, are you a real Indian?” This was going nowhere. She looked down at the knife again. It appeared authentic. She began to look closely at his clothing, buckskin, well worn, the band around his head marked with some kind of symbols, an eye and an eagle maybe. His feathers were eagle feathers. If she didn’t know better  she'd think she was looking at the real thing, except for his eyes. She tried to remember what the guide had said about the inhabitants of this area. They were Sioux, but different tribes.

“Are you Sioux?” she asked, pointing at him.

“La-KO-ta,” he answered and said something else she couldn’t understand.

She pointed at his eyes. “Not all Lakota.”

He turned his head looking out over the mountain.

“I thought all Native American’s spoke English nowadays. I’d ask you if you live here but I guess you don’t understand much of what I’m saying.”

He was trying to work something out she’d said. “English,” he said and pointed to his eyes, “mot-ter.”

Belinda looked at him a minute. “Your mother was English? Who was your father…um,” she held out two hands and turned one over and then the other, “mother…father?”

“La-Ko-ta,” he answered understanding what she was asking when she used her hands. He signed something to her but she didn’t understand and shook her head. He tried again. wanting to show her she was his vision.

She got the see part. It was his expression she was watching, fear, heartbreak, love, death, it all came through. Maybe he’d seen those things. She shook her head. Well, most people had experienced all that.

“I saw you when I was meditating on the rock,” she said and tried to sign what she was saying, not knowing how to sign anything. He seemed to understand somehow and tilted his head giving her a strange look. He picked up his knife and began drawing in the dirt. She could see mountains, a bird, and another mountain…a woman, when he was finished he looked up to see if she understood.

Belinda wasn’t sure what it all meant, but she figured out the woman was her on the rock and the eagle above that the one she had seen. He had drawn many figures on the other side of the mountain and slowly and sadly brushed them away. The eagle had seen it all as he’d drawn lines from the bird to everything. He finally drew himself she guessed, on top of a mountain and lines to everything else he’d drawn.

“You’ve seen all this?” He drew lines from himself to the eagle and back. “You are the eagle?” Suddenly something dawned on her but this couldn’t be possible. He was the last Lakota? No, there were still members of the tribe around. He picked up the knife again and drew a wagon and made marks to indicate there were many.

“Yes, I know, many white men came and took the land away and sent the Native Americans to reservations.”

He was becoming frustrated and threw the knife down. He sat up straight, crossed his legs and placed his palms up on his knees as she had done, pointing to the things he’d drawn and to his eyes.

Belinda shifted her position and thought she understood what he had tried to tell her. He’d had a vision of what happened to his people. She sat and thought about it for a minute. How did her figure come into this, she wondered. She pointed to herself and to the figure he’d drawn on the rock.

He had an odd look in his eyes and nodded his head once. Redrawing the people behind the mountain he moved his knife over to the figure representing her, met her eyes and stabbed it.

He had lost her but the intent of the knife was real enough. He wanted to kill her. She looked up at him again, her eyes wide and frightened. “Killing me is not going to bring your people back, Jason.”

He blinked his eyes when she called him by name. He thought she understood what he had tried to tell her. He had wanted to kill her and still might. He straightened up.

Belinda crossed her legs and sat as he did, looking at his profile. His hair was tightly braided and tied with beaded leather. She thought he must look like his mother. He didn’t have Indian hair and she could detect a wave near his hairline. His skin was darkly tanned instead of naturally dark. Wondering if he tried to live like his ancestors, she asked, “Are you trying to follow the old ways, Jason? I mean the way you dress and all? Live like your ancestors did?”

He was silent. “You’re going to have to let me go. People will be looking for me all around here. It could be bad for you if they find you.”

He wanted her to talk more so the language would come to him. He knew some words and would know more if she talked. He spoke his native tongue but indicated a drink.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I could use a drink.”

He brought her a bowl of water from his lodge. “Yes, drink?” he said

She smiled at him and took the bowl. “Thank you.” Surely he wasn’t going to kill her if he was offering drinks. She sipped the water and admired the bowl. She’d seen some like this in the museum in town. She wondered how it had been passed down in such perfect shape, no nicks or cracks.

“You take good care of your things, don’t you? I wish you could understand me or I could understand you.” She turned to look at the lodge behind her. “You live here all the time?” She pointed at him and the lodge.

“Mine.” Some words were beginning to come to him.

“Oh, well, you do understand some things and know some English. Are you just having me on, because if you are this has gone way beyond funny, you know. I want to go now.” She looked him in the eye.

“No go,” he said strongly.

“What happens if I just get up and walk away?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out since he still had the knife in front of him.

He understood enough. He picked up the leather strap and caught her foot, tying a knot and holding on to the end of it.

“Why do you want me here? I mean I’ve kinda got past rape and I hope we’ve passed murder.”

He picked up the knife and looked at her. “Oh, okay, so we haven’t passed murder yet.” Belinda was beginning to think she must be crazy for being so calm. For all his knife wielding she really didn’t feel he was going to harm her or he would have already. She looked down at her wrists, the blood had dried and she was going to have some strange bruises to explain. Her shirt was torn on the sleeve in several places. She ran her hand through her hair combing out twigs and debris from the ground.

Jason reached over and touched her hair, curling it around his fingers. It was soft and silky to touch and the color of gold. She was the woman in his vision. He was sure of that but the eagle didn’t fall to earth. He couldn’t work out yet what meaning that had. He touched her face where a branch had scraped.

Belinda sat very still when he touched her, watching his eyes. He had very expressive eyes, beautiful eyes with long lashes. They were concentrating on her hair and he ran his finger through the length of it. She noticed his mouth and the unusual shape of his upper lip, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. He moved his eyes to hers for a moment and seeing something there, he sat back.

She heard his stomach rumble. “You sound hungry. You need to eat.” She made some hand motions.

Jason thought about this for a moment. He’d had his vision and perhaps it would be all right to eat now. He was beginning to feel weak and he could not be weak with this woman here.  He started to get up and go into his lodge but remembering the leather strap, gave it a tug and she got up and followed him.

She noticed the cross path on the floor worn down by his walking and wrinkled her brow. A fire had burnt down in the middle and he threw some wood on it. Motioning for her to sit, he tied the strap to a pole. His bed of sage was covered in a leather cape lined in fur. He went to the other side and began pulling out some things from a basket. He sat down cramming food in his mouth making her wonder how he had become so hungry with food in his lodge. He looked up after he’d eaten and pulled something else out of the basket. Belinda thought it looked like a jerky strip.

Jason came over to her and sat down biting off a piece of the dried buffalo. Holding it in his mouth for a minute, he then held it to her lips. She backed her head up but finally opened her mouth.

“Eat,” he said, nodding his head yes.

She moved it around in her mouth, not particularly liking the taste, but began to chew. It sure wasn’t a jerky strip like she was familiar with. It surprised her that he’d held it in his mouth to soften it before giving it to her. It seemed like something you would do for a child and she opened her mouth for another piece.

Seemingly satisfied he’d fed his guest, he went out for the water bowl and filled it, drinking thirstily, then filling it for her.

“Thank you, Jason, for sharing your food with me.” Belinda leaned against the side of the lodge. It appeared to be made of mud and wood and she looked around inside. She’d seen something like this in a brochure back at the ranch, a copy of an old photo taken mid 19^th century. She thought he’d gone to great pains to recreate…it was just too authentic and it wasn’t recently built. She began noticing his things. None were new but everything looked as if they were from the 1800’s. The leather would be stiff…what…is…he?

He sat down in front of her by the fire, moving the wood about. The air was smoky inside but the hole in the roof drew most of it out. Belinda got a good look at his back, the way his buckskin shirt was sewn together with leather strips. There had once been some markings on the back but they had mostly worn away. It fit him perfectly across his broad shoulders. He’d taken out the feathers and she could tell his hair out of the braids would be wavy or curly, probably half way down his back.

“Jason, who are you?”

He turned around trying to find the words. “La-Ko-ta warrior,” nodding.

“Warrior, who are you at war with?”

He glared at her. “You people.”

Not quite understanding, she pressed, “Tourists, you’re warring with tourists?”

He cocked his head sideways, frowning, not understanding her word. “White skin,” he said, touching her arm.

“I know it's true the Lakota never gave in, but the wars have been over for years, Jason. Surely you’re not still fighting?”

He looked at her strangely and picked up a twig, drawing a wagon train and the sun setting over a mountain in the dirt by her feet.

She looked at him understanding perfectly. She was having a dream or something, maybe still on the rock in the midst of her vision. This was all too real. He wasn’t putting on an act. She thought about his drawings outside in the dirt. He’d had a vision too, he’d seen something and she was in it just as he was in hers. She began to shake uncontrollably. How was she going to get out of this time warp?

Jason saw her trembling and frowned, shaking his head he took her hand. “Not fight you,” he said, pointing the twig at her.

She was still shaking and offered a crooked smile. ”Glad to hear that.” She squeezed his hand. It was warm and she remembered his weight on her outside when he was going to kill her. He was definitely real.

“Jason, I don’t know how we can be here talking. We are from different centuries. I don’t understand any of this. I believe what you’ve told me now. You had a vision and so did I. How can we come together?”

He was quiet for a minute not understanding all her words but enough. “Wakan Tanka, Great Spirit of all things bring all together.”

“Yes, I believe he has,” she said thoughtfully and smiled at him.

Jason thought about this bringing together. The eagle did not fall from the sky and the Great Sprit had sent this woman to him. He would make peace with her. She would be the second peace. The first he had already made. He moved up close beside her and held her with his eyes, willing himself to find the words.

“You will be second peace. Peace made between two people. First peace most important. Soul of man realize connection to center of Wakan Tanka…is everywhere in each of us. Third peace is with nations,” he shrugged,” maybe to come.”

“We’re at peace, you and I,” she said and nodded her head. “I like that, Jason…in each of us…connected.” His eyes still held her for a moment then moved to her mouth, and he bent and lightly brushed his lips against hers.

It was a light butterfly kiss but enough to tell her she wanted more. His eyes told her he did, too, but he backed away. He got up and went over to a shelf and brought down a long pipe, which he filled after some ceremony with the tobacco then lit. He offered it to the four winds blowing smoke in each direction and sat down before her on his knees, offering her the pipe.

She met his eyes for a moment, wondering if she was just supposed to take a puff or what. Taking the pipe from him she took a puff and let it out, her eyes stinging. Jason took one, too, and blew it to her. He put the pipe away and came back beside her, taking her face in his hands. He kissed her again, this time giving her a chance to respond. When he pulled back his eyes were soft and he ran his hand down her face and neck.

“Jason, do you think now that we’re friends you could untie my ankle from the pole?”

He considered the strap for a minute. “You stay?” he asked, looking at her.

“Yes, I’ll stay.”

His hands were in her hair again and traveled down to her shoulders and arms, his eyes, moved over her breasts and downward then back to her eyes. Having made up his mind he dropped her arms and stood up, removing his buckskin shirt and leggings, standing before her in his breechcloth.

Belinda’s eyes moved over his body, powerfully muscled and tanned. He had many scars, she noticed as she sat and looked up at him. He held his hand out and pulled her up, fumbling with the buttons on her plaid shirt. She stopped his hands and unbuttoned it herself, letting it slide over her shoulders to the ground. He looked at her bra, drawing his brows down so she reached behind her back and unhooked it, passing it to her shirt on the ground. Her jeans and panties followed and he looked at her from top to bottom then led her over to his bed.

He took her without much preamble but she was ready for him. His rough hands over her body brought her along with him. He lay on top of her, his face on her neck, and she ran her hands over his back then rested her left hand on his head, feeling the softness of his hair. He grunted something and moved off her. Tracing her breasts with his fingers, he met her eyes and kissed her again. Before long he was asleep and Belinda lightly touched his face and lips before moving away from him and finding her clothes.

She walked out near the rock and looked toward the sacred mountain where she’d left her things. A silver light was reflecting off the rock and she realized it was her camera lens. She looked up and saw the eagle flying low and dipping down between the rocks. He must have found his dinner. A light breeze came up and blew her hair back over her shoulders. She decided to leave before he woke up and turned for a last look at the lodge.

Staggering to the rock, she sat down, her eyes wide and brimming, the lodge was gone and brush filled the area where it had been. She walked over to where the doorway had been and looked down. Trying to find some trace of it, her eyes followed the ground as she walked. She knelt down, finding a pile of stones in the center of the area where the fire had been. On her hands and knees now, brushing her hands through the dirt, she felt something and began digging. A length of braided leather, stained and stiffened, emerged and she pulled it out. Only about a foot of it remained intact and she held it to her breast.

She rose, still cradling the leather against her body, and looked to the sky. “Great Spirit, I know he has found peace with you.”

It wasn’t easy finding her way back since the Indian trail was gone but she was able to locate the horse trail cleared through the area and followed it back to her rock. She gathered her things then walked back up to the tree where she’d left her horse.

Later that night after dinner she climbed on her bed to review the pictures she had taken from the rock. She cried out when the last picture she had taken appeared. Surely she had not taken a picture of him. It had been the eagle. She sat back, looking at the picture then touched it with lingering fingertips. He was the eagle.

The End

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