The Ojibwe

Vomit spread out from the kneeling form of Noah like a surrealist painting. The fire had gone to embers, and the wind was cold in his sweat soaked hair and clothes. Christ! What was that? A noise from the forest line startled him.

A man emerged. Vomit glistened also on his chest. Shrugging off a fur hide of some kind, he walked into the river. He surfaced and padded to the woodpile to add to the fire. He gestured to Noah. This is getting too unreal, Noah thought, staggering to his feet. He could see the man more clearly now. It was an indian. The indian knelt at the fire, blowing gently upon the embers.

“You had the dream too.” It wasn’t a question. Noah nodded. The indian looked at Noah, and spoke.

“I am the last of my people, the Ojibwe. I have renamed myself Ke-be-cum-ig-ish-kunk, He Who Treads The Earth To The End.” He saw Noah’s expression and said with a slight smile, “You can call me Kebe.”

When they had warmed, he stood up and took up his cloak of fur. “Come. I have something to show you.”

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