A Sacred Prayer

The crow soared far above the prairie, looking down over vast herds of buffalo in the endless fields. The dust trailed them for miles and the rumble could be heard even in the clouds. Mo'ki felt the wind on her wings as she circled in the Ghost Dance. Moving around the dancers in her feather robe she silently left her body and became Crow Woman.

She was not alone soaring through the skies, Grant Left-Hand, her husband flew closely beside her. They flew above the Ghost Dancers in a desperate search, from the sky they scanned the horizons searching for their children. Just yesterday Mo'ki danced and flew, visiting her daughter, who died after birth, and her son who died when he was four. She played with them for hours.

After her flight yesterday, she told her husband of seeing their children, of how she played with them for hours. With tears flowing down his face Grant Left-Hand wept, "I want to see my little boy one more time."

"You are a Hita'niwo'iu, a cloud man, an Arapho. But you can dance the Ghost Dance with me, and together we can fly. If our hearts are true and if we fly high enough we will see them," Mo'ki, a Cheyenne, told him.

So now they soared together above the circled dancers. In their flight she took him to their children, watching him as he played with them and the world was right for those precious moments. When they returned to the dance they both smiled as they circled the others. They knew, best of all, that soon the ghosts of the dead peoples would return, and the white man would fade into the dust of the buffalo.

As the dance droned on, Grant Left-Hand and Mo'ki returned to their tipi to rest before Grant Left-Hand's trip across the plain. He was to leave and teach the dance to his tribe. Together they climbed under the buffalo hide blanket, clinging to each other for warmth.

He kissed her and then moved his hand to her breast. She removed her shawl, letting him move his mouth to her breasts. His tongue circled over the nipples as they hardened for him and she ran her hand through his hair, wanting more. Kissing downward, Grant Left-Hand pulled off her loose skirt and moved his head between her legs.

Listening to the chants from the dancers, he ran his tongue up and down her slit, tasting her and then sucking on her clit. He soon let his tongue match the rhythm in the dancer's chant and his motion became a prayer, lifting her hips in a joyous ecstasy. Once she touched the light, he removed his leggings and fronts-piece and kneeled between her legs.

Leaning onto her, he entered her, slowly and gently, pushing himself deep inside her. Slowly withdrawing he once again listened for the rhythm of the dance and then thrust into her, withdrawing and then thrusting again, matching the dance outside. Together they prayed in their union, sharing the wet warmth and the strong length that moved together so beautifully.

Arching his back with each thrust and then curling it upward as he withdrew Grant Left-Hand now began to soar, feeling the wind course through him. Again and again he pushed, feeling the power of his wings, feeling the warmth of his mate, feeling the light covering him he flooded into her, giving her his bit of life force as he collapsed upon her.

Later, Grant Left-Hand whispered to Mo'ki, "Perhaps our prayer will be answered and when our dead children return to us they will have a brother."

"Or a sister," she replied, thinking of his journey. She hoped he would return quickly so they could pray once again. She reached over to him, taking him in her hand. She smiled, remembering the great power this gentle softness once held.

The next day Grant Left-Hand traveled to his tribe and taught them how to visit dead loved ones. His tribe gathered in the large circles and danced as the crows circled around, taking to the sky in flight. Soon others from his tribe spread out to other tribes, teaching the Ghost Dance.

Grant Left-Hand then returned and he prayed often with Mo'ki, and later they flew in a sacred rendezvous with their children. But soon they had to move again, this time bringing the dance to what the white man called "Wounded Knee." Soon the people began to dance with them and they knew that their loved ones would soon return.