Moma Kiowa was buried at daybreak. Lozan selected a grave atop the canyon walls, where Moma's spirit could overlook the Western horizon and watch over her when she journeyed again. Wind rushed across the mesa, chilling Lozan and thickening her tears into icy droplets upon her cheeks. Not a single petal adorned Moma's final resting spot: The flora had already relinquished its life to the changing weather. Chanters promenaded around the grave, moving their ceremonially dressed bodies in a slow, graceful dance.Lozan gripped Winpee's hand as the ceremony ended and followed the villagers down the narrow path along the canyon's edge. A lifeless silence hovered over the burial party as they descended. Snow alighted to the ground, fluttering like feathers around her feet. It would be a long, cold winter without Moma Kiowa.
"The Yellow Stone," a short story about a woman's journey to discover the nature of her true homeland, can be read in its entirety in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS: An Anthology of SciFi, Fantasy and Other Strange Tales.
