Long Snows Moon by Stacey Darlington Page B

Touching the amethyst
arrowhead made her feel clean, whole, and pure.
    She thought of Jameson. She closed her eyes
and fantasized about her soft lips brushing hers. The way she
smelled. How she really did read her thoughts. The wine made her
head spin and opened her mind to imagine what might have happened
if they hadn’t been interrupted.
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    Devon huddled
against the ground. The air was still. She had no idea whether or
not she was sleeping. The things she saw and heard seemed best
explained as dreams or the result of fatigue and despair. Perhaps
the bourbon.
    Recent tears remained frozen on her cheek.
Was Moon alive? Had she survived the fall?
    Her eyes welled up again and produced more
tiny icicles. The guilt she felt for scolding Moon made her moan in
anguish.
    Do not cry, my sister. Make good use of this
period of rest.
    Devon rolled over onto her back. A white
buffalo stood above her with eyes bright and charitable.
    “I must be facing north,” Devon mumbled,
surprised that she knew this. “You are the animal manifestation of
the spirit keeper of the north. You are Waboose.”
    Then you are not lost after all.
    “I am lost and I can’t find my dog, that’s
why I’m in the woods. I’m freezing and I want to go home. Why did I
end up here?”
    The questioner often knows the answer.
    “This is all a dream. I haven’t even left my
house and my huge, safe, warm comfortable bed. Maybe all of this is
the residual effect of another night of heavy drinking.”
    You understand now.
    She looked around to glare at the buffalo but
it was gone. “What are you saying,” Devon called out, “that all of
this is because of my drinking?”
    Devon realized the lap of luxury, though a
wonderful place to reside, had not exactly prepared her for
survival in the elements. The spiritual connection she thought she
had and the books she’d scarcely read were flimsy musings and vague
memories. She clutched the arrowhead.
    “Is this a vision quest?” she asked aloud. “A
medicine walk?”
    Was it all just a dream? She was sure she’d
seen the breath from the buffalo’s nostrils and felt the warmth of
it on her face. Had she slipped into another realm or had she
simply lost her freaking mind? That was a good question for the
buffalo. Therefore, she asked it aloud.
    “Am I losing my mind?”
    Quite the opposite, you are expanding it.
This is your quest and you are now seeking answers in the
north.
    The buffalo was above her, speaking without
moving its mouth. The puffs as it exhaled were rhythmic and
soothing. Again, Devon allowed herself to be in the dream.
    You study, you read, but you have no faith.
You seek knowledge but do not listen.
    “What should I know?” she asked, sitting up
and regarding the animal with respect.
    North is the time between midnight and
dawn the darkest part of the day. It is the time of birth and
death. When you seek answers in the north, you will gain knowledge
of the feminine aspect of our Creator. You will learn the
practice of healing. You will learn of self-sacrifice. As the
buffalo gives of its self, its whole self, to nourish and sustain,
you must learn to give of yourself.
    “I read that, I remember that,” Devon mused.
“North is the direction of wisdom. And the buffalo is often sought
for its wise council.”
    You will find what you came to seek.
    Devon blinked and the buffalo was gone.
    “But I didn’t come here to seek anything! I
came here by mistake!”
    She flopped down and kicked her leg like an
insolent child.
    A sound in the distance pulled her from her
reverie. She noticed a light from above and beyond dancing through
the trees. She heard a woman’s voice, and she thought she heard her
own name. The light vanished and once again, the darkness settled
in around her.
    The flutter of wings startled her. The raven
appeared, flapping its wings with portentous fury.
    “You again,” Devon grumbled.
    She tried to stand but her ankle would not
hear of it. Her