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Bloodbath
The old men sat around the fire in the smoky tent. The air was thick with the black fog and made the symbols on the canvas, red painted circles and triangles, waves and come alive. Together, the men chanted in their native tongue, Aciwabah. They sang and their mouths opened in perfect harmoney. The tent door flapped.
The song was the usual Akina song, race of the earth. It was about battles they had fought and heroes of the past. The mother earth was watching in her silent way.
They heard the howl of the wolves in the distance, and one of the old men poked his gnarled walking stick out of the flap to gaze at the bright, full moon. He grinned his snaggle tooth grin, and turned to the others.
"What a fine night!" He cackled, "What a fine night to celebrate the glory of the Akinagwas! It is time for the earth-children to rise from their place of rest and join the mother earth!"
The other men grinned and they began again to chant. Their strange music filled the cold, night air.
"Yes," spoke a priest when the group had become silent once more. "It is a time for celebration, but don't forget our purpose! We will not go back to our resting place until every Indian who does not worship the mother earth is dead."
The other men cheered loudly and stamped their feet. The preist took something from a pouch that hung from his neck. It was a small vial that contained a fine white sand. He poured it over the fire and the flames took in the sand eagerly. The orange and red flickering flames grew until the smoke made the men wild with glee.
They chanted their praise for the mother earth and the earth-childrin, Akinagwas, until the tent shook with the magic in the words.
"Long live the Akinagwas!" Cried the priest, "Long live Earth!"
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My goodness -- the people on that forum need to be slapped. Big time.
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Sorry… it’s getting to the point of night when I go off on wild tangents and act like a petulant child.
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