The Search for Soaring Hawk

Chapter 2: The Vision Quest-4

It was the screech of the hawk that woke him. Small Hawk sat up, stiff from his night sleeping on the bare earth. He stood and stretched. Everything was damp with dew, and even he was coated with a film of water. It gave him an odd sense of connection to the grass and earth. He walked to the edge of the circle relieve himself. He looked up into the branches of the old oak. The hawk was looking down at him, staring intently. Small Hawk was tempted to shout good morning, but the thought made him feel silly. He watched as the bird took to the air to hunt. It reminded him of how hungry he was. He took a drink of water. Laying the deer bladder at the edge of the circle, he looked around the meadow. All was quiet. He sat and sighed deeply.

All morning the sun shone directly into his small space. At noon, the sun was high overhead. He moved to the very edge of the circle, in order to find a bit of shade that was now becoming available from the oak. He wished he had better planned where to draw his circle. The day was hot; he was sweating profusely. He drank again, tempted to pour some of the water over his head to cool himself. Knowing he had little left, he resisted. As the sun moved behind the oak, the area of shade increased. It was welcome relief.

By mid-afternoon, his hunger was intense. All he seemed to be experiencing was hunger and discomfort. He began to wonder if he was doing something wrong, not emptying his mind, not focusing on his inner self. He tried sitting in the center of his circle and concentrating on finding his soul. He fell asleep.

When he woke, the circle was almost completely in shade, but the heat and humidity were intense. If he were home, he would be swimming in the river with Fox Cub and Young Otter. He drank again. Rides the Wind said a quest could last as little as two days. Well, this was the second day. Maybe he should just give up. Nothing seemed to be happening except he was hot, hungry, and now, sunburned.

He was bored. Maybe he would pleasure himself to make the time go faster. That did not seem to be right, not on a vision quest. But he needed to do something. He was beginning to feel anxious, almost panicky at the thought of remaining there much longer. He decided he would dance. Dancing had spiritual value he knew. The people danced all the time to celebrate the hunt, the harvest, to mourn the dead. He would dance.

He began a slow, rhythmic stomping of his feet. He increased the tempo and began to chant. Around and around the circle he went, faster and faster, twirling and spinning, stomping and chanting. Suddenly, he felt something soft beneath his feet. He heard a low pop and felt a rush of water. He opened his eyes. To his dismay, he saw he had burst the deer bladder. Now he would have thirst to add to his other hardships. He cursed himself and his stupidity.

Night came again. Still nothing he would consider spiritual had happened. He still hadn’t found his spirit guide. He felt the shame of returning to the village and admitting he had discovered nothing about himself, and that no guide had come to him. He curled up for his second night on the ground and fell asleep to the sounds of the night. Maybe the wolves would come. Somehow, he didn’t seem to care.

The sound of thunder quite close by roused him. He sat up. A flash of lightning illuminated the meadow. Another peal of thunder followed. The wind began to blow. More flashes of light and more deafening cracks of sound surrounded him. Then the rain came. Not a gentle, cooling rain, but a deluge. Big heavy drops pelted his body. He rolled into a ball. Within seconds, he was soaking wet, his hair plastered to his scalp. The rain was cold and driving. The wind moaned in the trees. For some strange reason, he thought of the hawks in their nest above him. He hoped they were safe. Suddenly, he felt as if rocks were pummeling him. Hail, as big as a man’s thumbnail, beat down upon him. He cried out in pain. He had to get away.

He stood up and took two steps toward the protection of the old oak tree. Lightning flashed, and there before him in the silver glare stood Lean Bear, beckoning him to come to him. A second flash revealed the man had turned and bent over, leaning against the sturdy trunk of the oak. The boy dropped to his knees and covered his eyes.

The storm passed. The rain continued, but the sounds of thunder and flashes of light were moving away. Small Hawk uncovered his eyes. He could barely make out the trunk of the tree. No one was there. He sank into the wet grass, doing his best to protect himself from the cold rain that still fell. He shivered with cold. Soon all was darkness.