It was only when the third sun rose and the heat became unbearable that she stopped.
As the ritual of sun set began, she crawled from under the grasses and climbed onto her bison — map in one hand, mane in the other. She would ride to the end of the plains and rejoin her father’s people. She would forget the brutal justice of her mother’s kin.
Already, alone, she was feeling whole once more — moving with her bison, in rhythm with the rise and fall of the suns.
She felt the scars on her legs, knew they too would heal.