The Raven Trail as Fiction

Hello everyone! I just finished writing some more music for the upcoming EP which is already turning into a full album's worth of material! More ideas are coming my way and I am certainly not complaining! I just finished writing a little fiction based upon my song "The Raven Trail" that I hope to one day publish in a novel of my own. I thought that I would share it with you; it serves as a narrative companion piece to the song, I think. The names are of real Cherokee origin and I use them to pay homage to the spirit and courage of these courageous people. African-Americans and Native Americans have many parallels in history and culture; wouldn't it be nice if it were talked about more and fully appreciated?:) BKT.

Her name was Adahy, which translated into the Cherokee language as “living in the woods”. She was the widow of one of the last great war chiefs before we lost our lands. He was known as the Kaw la new, or the Raven. Adahy and their son, Ashwin, lived in Big Stone Lake, South Dakota where the legend of the Raven Trail is still preserved. They will never forget the Trail that leads to the famed “City of Gold” which is actually a small mountain cave where the secrets and treasures of the Raven's Cherokee tribe are safely hidden. Who in their position could ever trust a bank? The Raven Trail was defended by the pride and blood of the Kaw la new and his tribe. Our tribe, Adahy thought. Even the Great Father and his United States army gained interest in us. Adahy now rests a rose bouquet on her husband's grave, bending uncomfortably from her arthritic pains. The Kaw la new loved roses. She swiped a lock of her gray hair back in place, remembered how her husband's biological family were slaughtered by former taskmasters while they rode a wagon to a new life in the Reconstruction period...and how her own father, Chief Chinmay ( meaning full of knowledge) and his tribesmen, killed them and became his foster father. Adahy also remembered how she and her Kaw la new walked primrose paths, talked about their future, ran through elm thickets, and made love near clear, sunny streams. “Mother, do you think that my father would've been proud of me?” Ashwin asked. Adahy squeezed his right hand, replied : “Your name in Cherokee means strong horse. He would have agreed that it fits you". Ashwin grinned. After passing a few more monuments carved with strange Sioux names, they walked slowly through the cemetery archway towards a young, docile reporter from the local newspaper. Adahy smiled.

Copyright (c) 2010

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