MENACING ANGELS: INNOCENT ANGELS

By Carolyn Tanner

Menacing Angels That Night: Innocent Angels by Carolyn S. Tanner is the first book of an epic western and romantic tale set in the 1870s where the law is just as crooked and evil as the men they judge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writer Cosmos
• Release date: Nov 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798869020208

Book preview

MENACING ANGELS

THAT NIGHT

INNOCENT ANGELS

Carolyn S. Tanner

This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the permission of the publisher/author. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2023 by Carolyn S Tanner

First Publication February 2023

All Rights Reserved

ISBN:  978-1-960321-01-5 (Paperback)

978-1-960321-02-2 (Hardcover)

Dedication

I want to thank my beautiful daughter, Shannon Franks and my beautiful niece, Alisha Rivera for their wonderful advice and help during this prolonged project, and putting up with my doubts, brief story scenes, endless talking about plots, and story lines. Both were instrumental in helping me finish the first two books. Again, thank you and I love you.

Acknowledgment

A very special thank you to Vincent, for believing in my writing and me.

Author’s Note

Thank you, dear Readers, for taking the time to read the first book in the MENACING ANGELS: That Night series. Though Part I is slow on action and deals with the main character’s upbringing, it is essential for the remainder of the books. The second book, "Avenging Angels, will be out soon. My wish is you truly became part of the adventure you are reading. Personally, when I read a book and felt I lived with the characters in it, I knew I read a good book, a story that would stay with me.

I also wish to explain the characters are totally fictious. Each character reacts to their own personal emotions and upbringing, therefore lack my personal feelings toward the events happening during the narrative. Personally, I disagree with some elements I wrote, but it is the characters having their own story to tell according to the time period they lived, not my personal opinions or beliefs.

A word of caution—do not use any of the medical material within my books. These are old, not verified methods sometimes used during that time period. They are not proven in today’s medical field, and could cause extreme damage or death.

Again, thank you, dear Reader. May blessings fill your life and bring precious smiles to your face.

Carolyn S Tanner

CONTENT

Prelude

Part I ANGEL OF VISION 1863 - 1867

Chapter 1      The Chosen One

Chapter 2      First Blood

Chapter 3      Red Wolf

Chapter 4      Sacrifice

Part II FALLEN ANGELS

Chapter 1      Bush of Roses, Thorns of Doubt 1873

Chapter 2      Drifting Stars, Changing Seasons

Chapter 3      Speak in Riddles

Chapter 4      Secrets and Pride

Chapter 5      Shattered Promises

Chapter 6      Weep Tears of Blood

Chapter 7      Live for Vengeance

Chapter 8      Broken Hearts, Broken Dreams

Chapter 9      Substitute for the Heart

Chapter 10      A Piece of Body and Soul

Chapter 11      Trial of Mockery

Chapter 12      Taste the Blood of Vengeance

I Stood Outside the Gate

Josephine Pollard, pub.1870

I stood outside the gate,

A poor way-faring child;

Within my heart there beat

A tempest loud and wild;

A fear oppressed my soul,

That I might be too late;

And, oh, I trembled sore,

And prayed outside the gate.

O Mercy! loud I cried,

Now give me rest from sin!

I will, a voice replied,

And Mercy let me in:

She bound my bleeding wounds,

And soothed my heart oppressed,

She washed away my guilt,

And gave me peace and rest.

In Mercy’s guise I knew

The Savior long abused,

Who often sought my heart,

And wept when I refused;

Oh, what a blest return

For all my years of sin!

I stood outside the gate,

And Jesus let me in.

Cheyenne and English Translations

Ovaxehee      Dreaming Woman

Tsistsistas      The people

Heammawihio      The Wise One Above or The-One-Who-Is-Always-There

Vo’evahtamehnestse      Cloud Walker, the medicine man, correct translation Walking In Clouds

Mahpevahee’estse      Standing In Water, the Contrary

NestonevahtseteNoisy       Walker, father of Dreaming Woman

Epo’o            Gray, Dreaming Woman’s favorite mare

Hestoemestaa’e      Strange Owl

Monevata      Young Bird

Maehonene      Red Wolf, spirit guide

Tsehemesemetovestse      Grandfather

Neskeesta      Chipmunk

Meeskevotse      Baby

Hohnuhk’e      Speaking opposite of meaning

Wuwun      Sacrifice by starving

Ho’neo’kaestse      Long Wolf’s

Anestaeseva’e      Misty Woman

Ma’ena’evahe      Red Arm

Haa’hae’ameohtse      Wind Racer

Mo’eheso      Little Elk

Ese’he Ohnesesestse      Two Moons.

Nahtataneme      Brother

Wohksehhetaniu      Kit Fox Soldiers

Ehyophsta      Yellow Haired Woman

Heenevaahetanehee      Woman Who Is Man Woman

Nanasehamehee      Mountain Lion Woman or mighty above all the other beasts

Heoohtato      Water puppy or water dog

Hotohkohvq’komaestse      White Star

Prelude

The moon held its wink, leaving a small sliver of light, the stars so far away, they were tiny pinpoints of light splattered across the midnight black skies. A deep chill oppressed the land, a chill of expectation, of deep sorrow. The snow sparkling on the ground was the only light during this month of Shi io ine, the Dusty Moon. The only sounds, the beating of small footsteps in the snow racing barefooted across the land and the moans of the small child’s cries, trying to outrun the terror of her dream.

Breathless, she stopped, bending over and placing her hands upon her knees, fighting for breath. Dropping to her knees, she lifted her arms upward and wept toward the heavens, "Maehonehe, why did you show me this? Why so many bad dogs?"

Not even a breath of wind whispered across the frozen landscape in answer to her plea. Falling forward and stretching across the ice frozen snow with her arms pointed above her head, her whimpers shook her small frame. "No more bad dreams, Maehonehe!"

Between breath shaking sobs, she felt someone lift her from the frigid ground and cradle her small body in their arms. The voice was one she barely recognized, but it was filled with compassion, and he held her close underneath his robe, warming her freezing body.

Child, why are you out in the cold night without footwear or a robe? the man murmurs. Let me warm you before I will take you back with me.

She nodded against the inviting shoulder, her cries coming with hiccupping sobs that tore away her voice, nearly preventing her words, Bad dogs.

Shush, child. We will talk soon, the voice whispered, cradling her underneath the robe draped across his shoulders.

Trying to catch back her whimpers, she shivered so violently she wondered if she would shake out of his arms. He patted her back, hugging her tightly against his chest, trying to stop her trembling sobs. Come, we will go back to the camp, he crooned, rising to his feet and walking toward the village.

His feet crunched in the deep snow, his breath frosting with each breath while carrying her. Entering the warmth of his lodge, he called for his wife, sending her to inform the child’s mother she was safe. He sat in front of the fire and lowered her onto his lap, his voice soft, Tell me what you dreamed.

‘Bad dogs," she cried.

What else did you see? he encouraged.

Sniffling, she wiped at her nose, lifting tear-filled eyes to his. A woman with long hair and strange colored eyes carried a baby, calling to…. I cannot remember the name she called, but a dog grabbed the baby and the other dogs were attacking everybody in the village. The dogs killed everyone. Catching her breath against another sob, she cried, "I ask Maehonehe why did he show me this. I told him to send me no more bad dreams. It scares me."

A shuddering breath escaped the man and his arms stiffened around her. "What name did Maehonehe call you?"

Before she could answer, his wife and her mother stepped through the doorway. She heard whispers, but could not understand the words. The man handed her over to her mother and her mother wrapped her in her arms. Mountain Stream, we have been looking all over for you. We go home now, her mother informed her after thanking the man for finding her.

PART I: ANGEL OF VISION

1863-1867

Chapter 1

The Chosen One

Nine seasons old Ovaxehee, her excitement visible by her inability to stand still, waited for the sun to peek its head above the horizon where dark orange and yellow streaked skies were overshadowed with red clouds outlined in dusky purple. Standing high on a hilltop, her knee-length hair weighing heavy across her back, Ovaxehee outstretched her hands in supplication toward the heavens, singing rhythmic prayers in a sweet childish voice. With the first bright rays easing over the earth’s edge, the high-pitched, flute-like sounds of the meadowlark joined her song.

Kneeling, she opened the parfleche and lifted out a piece of fresh buffalo meat, the portion still bloody and slippery, and held it toward the sky, offering her sacrifice to Heammawihio, the Wise One Above. Laying the meat on the ground, she surreptitiously wiped her hand against her dress before rising, a smile lifting her lips when bird chatter interspersed with song filled the refreshing morning air and a water ouzel’s click-click sound of two stones tapping together, then tweeting as if talking, joined the melody. The sun broke free of its imprisonment, spraying golden rays to chase away the morning shadows lingering across Mother Earth and outlining the unusual rock formation with its greys, blues, turquoise, and greens displayed between the perpendicular rows of rocks surrounding Bear Lodge Mountain.

Struggling hard to contain her smile and enthusiasm, she focused on the rising sun. This was her first time on the sacred mountain, and though thrilled with the rare opportunity to travel with the medicine man, she struggled to understand the full significance of the ritual and its importance for Tsistsistas, the people. The medicine man coached her in the ancient songs, strongly articulating she must learn and sing them while sacrificing. All her concentration should be on remembering the words and prevent her from thinking and analyzing anything other than the songs. He warned her she could only appreciate what she saw before her eyes or she would forget or confound the prayers. But it was her father who encouraged her the morning she left to remember the past or daydream during the day and let her heart bring forth the words. He was still unhappy with her performing the ritual, but her grandfather overruled his objections. Mentally shrugging, she decided she would try both methods. At least, she would be following the elders’ directions.

Fidgeting, she lowered her eyes from the sun’s dazzling rays toward the incredible beauty of the land laying before her; the rolling expanse of mountains and valleys with a winding river flowing through it, both banks surrounded with colorful cottonwoods, red sumac, willow, and fruit-bearing chokecherry trees; the tiny outlines of her village on the other side of the river nestled in the open prairie within its tall green prairie grasses where the horse herds grazed. Along the rocky slope she climbed earlier, white ponderosa pine grew sparsely among the mixture of prairie grasses and scattered boulders.

Standing at the foot of Bear Lodge, just below the scree filled with broken columns and loose rocks, the mountain’s odd shape and appearance brought forth memories of the village storytellers entertaining the people with the legend of Bear Lodge and the two sisters fleeing the mountain from a giant bear. She remembered leaning forward while the storyteller, using dramatic hand motions and postures, told the story about how the sisters found two boys outside the village and fearfully explained a huge bear pursued them. Encouraging the sisters to lead them back to the mountain where they encountered it, the boys tricked the bear into believing they had climbed to the top. In a rage, the enormous bear clawed up the sides, slipping downward, then trying again and again and again, straining to reach the top and creating giant vertical claw marks around the flat-topped mountain. She suppressed the laughter bubbling in her throat recalling how the storyteller moved his arms and legs when imitating the bear climbing the mountain and the sound of his growl when it slipped down the sides several times.

The sudden burst of wind whipped her blue-black hair in snarled tentacles, slapping strands across her face, the vicious stings bringing her back to the magnitude of her commitment. Fascinated, she watched the distracting strands of hair dance before her eyes while she sang, her voice rising and falling with the rhythm of her melodious prayers. The sunlight reflecting in her devotion-filled eyes, she narrowed them against the rising sun. Shutting her eyes for a moment to soften the glare, she was fascinated when her closed eyelids displayed red and enhanced the gusting wind’s assault on her nostrils with the saturation of metallic blood mixed with the fragrance of ponderosa pine.

Somewhere nearby, she sensed the presence of the Vo’evahtamehnestse, the medicine man, perceiving he observed and listened to her prayers. It was his persistence during a meeting with the village elders that allowed her to perform wuwun, a sacrifice by starving, a right reserved for warriors who sought the spirits for vision and favor. He compelled the elders to allow her at least one day of sacrifice instead of the usual three days, claiming she was the promised one prophesized generations ago and, therefore, she was unique and deserved special consideration. It was also his presence easing her fears of the unknown and allowing her mind to drift toward the events leading up to today.

Ovaxehee and her father were sitting before the fire when the medicine man and her grandfather interrupted their afternoon. The conversation started innocently enough until Vo’evahtamehnestse stated, I am taking Ovaxehee to the scared mountain.

No, I will not allow her to sacrifice three days without food and water. She is too young and it could kill her, her father tensely argued.

Her grandfather soothingly put hand on her father’s arm. I had the same reservations, Nestonevahtseste. Vo’evahtamehnestse and the elders agree one day will do no harm.

She is still too young and has not become a woman yet. How can you agree with this? her father asked, his body stiffening in anger.

Ovaxehee knew something important was happening when her mother took her hand and led her way, her hand tightening even more on hers with the low growl of taunt voices between the men which grew indistinguishable from where she and her mother moved. Her grandfather, the peace chief of the tribe, voice never changed while speaking. Finally, he nodded once, then left the group and walked past the tipis to the village’s only Contrary whose lodge was separated a good distance from the others on the far outskirts of the village. Though no one explained the substance of the discussion, she surmised it had something to do with the journey Vo’evahtamehnestse had mentioned earlier and the wuwun. She thought little about it, but now her stomach wrenched in uncertainty as her grandfather slowly entered the Contrary’s tipi. Her stomach churned even more when her father approached her, his face stern, yet with a flicker of capitulation within his eyes.

Ovaxehee, he started sharply, then his tone changed into surrender. "Pack a loose dress, sleeping robes and blankets, your bow and arrows, and place a knife around your waist. Your mother will pack your provisions for a week on the trail. After you finish, round up a sturdy pony from your herd and bring it here. Your grandfather is sending two braves and perhaps Mahpevahee’estse with you.

Her mother squeezed her hand even tighter before letting go and turned around to enter the lodge. Wide eyed, she stared at her father, her mouth screwing up with trepidation. Grandfather is asking a Contrary to travel with us? Is our ride so dangerous?

You are the chief’s granddaughter. He is making sure you and Vo’evahtamehnestse have suitable security. You will be safe and protected. Never fear. Go with God and peace will follow.

About that time, a boy shouted an invitation to the sweat lodge ceremony, encouraging participation in prayer, healing, and purification, but since she had not had her first show of blood, she was forbidden to attend, much to Vo’evahtamehnestse dismay, she later discovered.

Get ready, her father ordered before following her mother inside the lodge.

Ovaxehee tethered her dappled grey mare in front of the tipi, uneasiness again knotting her stomach, wondering why her grandfather wanted a Contrary to accompany someone as inconsequential as herself, especially to her wuwun, a sacrifice by starving, a ceremony most in the village were against because she was a girl, a female and not an esteemed warrior.

Sometimes she could not fathom adults. No one else required a Contrary to escort them to their wuwun. Besides Contraries were the bravest and best warriors of all the tribes and no war could be made without a Contrary accompanying the war party. So highly respected and important, Contraries were often entrusted with serious duties, including leading a party into battle. So how could she be important enough to require a Contrary’s attendance?

Perhaps she was different as the medicine man and the elders claimed, but she did not understand why or how. The medicine man tried to explain her value to the tribe. Even the village elders encouraged her dreams and explained they were beneficial to them all. To her, the visions were terrifying, usually showing bad things, and she often wondered if she might somehow be bad too since she kept dreaming them. Yet, she was never treated as if she had done anything wrong. Most of the time, she just wanted to play with the other children, listen to the storytellers, and have little care except for the elders teaching them how to live responsibly, how to survive.

A sigh escaping her, she entered the doorway, dreading the upcoming perceived conversation with her father. He sat at the back of the lodge, sitting crossed-legged, his face creased with his dark, troubled thoughts. She hesitantly moved toward him, wondering briefly if her wuwun was worth the stress lining his face.

Father, she began, but was interrupted when Mahpevahee’estse slipped through the lodge’s doorway, turned right, then paused. Her father immediately rose and removed headrests, personnel items, and ground coverings, placing them at the back of the lodge. Only then did the Contrary sit upon the bare dirt floor.

Her father reached for his pipe to honor the Contrary, but Mahpevahee’estse spoke in the manner of Contraries speaking opposite of his meaning, known as Hohnuhk’e Nestonevahtseste, I came to smoke and will not accompany Vo’evahtamehnestse and Ovaxehee.

Her father’s sigh of relief communicated his gratitude the Contrary agreed to escort her and the medicine man to Bear Lodge Mountain, and with his acceptance, flattering her by agreeing to be part of her unusual wuwun.

My daughter’s life is now in your hands, her father confirmed, watching the Contrary stand, reach into the parfleche hanging around his waist, withdraw a bundle of white sage, and proceed to purify the place where he had sat by brushing the sage across the dirt. The Contrary tucked the sage back into his parfleche, turned left, and ducked out of the door flap.

Excited, yet nervous, she slept very little. It did not help when she heard her father and mother argue over the trip. Father still disagreed with her going and Mother argued she agreed with her father. The tension was strong and yet her thoughts drummed up memories and feelings, and doubts about the upcoming journey and its significance.

Vo’evahtamehnestse’s belief she was special, the promised one to lead the people, allowed her freedoms no other young girl or boy had in the village. Her prophetic dreams governed and protected the people, so he said. To her the visions, dreams, and symbols were frightening and confusing. Besides, she did not feel special.

Ovaxehee lowered her aching arms, surprised the air made them so heavy. Shrugging and moving them to relieve some of the tension, she danced with the rhythm of her chantlike prayers, swinging and swaying, moving her feet from side to side, anything to keep her body active. On the eastern horizon, the blinding sun rose, crawling ever so slowly toward dusk. She remembered Vo’evahta-mehnestse saying this would be a test of not only her strength, but her determination to complete the wuwun. It was up to her how she would withstand the long day. Knowing the prayers by heart, she kept singing while allowing her mind to drift.

Riding upon her favorite mare, Epo’o and the morning breeze upon her face, the party passed through the grazing horse herds where the smell of grasses and manure increased in strength. She loved feeling the pony’s smooth gait underneath her, gently rocking her buttocks against its back while it kept in stride with the birds’ sweet morning serenade. The powerful muscles and sure-footedness of the mare kept up with the warriors and assured her if the necessity arose, they could ride hard and fast in stride with the warriors who accompanied them.

She and Vo’evahtamehnestse rode between two warriors, and she spotted the Contrary, Mahpevahee’-estse, riding a distance away from them on the far left-side in front of the group. As a Contrary he could not follow in any of their footsteps nor they follow in his tracks. He rode with his ceremonial thunder bow resting on his left arm, the sharp, piercing flint end fastened on the upright end of the bow, and an array of war bird feathers—eagle, hawk, and owl attached to both ends, fluttered slightly with the pace of his mount. Dressed differently than the other warriors in his red painted, old and tattered buckskins, beards of buffalo bull were attached to the back of his moccasins; a cap of owl feathers covered the top of his head and buffalo hide strips wrapped around his braids. He wore a rawhide strip tied around his neck bearing an ash wood whistle, a representation of his Contrary warrior status.

There was something fascinating about Mahpeva-hee’estse, not only by the way he dressed, but his separation from other braves. Contraries avoided crowds, kept to themselves, demanded and expected respect. Though their fear of lightning directed their choice of becoming a Contrary, their bravery was legendary. Maybe it was because he was so unusual that captured her attention. Somehow it made her more comfortable with her own uniqueness. Would her fearful dreams also make her brave?

The scream of a soaring eagle interrupted her memories, pulling her back to the present. With the sun’s heat eased by a burst of wind, she swallowed against the dryness of her throat, forcing the sounds of her prayers through parched lips, One Above, give me strength and courage to fulfill my devotion to you through my starving. Make me worthy of your blessing. Lifting her hands again toward the sun, she relapsed back into her daydream.

Awakened by a soft touch on the shoulder, she opened her eyes to find Vo’evahtamehnestse standing above her. It was early dawn, the eastern skies barely lit and the surroundings trees and vegetation wrapped in grey. She sat up, covered a yawn, and stretched slightly before rising to her feet. Vo’evahtamehnestse? she whispered.

We build a sweat lodge before we go to Bear Lodge, the medicine man stated gently, but purposely. At her inquisitive expression, he clarified, You will be purified before your wuwun.

But…

You are not woman yet and your grandfather would not allow you to attend the ceremony before we left. You will be purified and you will help build the sweat lodge, he interrupted softly, but sternly.

She suppressed the shudder running down her spine, astutely aware when the other girls built small tipis during play outside the village, she always refused to build one. Instead, she preferred to go hunting with the boys. A feeling of victory filled her when on most days, she brought home small birds or rabbits for her mother to cook and serve with their meal.

Glancing around the camp through the morning’s feeble light, she spotted Mahpevahee’estse on the outer edges, wrapped in sleeping furs, his thunder bow covered in tanned buffalo hide and propped up by a red-painted forked stick near a tree close to him. Though colors were muted this early in the morning, she knew the hide covering bore painted red symbols. He always stayed at a distance from them, rarely speaking, yet always alert. Never seeing him smile, she wondered if he knew how. With his face always set in stern lines, she perceived unhappiness lurking underneath when she witnessed his dark eyes search the land, then glance briefly at her several times during their journey.

Vo’evahtamehnestse walked away from the camp, and she and Monevata followed. Several times she covered her yawns and yet she gathered this ritual was important too. She just did not understand why or to whom. Also, she did not understand this woman thing and first blood. Was it another ritual, and where did the blood come from? Shrugging away her thoughts, she smothered another yawn, wishing she was still in bed.

The birds had not begun their thrill for the day and the rushing river covered the sound of their footsteps. She and Monevata silently followed behind Vo’evahtameh-nestse who did not stop until morning light crept across a large bare area close to the river. He pointed to an area when walking by, then continued about 30 to 40 paces away and began to clear grass and rocks from the center.

Monevata beckoned to Ovaxehee, his instructive voice gentle, We make a circle in the grass to mark an area large enough for a sweat lodge for two people. He squatted and marked a rough circle in the ground, then picked up some twigs, gauging the direction so the door lined up with the rounded section Vo’evahtamehnestse was clearing. The door always points toward the rising sun, he stated while placing twigs there to indicate the doorway. The fire hole Vo’evahtamehnestse digs forms a straight line east from the sweat lodge door. This is for the Grandfathers or spirits to follow the spiritual smoke path from the sky in answer to our prayers.

Ovaxehee listened carefully to Monevata, memorizing everything he explained and showed her. Biting her bottom lip, she concentrated on digging a hole into the hard ground with her knife deep enough to hold the supple tree poles upright, believing her wuwun was a lot of work, work she had not expected. Besides, why was Vo’evahtamehnestse insisting she help with the building of the sweat lodge when typically, only adult males built them? At least, the males always built them in her village. Perhaps Vo’evahtamehnestse glimpsed her future and knew she needed the knowledge for something more important later in her life...perhaps? He knew things somehow about the future though differently than she did.

With all the holes dug and supple trees gathered and standing around the perimeter of the unfinished sweat lodge, Monevata gestured for her to join him in the circle of the fourteen upright limbs. We start at the east, which is truth, he stated, bending the tender tree and walking it toward the center. Grab the pole directly opposite. He pointed toward the correct one.

He made it look so easy, she thought, grabbing the young tree, the bark rough against her palms, struggling to bend it and walk it toward the center while sliding both hands down the branch to keep it bent. Her heart beat with success when he smiled his approval, then demonstrated how to tie the limbs together.

Working together, he intoned the meaning for each of the seven arches forming the small lodge. East is for truth, south for kindness, west for sharing, and north for caring. The sky signifies strength, the earth always respect, and this, the last one is for our Creator and stands for humility. This is for all sweat lodges. Always remember and speak it aloud each time you build a new one.

Wiping sweat from her brow, wondering again why she should ever need to build a sweat lodge, she gratefully accepted the gourd Hestoemestaa’e handed her. While drinking, she examined their work. Though the structure was small, accomplishment swelled through her because this was her first lodge. She handed the drinking gourd to Monevata and watched him finish the water, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat for some reason fascinating her, and she fought the giggles rising to her throat.

Monevata waved toward the longer yet supple trees lying nearby she and Hestoemestaa’e had gathered earlier. Now we weave the remaining cuttings through the middle to sturdy the structure, similar to weaving a basket. When it is finished, we fix the branches to the sides and drape blankets and robes around it until no light shows inside.

A rush of wind slapped her hair stingingly across her face, bringing her back to the present. The spots forming before her eyes obscured the panoramic scene in colored bubbles. She chanted unconsciously, the inactivity warring with her young body and she had an almost overwhelming desire to leave this desolate hill and run home. The day felt longer than usual and her childish