Copyright 2002 - 2003 by The author retains all rights to this story and requests that you do not alter or post this story in any form without his permission. The following is a work of fiction.

This story will contain gifts of love and caring between a man and a boy. If you don't like love, then stop reading now. If love and caring between unrelated men and boys is illegal where you are, then I'm sorry for you. If you aren't old enough to legally read this story, then I hope someone loves you enough to read it to you. If you know of a Finding Place and have stories about it, please give me a gift and share.

My deepest thanks to Rod, I name him friend and what he's given me helps make this story sing.

To Ganymede and Teglin I thank you for the beauty you have shared and hope this reflects a fraction of the light you shine so brightly.


Part Four - Straighthorn

I stopped at the rest area West of Brule and tossed most of the specious breakfast sandwich out into the brush. I found I couldn't eat the crap. Some hungry crow or coyote would have a little feast tonight, I prayed the homogenized, denaturized, hydrogenated, vitamin and protein enhanced pap would not do them in. The wrapping and styro cup went in the waiting trash can.

I thought of all those other cans smashed so neatly flat each spring and tossed into the pit behind our shack. I'd never remembered to ask Grandfather where the food all went. Each spring and summer trip was so full of other lures the cans were but a momentary thought. In fall when we'd stock up and carry it all in I'd ask and got so I could actually give Grandfather's succinct reply. "We want the cabin ready for anything."

The pit would never really vary though as if it had been there since creation. In spring the metal would be a bright and shining pile, by fall we'd have one big bonfire and all the shining would be buried beneath the ashes. Next spring the pile would be bright and shiny once more. Not really bigger, not like a growing pile, just a quiet rebirth of reflection winking as the clouds would hide then free the sun.


Straighthorn told us a tale that night as we lay molded to each other inside our cave of robes. He had come sometime while we slept the enraptured connected sleep of our coalesced body minds. He sat and waited as only Lakota can. I knew he had been chanting, my mind could almost grasp the pattern of the beat, the swaying of the words, the spell he'd woven over our contented dreams. I felt more aware of every sound and smell than I had ever been before. The smell I met when first I peeked out from in the fur was his delicious stew. He had two bowls ready and before I could even poke him, Running Deer was peeking out behind me.

We took the bowls and offered thanks to Straighthorn. He directed our thanks back to the spirits who made the food to grow.

We slowly ate, our bodies naked in the robes, our minds absorbed by Straighthorn's tale told in Lakota, but such that I could understand. I think I had learned more from Grandfather Coyote than I had known.

He told us of creation, of the Wakan Tanka, the oldest spirits. Of how Inyan, spirit of creation had broke himself apart and put the things in motion which are still being formed in other places of the universe; stars still being born, the universe still growing, planets still being made. It was dark where Inyan lived, and so this darkness was called Han.

Inyan then created Maka, spirit of the earth, and when he finished Maka much blood was flowing from him. Inyan's blood; the molten lava from the center of the earth. As Maka cooled from being made, Skan, spirit of the sky was created from the rising steam and clouds which formed. And so the water cycle was created. As Inyan finished putting things in motion all that was left of himself was stone; therefore Skan became the leader of the Wakan Tanka.

At that time, everything was just beginning and just as a baby cries when it is born, Maka cried at every little thing and she found fault as well. She complained to Skan that since it was always dark she could not see herself. She asked Skan to take away Han and to create some light. So Skan put Han under the ground and created Anp, who is not a thing but only the red of light. Anp gives off no heat or shadows, and begins to continually shine on Maka.

Again Maka complained to Skan that since now she can see herself, she does not like the way she looks and she is always so cold. So Skan took a piece from Inyan, from Maka, from the waters, and from himself and created Wi. Wi was to shine on the world and give heat and shadows to comfort all living things, and Maka was to travel around Wi and to continually turn herself around so that while some parts of her would receive warmth, other parts of her would receive the coolness of the dark.

Skan returned Han to lead in and out the night, and Anp was to lead in and out the sunlight. And so now the first two times were created which are anpetu and hanhepi, the daytime and the nighttime.

Now the Wakan Tanka were INYAN (rock) WI (sun) MAKA (earth) SKAN (sky)

Soon Maka was complaining of being all alone, she wanted a companion or a friend. So Skan let them all create their own companions/friends and there were eight Wakan Tanka:

INYAN (rock)

WAKINYAN (thunder-being/bird)

WI (sun)

HANWI (moon)

MAKA (earth)

UNK (Maka's companion)

SKAN (sky)

TATE (wind)

Straighthorn told us of the marriage of two-spirit Wakinyan to Inyan that made the world continually renewed. Of the marriage of Wi and Hanwi, the spirits of sun and moon, these two light spirits traveling round Maka together not alone. Of Skan and Tate, brother companions, the sky and wind. How Maka began to complain that Unk was more beautiful than she. How she got jealous and cast Unk deep into the water to dwell down there forever. Thus, there were seven remaining members of the Wakan Tanka.

Straighthorn pushed away the edges of the buffalo robes to reveal a small stone circled fire pit. Taking a bundle from one of his ever present tiny bags, he quickly struck a spark from flint and steel and set the bundle smoldering. I smelled the glory of the cedar, sharp and crisp before the flames, full and smokey as it burned. I heard and felt my brother suck in a deep untroubled breath as Straighthorn continued with the tale.

Wakinyan's lodge is in the west and made of cedar wood. When Wakinyan flies over the earth, Wakinyan is cleansing the earth so that the plant nations may always live. Also, the smoke of burning Wakinyan's sacred cedar cleanses the area where it is burned. Later when the humans come on to the earth, Wakinyan teaches them to burn cedar during thunderstorms. So when Wakinyan flies over our tipis, Wakinyan will view favorably those which burn the cleansing cedar, and Wakinyan will leave our tipis alone as the journey moves to those that require cleansing.

Next, Wakinyan created an egg and Inyan put some of his Tun or essence inside the egg. Later, their son Ksa was born.

"But Wakinyan has no shape and so half of Ksa's body must have looked really funny," Running Deer giggled out at Straighthorn.

"Nevertheless," Straighthorn replied, "Ksa began to be known for his wisdom and so Skan chose Ksa to be the Counselor to the Wakan Tanka."

Maka complained again of her loneliness. So Skan decreed that all the Wakan Tanka and Unk are to create their own creatures. Inyan created creatures called Tunkasi, which means the original ones. The Tunkasi live inside of small round rocks, and are helpful spirits which can eliminate bad medicine. A person might receive such a rock in ceremonies so that this Tunkasi will protect him from any bad medicine which is sent by someone else. The person who receives such a rock should wear it around his neck in a special bundle, and should also offer small portions of his meals to this rock. The Tunkasi will take the Tun from the food.

I knew the word for Grandfather is Tunkasila. Straighthorn answered my question before I asked. "Yes, hokshila, 'la' is a term of affection and used at the end of certain Lakota words like hokshila (my son) and Tunkasila (my original one, Grandfather.)"

Wi created creatures which dwell in the fire, and sometimes appear as balls of fire which can be seen rolling and bouncing around in the country-side. Sometimes they follow people who are traveling at night to protect those people, so a tobacco offering of thanksgiving should be offered to them when they help you. Then since Tate is always traveling around the world, Skan created a daughter and named her Wohpe. She also serves as a mediator between the People and her father.

Unk was an angry woman because Maka cast her out of the Wakan Tanka and into the waters to dwell forever. So Unk created really funny looking animals (octopus, squid, some animals with scales but no legs or arms, some with many legs, some with just scales, etc.). Unk did this to smite Skan; however, Skan announced that Unk's creations will remain as they are and that they will dwell with her forever. Since Unk was thrown out of the Wakan Tanka, she decided to organize her own Wakan Tanka within her watery land.

So there are really two Wakan Tanka's. The first Wakan Tanka dwell in the air, stars, above ground and under ground. The second Wakan Tanka dwell in the waters. Neither is the good one or the evil one. Neither one is better than the other. All will help if they are respected and remembered.

"This is true!" Straighthorn ended the tale.

Our bowls had been set aside and Running Deer and I were cuddled up together laying on our stomachs hanging on his every word. Our opposing arms were wrapped round the other and fingers of my left hand were intertwined with my brother's right. "What is a two-spirit, Uncle?" Running Deer asked across the smoking cedar. "You said the marriage of two-spirit Wakinyan and Inyan. How was Wakinyan two-spirit?"

"I am tired hokshila, I must rest. Save your questions for another night."

"No uncle, please come lay with us and talk a little more?" I cried. I wiggled some away from Running Deer and made room for Straighthorn in our nest. He slipped off his moccasins and vest and slid between us. We snuggled in the crook of Straighthorn's arms, our cheeks against his shoulders. My hand met Running Deer's above Straighthorn's chest and our fingers re-entwined. Straighthorn's arms reached under our respective backs and softly petted on our hips.

With a deep sigh Straighthorn answered my brother's question. "Wakinyan is two-spirit because Wakinyan is both man and woman. Wakinyan acts the warrior and flies over Inyan and Maka and throws the thunderbolt and makes war on unclean things. Wakinyan pours his Tun upon the ground and makes the world renewed."

"Wakinyan also made her egg that Inyan gave his Tun, and Ksa, the Counselor of the Wakan Tanka was born from this sacred egg. Wakinyan is complete in both the circle of male and the circle of female."

"Are only Wakan Tanka two-spirit?" Running Deer whispered into his chest.

"There are two-spirit people now who walk the earth and bless those they meet with sacred holy magic."

I snuggled closer in against Straighthorn's other side and felt my penis stirring at the tickling of the fringes on his deerskin breeches. "Uncle," I asked, "if we burn the sacred cedar will Wakinyan ask Inyan to keep us safe?"

"Hau hokshila, hau. Now you boys settle down."


We must have played a thousand games those days upon the prairie. Games of hiding, games of finding, games of listening and of watching. The rabbit and frog peoples became wary of our presence. We never hurt the ones we caught and Straighthorn always led us in a prayer before and after play. We'd thank the Wakan Tanka for the bounty of their gifts, we'd thank the rabbit people's spirit for teaching us to sit so still. We praised the frog people's gift of jumping. We'd lie for hours watching the sky where Skan would paint the cloud people with wonderful colors as his brother Tate would move them round and make them grow or shrink.

We'd play beneath our pile of buffalo furs each night. Oftentimes the quiet play inspired by our Brother Crow's gift-for-gift, caressing each the other's body. Each content to share the tiny shivers and almost silent moans that hands would bring our brother.

Sometimes the frantic rapid play, the beating of our hands, like Brother Hawk's mad thrashing of his wings as he would grab the mouse and lift him up into the sky. Our thrashing too would lift us up and make us soar among the heavens of our mind. We learned to play in perfect harmony, to share the soaring heights where we'd explode in gladness of our disintegration one into the other.

Straighthorn sometimes would lead us there, tell a tale and gently start his chanting. He'd softly show a loving touch of skin for skin we hadn't found. Some nights he shared our nest. We'd touch and love, him in between and sharing our caress. One night he let us touch his skin, explore along his pole. We giggled as we watched it grow and point up at our hands. It was so large and strong yet soft and eager for our touch. We played our gentle games with it and watched it rise and fall, my head upon his chest, my brother's on his thighs. I saw the throbbing as its head peeked forth, my ear told me it matched his heart. I sat bolt upright to tell the news, he laughed and hugged and pushed aside the rugs. He pointed at our own stiff dicks and had us listen with our chests. We soon could see them gently pulse, each pulse exactly matching our own heart. We crowed to know this connection in ourselves. We dove back on his waiting staff and changed from gentle feeling touch to wings-beat mad caress. He hummed a note, then chanted out, then lifted off the robes. We knew the feelings in his head and wanted them as strong as ours. He groaned his pleasure and cried out. He grabbed our hands, yanked them away and pulled us to his sides. He groaned once more, his pole stood up and suddenly a flood of milk came shooting out. We'd never seen anything like this and both of us were shocked. I looked at Running Deer, he looked back at me; we both thought that we had broken him. He hugged us close and smiled and moaned so we knew he wasn't broken. We were very quiet, still and waited; as we waited when in that touch we lost ourselves.

Straighthorn squeezed us to him and then sat us up and sat up himself. The milk was dribbled on his chin and chest and a puddle ran down his stomach's bowl into the little hairs around his shaft.

He looked at us and petted each our cheeks, then told us of the milk. It was his body's Tun, like Inyan placed inside the egg. A man would make it starting when he was grown and use it to make new life. We knew of course the rutting of the deer, the mounting of the horse. We knew that this was done to make new life and call the babies forth. We didn't know this Tun was made and shot out of the man. He told us this was married with the juices of the woman and that's where babies would begin.

Running Deer reached out his hand and lifted up a drop. It made a shimmering spider web across the space between them. He held it to his nose and sniffed and touched it with his tongue. He giggled across at me and told me it was good. I touched some for myself and sniffed and tasted too. I thought the smell was nice, but couldn't find the taste.

Straighthorn rubbed it across his body, he cupped it in his hands and motioned us to lay down side by side. He took his hands all slippery with his Tun and rubbed our still unbending poles. It was all warm and slick. His hand felt like fire on my rod. My hand went to my brother's chest and we were soon squirming all together, each bringing pleasure to the other with Straighthorn driving fire up our loins. I cried out moments first, my brother right behind. We melted into each other.

Straighthorn covered us with robes and softly left the tipi. I heard him later sitting in the night and chanting once again above our dreams.