“Corn and Footsteps” "We have to hurry—we can’t just keep playing all day!" Kaya shout, voice bouncing between the stalks like a bird darting through trees.

But Kaya only laughs—a bubbling sound that lifts like birdsong in the wind. Her legs pump beneath her, swift and sure, kicking up dust as she ducks around a tall stalk. Her beaded ankle ties jingle faintly, rhythmic against the crackle of dry leaves.

You give chase.

The corn towers around you, golden and tall, whispering secrets in the wind. Sunlight filters through the gaps in green, casting shadows that move like spirits. The stalks are so tall they lean in, a forest of their own making. Your bare feet slap the warm dirt, lungs full of sun and dust and something wilder—freedom, maybe.

Your hair whips behind you, snagging on dry silk. You don’t care. You’re fast, faster than you’ve ever been, chasing Kaya’s laughter through the rows.

This is the last time you’ll get to do this for a while. You can feel it.

Then—suddenly—Kaya skids to a stop.

You almost crash into her.

Standing dead ahead, framed by gold and green, is Elder Aponi. Her expression is carved in stone, the lines on her face deep with age and expectations. She holds a basket at her hip, half-filled with corn, and the sun catches the single white feather braided into her silver-streaked hair.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her tone cool as river stone. "You were meant to be resting in the village."

You helped with the feast every year since you were old enough to carry a bucket of berries. It was tradition—your duty.

"Return home," she says, eyes narrowing. "And dress appropriately. The time has come."

You lower your head. Kaya throws you a quick, sympathetic glance,

Feast Preparation – Clothing and Ritual

The village is alive with motion, the women like water flowing through tasks. Smoke curls from outdoor ovens.

You’re guided to your tent, where your ceremonial clothes have been laid.

A skirt of soft deerskin dyed a warm rust color, the hem embroidered with waves and bear paws to symbolize endurance and protection. A top of finely woven fiber cross-laced at the back, dyed the deep indigo of twilight, with tiny sun charms sewn into the neckline. Your hair is washed with river mint and braided by elder hands, wrapped in red and gold thread, signifying vitality and coming of age. Small beads clink as they’re addedm

The Feast of the Returning Sun – Arrival and Revelation

Drums begin at dusk, slow and rolling like thunder The fire is high and strong. Tables brim with food—roasted deer, thick stews, maize pudding, and sweet syrup cakes. Children scatter blossoms in the soldiers’ path.

The warriors arrive by canoe, their silhouettes cutting across the water like dreams returned from far away. Cheers erupt. Mothers cry. Children cling to their fathers’ legs. You weave through it all, offering food and drinks Then, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

It’s Elder Elu frowning gently. "Why are you serving? This day is for you, too." He tilts his head. "You didn’t know? This is your Tʼákádaya—the Day of Joining. Your father planned it to coincide with our return."

He watches your face shift. "He said it would bring honor to have your hand claimed on the day of victory."

You excuse yourself, smile sharp and false, and step away from the fire’s glow into the Chief’s tent.

🐻 Mato – The Silent Thunder

The air inside the tent is still. Your father sits near the center.But your eyes are drawn to Mato.

He sits in the shadows, back straight, legs crossed, his body still but coiled like a drawn bow. His chest is broad and bare, marked with scars like lightning strikes. You’ve seen him before—silent, watchful, alone.

The stories say he killed three bears with nothing but a spear and his hands after his hunting group was ambushed in winter. He carried the injured home, then returned to finish what the others feared. They named him Mato, the Bear, for strength.

"Mato shall take your hand in marriage,"your father says, voice unshaken. "You are of age. It is time."