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The Boy from the Land of Fire
“Do not judge your neighbor until you walk two moons in his moccasins.”
Cheyenne Proverb
The world is filled with many wonderful beings. Some burn with fire and flames of anger
past and never forgotten. Some trickle down the mossy creeks and slither with the ebb and flow
of the mighty waters. Some tumble through the wind revealing the wanderings of air as it passes
over the Earth, like the hand of an adoring father on his son’s broad shoulders. When the Great
Spirit, Maheo, breathed life into the bones of this world with his mighty gusts, the dust swirled
and collected into four parts: River, Mountain, Sky, and Fire. These portions divided the world in
culture and in likeness. Like bear from bird, these beings could not be more different.
The River beings were cautious and collected, adapting only to the consistent seasonal
changes of falling leaves that make way for snowy nights and melting whiteness that waters the
buds of spring. They loved the order of the Earth and her liking for repetition and structure. Their
people harvested the fish of their land with a knowing love for the order of the Earth’s creatures,
life and death. They knew all the seasons of fish, which was best for the spring, and which could
be found in the winter. They knew how to cook and preserve and even knew how to use every
part of the fish for some ingenious good. Maphe was their ruler and she cared with the diligent
heart and cautious demeanor of the mouse of the field.
The Mountain beings were sturdy and learned, studying the labor of their hands with the
knowledge the great spirits of before had achieved. The secrets of this world were for them and
for them alone to see through their methods of discovery, methods as ancient as the needles that
adorn the great pine. They were an unremitting people, perpetuated through their quiet words.

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Their renown lay in their wood, as strong as stone, yet as beautiful as the doe that springs
through the forest. They were proud of the homes and tools they created from the logs of their
forest, as much as the saplings which sprouted with confidence from the nurtured soil. The
spears of their hands were carved with precision of traditions passed on year after year, father to
son to son and again. Markings that signaled symmetry and form were etched into the wood with
stone tools and years of understanding. Their villages were sturdy and tall, staring down at the
wayward travelers below with a calm authority, like the eyes of the watchful wolf, howling from
the high mountain. The mountain chief was Sestoto’e, and he ruled with wisdom and pride that
stemmed from the traditions of his robust and irrepressible people.
The Sky beings flew through life on the wings of the wind, tumbling through with desires
for thrill and freedom. They were creative with bold colors covering their faces and coats. Many
would spend hours painting and creating beautiful trinkets and toys for the creatures of their
land. They made many wonderful things, but their paints were what they were most proud of,
because they were the only ones who could create such vibrant and long-lasting hues. These
people were kind and loving of all things free and lovely, like the leaves that are carried through
the air and splash their vibrant colors across the land. Their leader was Nonoma, and he was
known for his compassion and imagination. He was a visionary and a dreamer, who spent most
of his hours meditating in his Great Expanse, a place filled with inspiring gems, paintings, and
teepees. There he would wait in those dwellings for The Great Spirits to bestow wisdom and
insight onto his people.
The Fire people were hard-working and brash, yet lived their life with the highest
standard of honesty and authenticity. They toiled through their land with strong bones and hard-
set faces. They were bonded through family and community, built through generations of truth

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and love. Bread was their pride and joy. They could make it in many styles and savors, yet each
was more flavorful than any other bread on the Earth. Their fires were always burning, and a loaf
was always cooking to feed their people and creatures. Their ruler was Keezheekoni, who was
audacious and strong. He did not fear anyone, and ruled with a fist like iron.
The world was in balance. Just as the tree’s roots hold the Earth together and the water’s
flow feeds into all the corners, the world was in peace. The fragments, River, Mountain, Sky,
Fire, were in harmony and separation, never bothering each other with their toils, trials or
triumphs. But the spirit in Keezheekoni, the leader of the Fire land, grew restless and hungry. In
his greed and in his wrath, he began to consume his land. Fire ravaged the trees, the lake, the
fields. Smoke billowed through the land; like thick sap, it clung to the people and cemented them
together to endure this terror. The peoples and creatures were pushed out of their homes by the
flames and smolder, heat and destruction. Despite their lost homes and lost honor, they did not
weep, for they were strong and resilient.
The elders gathered to decide what could be done to stop this horror and save their
people. They realized their resources were few and their people were not warriors. Keezheekoni
was powerful, and magic ran swiftly through his veins. The people were trapped with no place to
go. Clouds of smoke hung over their heads like the great willow’s branches, waiting to engulf
them. They realized they had one choice left, to leave and find a new home, but this was not an
easy task as the other parts of the Earth did not communicate with them, and relations were few.
They wanted to be strategic, so they sent a boy to plead their case and ask for a new home. The
boy was brave and honest and set off at once to save his people.
The boy arrived at the River land first, and inhaled the fresh air and tasted the refreshing
water pouring out of every spring stream. Knowing what his elders taught him, he quickly sought

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to find a fish that would honor the River people and show them his worth. After many hours of
struggling, he caught a fish to his approval and wrapped it as an offering to the River people.
Once he found the chief of the people, he approached him with as much humility as a Fire boy
could muster. He bowed deeply, laid the fish at Maphe’s feet, and began to tell his story of woe,
“We from the land of Fire are in great need. Our ruler, Keezheekoni, has grown restless
and hungry and has begun to devour our land with his fire and hunger. Our villages are burned
and our air is thick with smoke. We seek sanctuary in the land of the River until Keezheekoni
has extinguished himself in his flames. Please accept my humble offering on behalf of my
people.”
The boy looked down at his hand, noticing the char marks and soot. Maphe looked at the
young boy, but she only saw his bloodshot eyes, scorched hair and ash covered body. Maphe
opened the gift and quietly gasped in disgust, “Young boy, this fish is no good, not even edible.
Anyone could see that. I wish we could accept this, but we simply cannot. And as for your
proposition, I must also decline, on behalf of my people. I have their safety to look after, and
what if Keezheekoni was to turn on us too? We cannot risk something as dangerous as that. I am
sorry, but you must leave.” And with that, the boy was escorted out of the sight of the chief and
out of the River land.
The boy was discouraged, but knew he must continue for the sake of his people and his
family. He travelled far to the land of the Mountain, where the air was thin and the trees were
thick. He relished in the crisp air and the beautiful pines, and at once began to prepare his gift for
the people. Knowing that the Mountain beings valued their wood above all else, the boy began
chopping a tree for his offering. He carved and he etched, as well as his undeveloped and
untaught hands could. Anxiously carrying his gift in his worn down and blistered hands, he

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found the leader of the Mountain land, Sestoto’e, and requested an audience with him. He bowed
before the tall and sturdy man, laying the carved spear at his feet and told his ill-fated story.
Sestoto’e stared with a furrowed brow and inspected the thin spear. With a single swing, he
snapped the spear in half, splintering wood across the boy’s dirty and tired feet. The boy
shuddered, but did not cry.
“We cannot accept this, anyone would know to never use this type of wood for a spear. It
will snap at the softest fury of the wind and never protect one from the enemies of this Earth. Just
at the sun knows when to rise, a Mountain inhabitant knows the value of strong wood. You and
your people do not belong here. I grieve for your misfortune, but this is not the place for you. We
are a quiet and learned people, unlike the unruly and ardent ways of the Fire people. We have
nothing for you here.”
The boy hung his head and silently slipped out of the Mountain land and on to his last
destination. He heart was heavy, like the weight of snow on the boughs of the evergreen in the
deep of winter. Despite his discouragement, he had hope that his people would find safety, if
only he worked this hardest for this last proposal. He arrived at the beautiful land of the Sky, and
was awestruck by the colors that seemed to dance through the air and sparkle through the night.
He was amazed by their majesty, and realized his own ugliness. The soles of his feet were
calloused and bare. His hair was scorched, matted and bloody; his skin was clothed in smoke,
soot and ashes. Turning his head away from his own appearance he spotted the most vibrant
berries and knew what he would use to make his offering. The boy worked day and night to
smash and mix ingredients for many different paints. When he was finally satisfied with his
work, he carried his gifts to The Great Expanse, where Nonoma, the Sky leader, was to be found.

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The boy approached boldly, confident in his work and his craft. Nonoma emerged from
the lofty teepee, and his eyes widened at the sight of the boy. Head to toe the boy had painted
himself in the brightest shades he could create to cover his dirty and burned skin. Reds, yellows
and blues bled together like a drunken rainbow. Nonoma approached him softly and the boy
diligently told his tale with the most potency and inspiration he could. The boy ended his
proposal by leaving the bowls of paints at the leader’s feet and bowed. Nonoma closed his eyes
and sighed, stooping down to the boy’s level. With the lick of his finger, Nonoma wiped across
the boy’s forehead, revealing the soot and ash hidden below.
“I see you have tried to hide who you truly are. And with poorly made paints no less. The
strength of a paint is not only in its in ingredients, but in the purpose behind the creation. See the
art around you? All of these were made out of a desire to realize the art trapped within. We in
land of the Sky are a limited people and our food as of late, is also limited. I am sorry; we cannot
accept your offering and we simply do not have room for you and your people.” And with that
Nonoma left to mediate in his teepee.
The boy stumbled away, spilling his paints as his went. His feet finally gave way and he
tumbled down the hill. Landing in a patch of grass on the river’s edge, it began to rain. The rain
washed away the colors he had so diligently created, and he saw the reality he had tried so hard
to conceal. His burned skin was revealed, as tears streamed down his cheeks like the waterfalls
of the great North.
Meanwhile, Nonoma meditated in solidarity until he felt a presence. Warmth surrounded
him and a voice broke through the silence,

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“Is not the bread of the loaf as valuable as the yellow wheat of the field that is admired as
beauty, yet only half spent without a harvest? So it is true, that beauty may also lie in ashes.” The
voice of the Great Spirit, Maheo, rang loud and pure in the heart of Nonoma. He emerged from
his place of sanctuary and surveyed his land. Seeing the work of his people always brought him
joy, but their famine had left them tired and disheartened. He knew what he had to do and sought
to find the boy.
Nonoma discovered him crying by the river, just as the downpour turned to a sprinkling.
Approaching him gently, Nonoma spoke softly,
“I am sorry for my cold-hearted response, young one. I can see you are brave and you are
bright. You have travelled far and should be proud of your work. But I cannot ask you to be what
you are not. You do not make paints, your people do not thrive on the creativity of mine. I have a
proposition for you, if you are willing. Your lands are known for the wondrous bread created
there. If you could you make some of that bread for my people, then we may be able to decide
your fate.”
The boy wiped his running nose on the back of his dirty hand and sniffled out a “yes.” He
went hard to work, first building a fire, the same way his father and grandfather had taught him
to do. He layered the wood for the most flavor and began work on the dough. Harvesting fresh
wheat from the painted fields of the land, he crushed the grain into a powdery flour. With the
special recipe his mother had taught him, he kneaded and kneaded using the strong and familiar
muscles he was accustomed to using. At last, he laid out the loaf on the make-shift oven he had
created and waited. All the while, Nonoma watched with patience and the Sky beings began to
gather to watch the boy at his work. Once the loaf was golden and risen, the boy removed the
bread and broke the bread before the great leader. Bowing his eyes, he offered Nonoma the first

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taste. Nonoma received the offering and bite into the soft and dense loaf. His eye widened with
surprise at the flavor and warmth. He hurried for another bite, savoring the rich texture and taste.
After a short while, Nomona stood before the gathering and raised the remaining bit of
the bread to the sky. “Today we have been blessed with two great gifts: we have been given
bread and we have been given perspective. As your chief and leader, I hereby accept the Fire
people as our guests, in their time of need and in our time of need. They are welcome.” The
people cheered and hollered, then a great silence filled the space. The people realized they had
no room for such a mass of people and creatures to inhabit their land. Nonoma saw their concern
and bowed his head in focus. The boy watched with a reserved joy, knowing the gravity of the
leader’s words.
“But we must make room for them. I must make room for them, just as I have in my
heart. So I will give them my heart of hearts for their dwelling.” And with that Nonoma flew into
the sky and with a great gust of wind he swept through his precious place, his Great Expanse.
The wind blew away the paintings and the art; it blew away the meditation chambers and the
teepees. All that remained was a clear and clean slate of land, ready for a new beginning.
Nonoma returned to the Earth, spent and smiling, as he embraced the young boy, “Go, go to your
people and tell them they have a new home.”
The boy hurried back to his land, with a glad heart and quickened step. Sharing the
joyous news with his downtrodden people, he watched their heads lift and hearts cheer. As
smoke and fire chased the tired, yet hopeful people, they fled their homes for sanctuary in the
land of the Sky. They arrived in the Great Expanse that had been cleared for their arrival and
were filled with a sense of deep gratitude. The people began at once to build their ovens and their
homes. They harvested, kneaded and baked for days to share their talent with the starving beings

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of the Sky land. And in turn, the Sky beings shared their love for life and rekindled joy in the
survivors from the land of Fire. And that is why, on a clear night, you can see their thousands of
kilns, lighting up the sky, with the joyous fire from a hearth of love, coupled with the brilliant
colors of generosity and freedom.