The Fate Of the Tribes

I am in sheffield with my family, and we are walking through an old area of sheffield, down by a river and some old industrial buildings.

We look up onto the hill side, and I see, to the right side of the sunny hillside, an old medieval field system of old walls, and to the left, larger fields stretching out to the moors.

I say to my family, I must wander over to those hills, I might find a home in those hills,

And I am genuinely interested in seeing what they are like, and if there might be a spring nearby.

Up on the hill, now, and we are re-enacting a historical battle.

Two armies are gathered; I'm being lead by Snowfalcon, he is dressed in black, and is leading us into a dance... We are putting down our weapons and joining him in this dance.

The other army is being lead by Coyote, and he is leading them in the ways of martial arts and nature survival...

We are all lead into a circle, on the edge of the hillside, where, in the center of the circle, the youngest of the warriors must dual, to an unknown end, to decide the fate of each army.

I watch as the Son of Coyote, and one of our warriors steps into the circle. Their knives are in there hands, ready to fight.

Our warrior throws his knife at Coyote's son, and coyote's son jumps out of the way, the knife falling to the floor. Coyote's son picks it up.

His father speaks up saying
'Now we have the upper hand'

Our warrior is undaunted by this advantage of his opponent. He knows he has the skills of movement. He runs at coyote's son and kicks one of the knives out of his hand.

We stand, watching, with baited breath, the fates of the tribes unfold...