As the sun fades purple in the escaping evening light, passing through the many murky clouds over Seattle, Tatanka the troll approaches the warm campfire just outside his teepee. Crossing his legs on the ground he completes a circle of native seattle creatures, such as evening pigeons, ragged rats and surprisingly large and patient ants, as they too enjoy the inviting glow. Tatanka is certain that they return to his fireside, on the far back lawn of the Sioux embassy, because they enjoy the stories he tells of his escapades in the unforgiving city, for they return even when he takes a few of their number for dinner each night. Even now a collection of mostly plucked pigeon meat rests in a hot trash can lid, dangled over the flames. As Tatanka plucks one of the wholest and prettiest feathers from his evening meal, he rests his staff across his legs and begins to speak to the creatures.
“Many moons passed after The Bison hooked claws with the Ghost Gator. I earned many treasures for my courage, and hid them in my secret place-”
Tatanka practically winks at the freshly turned pile of earth between the rows of ‘memorial cotton’ a few feet from his lodge.
“But to find a safer home, that I might speak to my ancestors in peace, I needed more treasures, more courage. So I answered the voices on the wind, I travelled to a house of feasting where my little plastic friend had a platter of food from my homeland brought to me. As I ate, my friends and I spoke to a Jon-Son in the unreal. This Jon-Son was a deputy who hoped we could make her Sheriff. She pledged many treasures, and her favour, and we accepted. I shared my feast with another deputy, one as big as I. And we were friends.
“We had to find one called Joonyah. He was a criminal, one of ambition and secrecy. We spoke far to our friends for clues and were approached by another free spirit, like The Bison, who wandered the streets, ate from the unwanted, and relieved himself whenever he pleased. Only later would my friends explain that it was deception! He was one who spoke to the people, swearing truth and intrigue. They said he was not to be trusted. His beard hung from strings.
“We also recieved smoke signals. Another faceless speaker, who claimed the deceiver was not to be trusted. Her words were not new thoughts for us but we considered their offers, and their treasures, nonetheless.
“Many tracks and scents pointed to a den of emerald and misery. My fast talking foreign friend was very excited to go. But when we arrived many deputies with flashing lights and dark scowls were wheeling the departed away. The land was thick with violence and restless spirits, and our searches within led us to tunnels underground. We were unsure if we should explore them.”