Black Feather Cliff

In the center of the small Idaho town where Steven lived stood a large, craggy rock. Its sides were slick and steep with scraggly bushes poking out of cracks. No one knew why the little town built itself all around the cliff, it had just always been that way. A strange, gritty powder covered the surface of the rock, but no one knew where that came from, either. Everyone did wonder, however, what caused some strange rumblings in the ground beneath the cliff.

It was hot the day 11-year-old Steven decided to climb the cliff. The summer had been boring, and he was desperate for some excitement. He grabbed a candy bar and set off. The climb took nearly an hour because of the hugeness of the rock and the slippery powder that covered everything, but finally he was looking out across the treetops.

"Wow," he told the sky. "I can see forever!"

He had just ripped the wrapper off his candy bar and taken a bite when he heard a young person's laugh.

"Whoa, who's there?" he gasped, stumbling backward. "Ouch!" he cried as he fell to the ground.

"Ouch!" a voice mocked.

Steven rolled to his knees and looked all around. "Where are you?" he demanded, his heart pounding like a drum.

"Where are you?" said the laughing copycat voice.

Steven stood up slowly, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

"Stop teasing," he said more quietly.

"Stop teasing," the voice giggled.

Confused, Steven sat down on a rock. He could not see anyone else on the cliff.

"Are you some kind of ghost?" Steven asked.

"I am a fierce Shoshone warrior," the voice replied soberly.

"You're an Indian? Well, fierce warrior, be brave enough to show yourself," Steven countered.

"I cannot. It is against the rules for me to be seen," the voice explained.

"Talking to thin air is creepy. I dare you to show yourself!" Steven demanded, bracing his hands on his hips. Suddenly a dust devil whirled up out of nowhere, covering him in gray powder. Steven gasped for air.

"I have great powers. You should fear me," the voice said sternly as the dust settled.

"Dust devils don't scare people, they just taste bad. What is this dust?" Steven coughed as he brushed off his hair and clothes.

"It is ash from my signal fires."

"Signal fires?" Steven asked, curiosity overcoming any fear.

"I am Black Feather. I signal my people to come for me."

"I think you're just a figment of my imagination," Steven stated, rubbing his eyes.

"I am a real warrior. This cliff is my camp. When my pony comes, we will ride to the great buffalo hunt," Black Feather explained.

"Nobody buffalo hunts anymore," Steven answered.