About the Forgotten
The air is crisp and cool as the sun takes its first glimpse at us from the horizon.
The chill is enough to draw the fog to our feathers and weigh us down with the frost. But we care not, there are leavings and offerings on the God trail. We wonder what would possess one to voluntarily sacrifice but we see no reason not to eat the leavings of the gods. And the many legged tiny ones that flock are like berries when there is nothing but bone left. We stay fed even through the lean times. We fly and we fly, and we feast. And we love The Kaankaańa. Being the bravest gets the first choice. We haven't lost since shortly after we fledged. Sometimes we can get so close we make the gods bellow and feel their heat. We get eyes every time we prove our name. Our nest name is Makes God's Bellow, in common is Ma'gobel. We are biggest in our crèche. Biggest any have seen. And we are in Plenty Times so maybe we will win the first Kaankaańa we find and give choice to the one we best. We would find honor in this.
Hopefully a new mate would take notice of our generosity and bravery. We care little for the others, but we would give all of the most beautiful stones to Sh’Nara, her spirit, her beauty and ingenuity surpasses all others! Oh, the nest we would make, and our flock would be strong with our offspring to bolster our numbers. She makes our heart fly while our body is still!
But enough wishful thinking, we must dance the Kaankaańa! There are new offerings on the God trail, and we are late...
Oregon - Present Day
Za'Kai
True, the change technically happens because of the moon, but it isn't a full moon that does it. It's the time before and after a new moon that we get our power from. It's known as the cat's eye. It starts with a pull, sorta' like the tension you feel when there's a crazy storm about to break, but in reverse. And then my eyes slowly get more and more photosensitive, causing migraines sometimes. The actual change isn't like in the werewolf movies. It's a very painful process, and the first couple times, it is pure agony and can last hours. I went through my first 8 years ago. I've got it down to twelve minutes flat.
I'm in my favorite part of the forest, running full tilt after exploding from camp after my 12 minutes of hell is over, when I catch scent of something I've never smelled before, and it stops me in my tracks. My Flehmen reaction kicks in and the hair on my spine stands straight up. An involuntary growl starts and then I sneeze, which sends me into spastic kitty mode as I paw at my snout. I must've looked ridiculous, but after the fear washes over me I realize that there’s only one thing that my kind are allergic to, and if the stories they told to us as kids, aren't just stories, that's a big problem, for everyone...
Leopard Lake Reservation - North Central Minnesota - Present Day
Sa'Hara
I feel like what I'm seeing doesn't really mesh well, I'm going to have to find somewhere else for this bibigwaan. It's supposed to have belonged to chief Gaawiin Otawagens, and is the very flute he used to play his heart song when he proposed to his woman. I avoid eye contact as another woke college bro walks into this part of the display. It's always the same, they come to take selfies. They only read the placards, for the name of the piece, and thee ONLY reason they're here is to make their life look more interesting on social media. They don't give a damn about the culture or heritage, The story behind the exhibits. And then I see someone standing alone, taking pictures of the exhibits, taking shots of every detail. As I get closer, I notice that he's very good looking and apparently tall as hell. He stands as I approach, going from a crouch to standing, in my best estimate puts him at least six and a half feet. He turns as I get close and say, " That's a nice camera, is that the Nikon D7-2? That had to cost a pretty penny!" He gives me this mischievous grin with half his mouth and an eyebrow raised, and says, " Good eye! Yeah, it was like four or five months of paychecks for this beauty, lots and lots of Ramen noodle dinners..."
Za'Kai
I never thought that I'd have to, but I’m going through the old stories, trying to piece together everything I can, knowing what I experienced was a close run in with one of the forgotten. It's hard searching for lost lore, because its very name implies scarcity. It's like searching for a needle in a pile of metal shavings. I can't shake the feeling that if I wasn't looking for this one thing so desperately, I'd see the bigger picture, but it's lost to me. What I can gather from the lore is that the forgotten should never be approached, accepted, acquiesced, or otherwise engaged. The forgotten are just that. A part of the lore that was lost to colonization, and boarding-schools. Another subject added to the unspoken. Topics that bring only stern faces and blank gazes. Abrupt shifts in the topic of discussion like polarity being switched, does little to dispel the awkwardness of a question unanswered. It's like when I was 7 and asked my mom why my uncle Randall was gone for so long, or why I had to play with my little sister until he left every time he came to the house. Except it isn’t like that at all, because now I know why my mother just started talking about the powwow that weekend after I had asked about Uncle Randall. I know why he was never allowed around the kids unsupervised. But I still know absolutely nothing about the Forgotten...
