Jacy knew his way through the plain to the mountains. He has done it with his father many times before. But this time he had to go alone for the first time.
The sight of grazing bison filled his heart with a strange longing. He entered the plain without disturbing them and reached the foot of one of the mountains.
He was carrying a rope and climbing equipment on his shoulders, and although he was tired from the long walk, he immediately began to climb.
He did not need maps or guides. He would never forget his last climb there, with his sick father, struggling for every step, clinging to the rocks, his hands clenched and his breath heavy.
He helped him however he could. Until they came to a kind of cave sheltered from the snow, you could see the vast, green and beautiful valley. “I want to die here,” he said. “You go home and come back when the grass turned yellow.
Jacy left him a sack of supplies, firewood, and blankets and said goodbye to him with a heavy heart. For months he scanned the far side across the valley for smoke coming from the little cave, but it was difficult, even for the trained eyesight of a Native American like him who had never left the prairies.
The time had come to return according to his father’s will. He reached the cave, and there she found his father Lye wrapped in a blanket, smiling, wide-eyed looking at the meadow, but lifeless.
Jacy saw embers in the fire. Lye’s soul must have to go with his ancestors just moments ago. The young man sat next to him and said a prayer in her native tongue. He stared out over the valley until sunset with tears in his eyes but peace in his soul. Then he built a large fire.
From afar, Jacy’s family saw a point of light from the small cave in the mountain as Lye’s body turned to ash that would remain forever in the most beautiful place he had ever known.