Adam sat cross-legged in the threshold of his family’s hogan, drawing figures in the sand with a stick. The evening sun began its slow descent behind the sacred mountains, alighting the sky in brilliant shades of deep orange, like the earth from which his people built their homes. Soon, the moon and stars would rise in the east and bring the night. One more day and no sign of his father.

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The hunting party had already returned from their journey, bringing with them a pair of deer for the communal meal. He could smell them preparing the fire somewhere towards the center of their village.

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Behind him, Adam could hear his mother beating down the wool yarn with her wooden comb as she weaved a blanket upon the upright loom. There wasn’t much daylight left to weave by, but she had been sitting in their hogan all day working on this new project.

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His mother was known for her beautiful blankets and rugs. No one else in the village could replicate her intricate diamond designs, making every piece one of a kind and prized by others outside of their tribe. That’s why father was so late in returning home. He said he would travel all the way to the Ute people to the north to trade her blankets for something special.

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“Why don’t you go play with the other boys?” she asked as she wove the white and gray yarn between the taut strings. “Staring won’t make azhé’é return sooner.”

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Adam sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was go play with the other boys of the village. “Have you heard what they’re calling me?” he questioned as he looked over his shoulder.

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His mother didn’t even look up from her project. “What? Ashkii Bináá’ Ch’ilgo Dootł’izh?”

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“Yeah,” he replied. “Boy with Green Eyes. I like my eyes. Why should they make fun of me for them?”

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A slow smile curled across his mother’s lips. Perhaps he was biased, but Adam thought his mother was the most beautiful woman in the village. If he had been to any other of the Diné villages, he knew he would find no one who could compare to her. He enjoyed helping her comb her long, silky black hair in the early morning before she wrapped it up into a bun with her strip of white cloth.

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Adam’s skin wasn’t as dark as hers, or any of his people for that matter. Even his hair wasn’t black like theirs, but a dark brown. Everything about him was just slightly lighter than the others in the village. Except his eyes. Adam’s eyes were the color of rich sagebrush, just like his father’s.

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“They’re not making fun of you, Adam,” his mother said, her words like a gentle caress to his nervous spirit. “The name your father gave you means nothing to them, so they look for something else to call you.”

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Adam turned himself around, discarding the stick he had been using to draw pictures since earlier that afternoon. The dirt beneath him scraped against the rough hide of his deerskin pants. “Then why can’t they call me something like Ashkii Dilwo’ii? Everyone knows I run fast.”

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She only shrugged. “Maybe you should go now and suggest it.”

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He rolled his eyes. If he went and told the other boys that he wanted to be called something else, they would only tease him and know that his bestowed nickname bothered him enough to say something. His father told him once to never let others know that something upset him. It would only give them the power to use his feelings against him. Adam saw the easiest way was to just leave the matter alone. He might have only been eight summers old, but he was learning much wisdom from his father.

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Besides, he enjoyed sitting and listening to his mother hum her songs while she weaved. When all the other boys were practicing shooting their bows, he was content to sit and stare at the horizon and wait for his father.

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He absolutely hated the days, and sometimes weeks, when his father and uncle were away to trade. When they were in the village, Adam didn’t feel so different from the rest. His father’s golden hair, the color of ripe corn, made him stand out among the rest, even if his eyes weren’t so green. Both his father and uncle were pale, much paler than the Diné, but not quite as pale as the men from the south who called themselves the Mexicans and Spanish. Adam always heard the elders whisper about how strange it was that Asdzáá Yanaha, his mother, would find such a strange man attractive enough to marry. That’s why they called her Brave Woman.

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Whatever it was they saw in each other, the Diné accepted the union and the men called Geoffrey and Hugo were allowed to live amongst them as if they were part of the Diné. It was an agreeable arrangement for everyone. Geoffrey and Hugo were accepted in almost all the other tribes, even the Comanche, so the Diné could trade with them without ever having to leave their sacred lands between the four mountains.

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Adam heard a shout coming from somewhere inside the village and scrambled to his feet to peek to the north. He could see four bobbing specs in the distance, ambling at a slow pace. He peered against the waning light and spotted his father’s golden hair.

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He took off just as his mother was rising from her place in front of the loom to see what the commotion was. Adam’s feet pounded against the parched earth and some of the other boys in the village joined in their race to meet the two traders. He was faster than all of them, though, passing by the fields of crops and herded sheep tended by the young women of the village.

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Geoffrey, his father, dismounted from his horse and caught Adam in his arms as he slammed into him at a full run. From atop his own mare, Hugo laughed and joked about the boy cracking a rib.

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“That’s all right,” his father said with a laugh. “I’ve missed you too, son.”

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As soon as Adam was firmly planted on the ground once more, his eyes drifted up to the bound load atop his father’s packhorse. “What’s the special thing you traded mother’s blanket for?” he asked in Geoffrey’s tongue, the tongue of the English. He had learned it aside his mother’s language since he was old enough to speak.

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“It’s not anything on there,” his father replied, then motioned toward the unburdened horse tied to Hugo’s saddle. “This is for you.”

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Adam’s mouth gaped open with delight. “A horse? For me?” he screeched.

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By now, some of the other village boys were coming upon the group that had been brought to a standstill.

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Geoffrey nodded. “It’s yours.”

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After giving his father another hug to show his appreciation, Adam fled to his gift. Horses belonged to those within the village who had use of them. The men who went hunting, in particular. None of the younger boys had their own horses until they were of age to join the hunting parties. Adam had many more summers before it was his time. He’d be the envy of every boy in the village and perhaps they wouldn’t call him Green Eyes anymore. Maybe they’d call him something more heroic like Horse Warrior.

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Adam reached up and petted the neck of the young chestnut brown stallion. The horse nudged his shoulder with his thick muzzle, a dark eye watching his new master with interest. Hugo dismounted his own steed and pushed his way through the tiny crowd of boys who were busily gawking over Adam’s gift.

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“Come here, boy,” he said as he easily lifted Adam onto the stallion’s bare back. “He’s quite tame. Just take a bit of his hair to hold onto.”

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Adam grinned so hard his cheeks began to hurt. “What should I call him?”

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“Whatever you want,” his father replied from the other side of their group.

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After a moment of thought and unwarranted suggestions from his peers, Adam announced in both of his parents’ tongues, “I’ll call him Gift, since that’s what he is.”

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Geoffrey nodded his approval and began to guide his two horses toward the village where a sizable crowd was forming just on the edge, waiting for his arrival. Adam watched as Hugo reached over and untied the rope from around Gift’s neck.

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“Take him for a ride,” his uncle offered with a wink.

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Adam didn’t have to be told twice. He kicked Gift and off they sped, leaving the jealous boys behind. He heard his father shouting out his feeble warnings to be careful, but caution was the last thing on his mind. With the wind tossing his hair and beating against his face, who could think of safety? All he could think of was that the boundaries of his home had just expanded. With a horse, he could go anywhere, even to the sacred mountains if he dared.

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(End of Excerpt)