Iktomi, that old trickster, was sitting on the bare ground under a huge weeping willow. There was a large lake behind him, with small waves from a breeze. He was next to ashes that were still warm from a fire, and his ankles were crossed around a small clay pot of tasty fish soup.
He was feeling both very good and very bad today. Very bad, because his mischief had once again kicked him out of the nearby Dakota band. And away from their comfortable buffalo-skin teepees, their chatter and laughter. And food!
He didn’t like to be alone, but he couldn’t stop himself from playing tricks on others. His tricks never worked, but that didn’t stop him. They also made fun of him, he reminded himself.
“The other Dakotas laughed at my red and yellow face paint with black circles around my beautiful eyes! They laughed even harder at my wonderful buckskin breechcloth and leggings I made all by myself! And they laughed the hardest at my long braids tied with fur!” He held out a braid to look at it, which was pretty messy.
But he thought he looked very handsome. Then again, Iktomi always thought he looked handsome. He also felt good today because he’d caught a small trout, all by himself, with a handline and a dried bird claw. He’d been so hungry, and waiting for the fish soup to cook had made him even hungrier!
He dipped his long-horn spoon in, licking his lips. Iktomi wasn’t someone who ate regularly; in fact, he went hungry more often than he liked. His tricks on others didn’t make him very welcome. He was also quite selfish, which was the opposite of Dakota generosity.
His selfishness is why he’d hidden himself so well…
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