Manitou

The sun shines directly on his face, yes, that boy, the boy I saw in the dream. He was wearing brown deerskin boots, red embroidered leggings and a white leather hunting jacket, and held a double-barreled long shotgun. There is a dagger and rope on his waist, and a leather pouch tied with a string hangs around his neck. Next to it is a clay pipe, and a two-layer necklace made of brown bear claws and teeth. His hair is tied up into a crown, with a strip of colorful snakeskin woven into it. His beautiful hair hangs long on his back, without any feathers. There was no melancholy in his eyes that I had ever seen before, instead there was a look of determination, seriousness and pride. About eighteen or nineteen years old, I still feel like a child, although I have no idea how old I am. "What's your name? Have we met before?" I asked him. He seemed quite surprised by my question: "A woman should state her name first when talking to a man." "No." "What?" "I don't have a name." I lowered my head: "At least I can't remember it now." Intention: