Crying Wolf

Once upon a time there lived a little boy who would be named Crying Wolf. His skin was the color of sunset and his hair was as dark and as soft as the night. He loved to race the wind through the grass and listen to the music of the stars as they danced out of reach of the morning. There was much joy in his heart, and his soul was honest and kind. This is the story of how he became a man and earned his name.

It happened long ago, when trees could still speak. They didn’t whisper, as you sometimes hear them do now when the wind is high. They could really speak, just like you and me. Mostly they talked about the things they had seen, which was everything from morning dew to the great dancing lights of the North.

One day, the little boy who would be named Crying Wolf lay quietly on his back beneath a great willow tree on a hill when he heard something strange and wonderful. “Did you know, little man, that there is a wolf on the hills?” The little boy didn’t bother to answer. The trees could speak in those days, but they did not listen. “I saw her myself last night. She came and slept beneath me, laying right where you are now. Her fur was as dark and as soft as the night. Tears fell from her eyes like stars and she could not speak.” The little boy had heard of wolves, but never seen one. There were many dogs and coyotes around, but no wolves.

“How do you know she could not speak?” The little boy asked the Willow, forgetting that it would not listen.

“I offered her a comfortable place to rest her head,” the Willow continued, “shelter from the wind, and the pleasure of my company for as long as she liked. I could tell she was not from around here, so I started to tell her about our lands and all the trees and people and animals that share this place. I had only just begun when the morning arrived. She yawned, as if waking up from a deep sleep, stretched her legs and left.”

All the way home, the Willow’s story ran through the little boy’s head like a twister. Where did she come from? Why was she crying? Where did she go? As he ate his supper that evening, he asked his mother about it. “Mother. Have you ever seen a wolf?”

“No, son, I have not.”

“Do you know what they look like?

“Yes. They are like a great dog or coyote.” The little boy’s mother placed some wood on the fire that burned in the center of their teepee. Sweet cornmeal bubbled in the kettle hanging over the flames. The little boy considered this thoughtfully.

“How do you know what they look like, if you’ve never seen one?” He took a small bite of dried bison.

“Son. Haven’t you ever seen a wolf hide?”

“Yes.”

“Haven’t you seen the wolf skull atop the Shaman’s staff?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember when your father showed you the wolf tracks on the riverbank?”

“Yes.”

“And I know that you have seen dogs and coyotes. Why then, surely you can imagine what a wolf must look like?” The little boy was not convinced. His mother served him a bowl of the cornmeal, which was now very hot. He had to blow on it and stir for several minutes before he could eat.

“Mother, I have seen all of these things, but none of them is a wolf.”

“Tell me son. Why are you so interested in wolves all of a sudden?”

“The Old Willow told me that there is a wolf on the hills. She was crying and it gave her shelter.”

“A crying wolf!”

“Yes, mother. That’s what it said. Her hair was like the night and stars fell from her eyes.”

“My dear, silly boy. Wolves don’t cry.”

As he lay by the fire that night and tried to go to sleep, the little boy could not stop thinking about the wolf. He was a good boy and loved his mother very much, but he did not think that the Old Willow would lie. His father would be gone for at least one more moon, and the little boy was pretty sure that he wouldn’t think wolves could cry either. If only I could find her, he thought to himself, find her and catch one of her tears. Then they would believe me. Then they would have to. Smiling, the little boy who would be named Crying Wolf pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders and fell fast asleep.

The next morning, he woke up before the sun and got ready to go hunting. His mother heard him trying to be quiet and asked him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to hunt the wolf on the hills and bring back one of her tears.” His mother smiled at this, but warned him,

“You be very careful. If there is a wolf on the hills, crying or not, I don’t want you going near it.”

“But, mother. How will I catch one of her tears?”

“You’re a clever boy. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

It was the middle of summer, and the days were long as the sun lazily made its way across the sky. The little boy traced the stream back to the Old Willow to look for tracks.

“Good Morning!” Said the willow. “Looks like it’s going to be another hot day.” The little boy patted the willow’s trunk and smiled. Even though trees did not listen, they could feel, and a friendly pat always made them feel happy. “Do you remember that wolf I told you about? Well, last night she came back. You had just given me a hug and left when she came up over that hill.” The little boy could not believe it.

"What? Did she speak? Where did she go?”

“She was crying again,” the willow said. “Even harder than before. The first night, tears fell from her eyes like stars. Last night they fell like rain. I gathered my branches around her to comfort her and whispered a song that I learned from a sparrow.”

“Where did she go?” The boy demanded.

“As I started to whisper the song for the hundredth time, the sun came up and she left. I do hope she’s going to be alright.” The little boy bent down to look more closely at the grass beneath the Old Willow. He could find no wolf tracks, but noticed that the ground was soft and squishy, as if there had been a heavy rain. This was strange, because there had been none for some time now. In fact, he had heard his mother speaking with another woman about how badly the rain was needed.

By time the sun stood directly overhead, the little boy had searched far and wide for some sign of the wolf. Discouraged and hot, he decided to go home. As he walked along the stream, the little boy noticed that there was not much water left in it. Many of the stones that he had once thrown in were now drying in the sun. When he got home, the little boy was surprised to find his father there.

“Father!” He shouted, and ran to him.

“My little man!” His father knelt and squeezed him tightly. “How I’ve missed you. “Your mother tells me you’ve been a great help to her. I’m very proud of you.”

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon." The little boy said. “Did the hunt go well?” His father suddenly looked troubled.

"No, son. It did not.” He stood and removed his quiver. “Of these twenty arrows, not one has flown. The grass is burning. The fowl have left and the bison are sick and dying.”

“Is it because there is no water?”

“Yes. Many moons have passed and the sky remains silent. If she does not speak to us soon, we must go and find a place where she will.”

Each day the heat grew worse, until the very air shimmered and danced like prairie fire. The Elders decided to wait for the sun to come and go twice more, before agreeing to move. Although he was very young, the little boy understood how serious this was. There were many mothers with infants and also many elderly in his tribe. The drought had already taken its toll on them and many would not survive the journey.

That night, the little boy quietly got out of bed and made his way to the Old Willow. “There you are.” The willow greeted him. “I see that your people are suffering greatly and many of the animals have already left. I suppose that you will leave too if the sky does not soon speak.” The little boy sat down at the foot of the willow and sighed. The Old Willow’s branches stirred and gently brushed the side of his face. “You’ve already missed her.” The willow softly whispered. Strangely, this didn’t seem to matter to the little boy. The suffering of his tribe saddened him and the future held its secrets safely out of reach. “She asked me to tell you something.” At first, the little boy was not sure he had heard correctly.

“What did you say?”

“I said that she asked me to tell you something.” The little boy stood up and placed both hands against the willow. His heart beat in his chest like a drum and his mouth went dry.

"What did she say?” He whispered in awe.

“She told me why she was crying and what you must do to save your people.”

* * *

“Father! Father, wake up!” The morning sky was blushing and sunlight streamed into the teepee.

“What? What is it my son? The little boy’s father slowly rose to his feet.

“I know where there is water; enough for us all!”

“What? Where?”

“I do not know, but I’ll find it with this!” The little boy held up a forked willow branch. The little boy’s father walked over and gently took the willow branch in his hands. There was nothing remarkable about it. He carefully handed it back. The little boy’s father was a good man, and trusted that he had raised his son to always speak the truth. Many would doubt that there was water to be found, but he would believe in his son.

“Then we must go and see the Elders.”

* * *

“Of course you and your son may search for water, if you like. But, if the sky does not speak to us before the sun goes down, we have no choice but to move the tribe.” It was agreed that two of the Elders would accompany the little boy and his father. The little boy held the willow branch by the forked ends and pointed it straight out in front of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“We will find it.” His father said and placed a hand on his shoulder. They started walking.

For many hours they carried on in silence. They searched the plains. They searched the hills. They walked along the dried stream and still there was no sign of water. The little boy, his father, and the Elders were nearly exhausted. “I am starting to think the buzzards will find us before we find water.” One of them remarked.

“Concentrate.” The little boy’s father urged them. The sun was now slowly falling into the west. The little boy’s arms ached from holding the willow branch out in front of him. His hands were cramped and sore. Sweat ran into his eyes and stung, but he dared not let go of the branch.

Without noticing, they had wandered to the foot of the very hill where the Old Willow rested. The little boy looked up and wondered for a moment if the Willow had misled him. He had listened very carefully to all that it had told him and the Crying Wolf had been very clear on what he must do. No, he thought to himself. The Willow has been faithful and honest. If I have been misled, it is because I have not followed my heart.

Just then, the willow branch quivered in his hands and bent toward the ground. His father and the Elders stared wildly. “What does this mean?” One of the Elders managed to speak.

“We must dig.” Said the little boy.

It wasn’t long before many men were gathered and began digging into the earth. “Come look! I’ve found something!” Someone soon shouted. It was an entrance to a cavern at the base of the hill. Torches were brought as the men worked their way deep beneath the ground. The entrance that had been uncovered quickly opened onto a path that spiraled out of sight.

“Who will follow it?” The Elders asked.

“I will.” Everyone turned to see the little boy standing there. The path wound deep into the earth through jagged arches and clutching roots. The men’s torches cast playful shadows across their anxious faces.

“Do you hear that?” One of them whispered. They all stopped.

“Can it be the wind?” Another asked.

“It is water.” The little boy turned and smiled. “It is the water that will save our people.” They proceeded once more down the path. Though now their hearts were light and their steps were sure. It was water. Even before they could see it, they could taste it, clean and fresh in the air. The path turned a final time and opened onto the shore of a vast underground lake.

“How? How did you know this would be here?” Someone stammered at the little boy.

“The Crying Wolf told the Old Willow that she’d put it here for me to find.”

Nine men followed the little boy down the path to the lake. Ten returned from its shore, bringing hope to their people. The tenth man was Crying Wolf.

* * *

Many years later, Crying Wolf and his son would lay beneath the Old Willow and listen to what it had to say. In the summer, when it was very hot, he took his little boy to the lake in the cavern, where he could swim and play with the other children. There was much joy in the heart of Crying Wolf’s son, and his soul was honest and kind. He loved to race the wind through the grass and listen to the music of the stars as they danced out of reach of the morning. One day he would earn the name "Falling Rock" for himself. But, that is another story.