Kivi sat in her bedroom the night before she was supposed to start her drive down to the roundup. She was perched on the edge of her bed, alone after dealing with the words between Michael and Ivy that finally sent her scurrying off to her room. Admittedly, Michael was taking it well. She wasn’t sure if Michael deserved it or not, but that was between the two of them. Kivi, though stern at times was never cruel. If anything she was the stoic girl everyone could count on. She saw herself as reserved, certainly, but she was not shy. It was easier to read a situation, person or horse if you were quiet.

Her gaze fell on the two dolls she had on her dresser, both covered with glass to avoid dust.one was old, her grandmother had had it on her shelf in her living room for as long as Kivi could remember and when Kivi had gotten pregnant, she had given it to her. The tribe was famous for their dolls but this one was different. Less about tourists and making money and more about symbolism and purpose. She loved that slightly battered doll, it was one of her most precious possessions. The second doll was given to her by her Cousin Kimi when her grandmother had passed away. Both dolls were decorated and beaded in the style of the Niitsitapi people. Her prized possessions.

Every summer Kivi had gone with her grandmother to Badger Two-Medicine, the sacred land, for a festival and had heard the stories of Niitsitapi from Tribal elders. Her whole life, her grandmother had spoken of energies and the byplay of light and dark. Kivi was not especially religious but she believed in those things taught by her grandmother. Now, as an adult, she wished she had more of that heritage to give to Evie. Gram had died when Evie was about 9 and while the child had her own doll given to her as a birth gift, she had not the stories from the elders, only from her mother and grandmother. She wasn’t even sure if Evie remembered going to the summer festival.

Kivi rose from her bed and lifted the red, leatherbound journal from beside the dolls, In it was the stories. She’d written them when she was pregnant so that she could read them to her daughter. Some of them were written in the language of the Niitsitapi. Kivi used the book to keep fluent, at least at the written word. Kivi had stopped going to festivals when gram had died. Kimi always invited them and Kivi always used the ranch as an excuse. Gram had died shortly after her father and the words were honest. Kivi was always honest. This year, maybe she would go and take Evie. Her connection to the tribe had been important to her while her grandmother was alive. She did a disservice by not remaining so. Indeed, she thought, the festival would happen and she would allow the grief it would bring. Kimi would be happy.

Tonight, alone in her room she was filled with the need for the stories. The first page of the book held a picture of her and her grandmother. On the back was a small inscription in the language that said “Remember who you are, Nuttah and life will work out as it should“ Gram had called her Nuttah, the whole tribe did, it meant “My Heart.” Kivi smiled softly and bittersweet. Grief was like glitter, they said, and tonight she’d found errant pieces.

She sniffed slightly and tucked the picture in the back of the journal and began to read, softly speaking the unfamiliar words in her attempt to keep somewhat fluent in the language. She only spoke it aloud these days to Kimi on the phone and she was positively rusty.