This is Sacagawea. Here, the Mormon nation is a superpower.
In the northern woods, redfolk still live. Alas, if only the Mormons, and the white race in general, didn't keep trying to come out here and evict every redfellow they found.
Out here, the Métis and Blackfoots struggle to hang onto what they've left. Without luck, the Mormons and Russians will take it all from them.
In most seasons, stratus clouds cover the sky. Not much light ever gets through.
Out here, deep in the forest, a white family's got a nice layout. It's a complex of many cabins attached to one another; some bigger, and others smaller.
A nice breeze blows through. Outside, some linens hang on a clothesline. The breeze helps them dance to its own music...primitive though it is.
With hook-shaped paws, a young mini schnauzer hangs from the line, by his paws, from the line. He's just had his bath, and he's been "hung out to dry." And schnauzers do take a VERY long time to dry...
From out a back door, a Blackfoot maid comes outside. She's got a very large wicker basket in her grasp. She closes the door behind her, and hauls the basket out to the lines.
She leaves the basket at one end. She walks to the farthest end of the line, and pulls a few down. She endures the long path back, and drops them in the basket.
Uphill, there are woods. Wolves don't usually come down from there...but they often lurk there. Not all of them are black.
Some are white. A surveyor's come out here to do some work. He's got a telescope. His sights are set on the lovely Blackfoot maiden, loyally committing herself to her white masters' wills.
Bourne grins. They've got her right where he wants them...
In his surveying kit, there's a compartment. He opens it. They're pieces of a long-range lever-action rifle; one of the newest, and allegedly one of the best. Alas, it usually takes at least forty-two white boys to figure out how to assemble one.
Once, Bourne asked his father where babies come from. "Well," his father told him, "some folks just go over to Colt, buy a basic set of parts, and put it together at home. But not to worry, sonny; you didn't come from Colt. You were a lever-action revolution from Henry; a reborn Colt, and MUCH better for the environment."
Downhill, the maid's about halfway done. Bourne wouldn't mind watching her try to cross the ocean with the Titanic...if only she was guaranteed no life raft when the iceberg came along.
At last, it's ready. Bourne lies on the ground, and reloads the weapon in goat steps. Alas, every now and then, the lever action makes a loud click...
The maid stops. So does the surveyor. He lies as still as possible...
In the shadows of the forest, a spooky wind blows. If Bourne wasn't so excited, he'd be able to tell he's not alone.
The maid gets back to work. At last, the rifle is cocked and ready. So is Bourne. With a scope, he pins the crosshairs on the maid's ass.
It's such a nice ass. He almost feels bad, that he's about to kill its owner. Alas, if only better asses could be born from white females...preferably white females with blonde hair...like the Vikings always did...and still do, in some fjords...
From behind Bourne, a foe approaches. Needless to say, her Schwarz is bigger than his.
It's a ten-gauge shotgun...looted from another white man she's slain. Boldly, the phantom stands over Bourne's back. She points the bore down, and takes aim. She releases an easy breath, pulls the trigger, and goes with the recoil...and not to mention the blood splatter that happens as a result.
Downhill, the maid screams, and looks up the hill. She doesn't see anything...but she does see smoke emerge from the shadows.
The specter emerges from the shadows. It's in a gas mask, and carries a smoking ten-gauge shotgun. The Blackfoot maid stands petrified, at the bottom of the hill, not knowing what to do.
From up above, the schnauzer starts tinkling. He's running a waterfall all over the maid's head. The maid's so scared of the specter, she doesn't notice.
Heroically, the maid's savior takes off the gas mask, revealing the raw Métis spirited face of Kat Loving. She's brought her hat with her. She pulls it from the throw she wears around herself, and waves it, from atop the hill.
At first, the maid is confused. So, Kat goes back into the shadows.
The maid waits, still confused. From the shadows, she hears a gross hacking noise. She fidgets in disgust.
Above, the hanging schnauzer whimpers.
Kat comes back out...with the head of the maid's would-be attacker hanging by his hair in her hand. His neck still drips with blood. At this, the maid vomits.
Kat only smiles, and holds the head up high. She beams.
"Saved your life," Kat calls down to her. "You're welcome!"
The schnauzer's urinating again. Again, the maid's too terrified to notice.
Next, Kat holds up the lever-action rifle; the one that would've killed the maid. "This is all yours! Judge it with extreme prejudice!" She throws it down the hill. It touches down, and starts rolling.
As it rolls, it shoots. Below, the maid screams each time it does. In a perfectly-timed cycle, the rifle reloads when it's on one side, and fires when it's on another. On the upside, nobody gets hurt. On the downside, Kat causes a scene.
By and by, the rifle lands at the maid's feet. By now, its mag is empty. But it sure smokes a lot.
With that, Kat waves her arm. "So long, bimbo! Be sure to thank your masters that their maid is not dead, because of Indian warriors, like me, who still give enough shit about their own race to protect it from the likes of white wolves, such as the one I just saved you from!"
With that, Kat takes her leave. The maid only stands still...still very unwary of the dog's urine stains on her head.
Aback a mighty mustang, Kat rides to welfare...if not home. Alas, she's got a stop to make.
At the courthouse, she trades Bourne's head for a fat bag of bounty money. Turns out that Bourne had notches carved in that rifle that Kat was in too much of a hurry to notice. The Blackfoot maid wouldn't have been his only victim...or likely his last.
In town, she gets a lot of critical looks from whitefolk. She only flips them the bird. She would show them her bare ass...if she thought the sheriffs would let her get away with it.
Victorious, she mounts her mustang, and rides out. She can now afford to go grocery shopping...if only she found the white man's means of acquiring food more appealing than what the Métis have ever been used to.
Somewhere else in the forest, there's a much smaller cabin. This is where she and her beau call home.
Meet Bob White. He's Métis perfection, if Kat ever met it. She shares a life with him. And to her, he's worth more than all of the gold in the Deseret treasury; not that Deseret would ever share it with anyone who wasn't a Mormon.
With a heart of gold, Kat secures the horse in the stable. This is just about one of the few times in Kat's life her heart is ever made out of anything that's warmer than ice.
In the intimacy of the cabin, she and Bob make sweet, hot, and spicy love to each other. He might need some stinking candles...but she sure as hell doesn't. Where she comes from, if sex with you really is nothing without candlelight, it'll NEVER be shit with it.
Soon, they're lying in love with each other, and sharing a bed. Both of their stomachs are empty. But then, that's one of serotonin's advantages; when you're hungry, you can't tell.
Serotonin has done many medical miracles for Kat. And yet, for the most part, she'll never thank the hormone enough. Crying shame. The hormone loves her SO much...
Outside, the forest night stirs. A soft wind blows. For a very short time, all is right in Loving land. Tomorrow, Kat can't wait to slice off the heads of some other white bastardizations from Mormon hell...
On the front porch, the wind chimes sing a lullaby. Ah, but if only lullabies could guarantee blue skies from now on... But then, out here, the skies are never blue. Often grey and sometimes white...but never blue.
Atop a tall metal post, a weather vane stands. It's of black metal, and shaped like a falcon. Right now, it points north. One spooky gust later, and the vane does an about-face.
In the midst of her beauty sleep with Bob, Kat's eyes open. Something's coming...or someone. And they're not selling eggs and butter...