Native American drums sounded everywhere, in her ears, her head, her heart, her very soul. They called to her, inviting her to join in the rhythms to come and meet someone. She followed the sound, trusting in a way she never knew possible. She followed, her bare feet slipping on the sand, lifting the beige hem of her cobalt blue night gown as she walked. She glided effortlessly up the dune, until she reached it's top and looked down to the source of the drumbeats.

There were no more drumbeats. There were no drums, no people, only a small coyote and a raven. They started up the slope and stopped a foot from her, and just stared.

Time passed. Time stood still. Did it really matter? Then they spoke, in voices that came from the drums.

"You can not enter." said Coyote.

"But why?" Her own voice had the mistiness of a ghost.

"You are not ready." replied Raven.

"How can I not be? I am old enough.'

"You are not complete." Coyote again. "That is the key to eliminating the barrier between us."

"Not complete?"

"There are those who can help you .One you know already. Ask for their counsel."

She wanted to ask more, but Raven let out several loud caws that twisted and turned and became the annoying buzzing of her alarm clock.