Step by silent step, beneath the brilliant red moon staring into his face, Dekanawida, Two Rivers Running, was careful to keep his shadow — hidden among the weave of trees on the forest floor — behind him. This way, he would never signal his presence to the prey.
Dekanawida remembered hearing the Shaman’s teachings of the legend, calling it a Blood Moon, a night for the hunt. He knew it as a time to prepare for the coming dark times, keeping his family sustained for when the white storms would come and game would become scarce.
In memory, Dekanawida heard the ringing words of the missionary, the Rev. Mr. Kirkland, when he told of the old holy man Joel’s foretelling, ”The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the coming of the great and awesome day of the Lord.”
Closer now, Dekanawida shallowed his breathing, coiled, his trade fusil charged, ready to slay the nearby animal for which he bore no malice. After all, he was stalking under the blood red moon, just like the one the Five Nations first came together under in the before times. The one that made the Haudenosaunee the strongest of all the people east of the Great River.
In the end he decided to use his warclub on the white hunter, who pushed his black shadow ahead of his loud steps upon the trail. But the young warrior knew the hunter was but a drop compared to the white storm about to cast its shadow over the land by the lake called Teshiroque. Perhaps a shadow that would remove the light and life of the people he swore to protect.
Dekanawida took the hunter’s gun, powder and lead, but left the man his hair. He then melted back into the shadows to resume his mission to bring food back to his family’s longhouse. After all, this was the night of the Blood Moon, and, while blooded, it was still a hunter’s job to hunt.