I could see for miles. I saw boys from my childhood dragging their dead mother around so that corn would grow. They were wailing in fear. I called out to them, but they couldn’t hear me. Most of our people were at stockades, waiting to be moved west. Our people were being forced out of our land, this I knew, but I could not understand why. My thoughts were cloudy and confused as they can be in sleep. I tried to remember my name, but I fell into a strange loss of thought. For what reason did I awake? Why did I see these visions in the night? I saw oxcarts and soldiers with rifles. I heard the crying of children and saw our feeble elders being lifted into government wagons. I saw a flash of light across the sky. A pale mist swirled before me like a small tornado, holding the image of someone I recognized: you, beloved, a strange vision unlike anything I had ever seen before. I wasn’t able to speak or call your name, and in an instant you dissolved. Across the land I heard the wailing of someone in pain.

“We are Ani-yun’ wiya!” I shouted.

But when I spoke, I heard no language, no sounds of words. Instead I heard from my mouth a tiresome moan. The soldiers must not have heard me, as I was very far away. I shouted again: “Ani-yun’ wiya!” and this time again, a weary moan. Nobody seemed to hear me. I became frightened of myself, and for a moment I wondered if I had changed form or identity. As I examined myself, I saw I wore a buckskin, and I could not feel my skin. Clearly, I was a spirit now. I felt the earth beneath my feet, but when I stomped, I heard nothing. I tried to adjust to the elements, breathing deep. I did not hunger or thirst. I cried out in Cherokee like a wounded dog.

I saw myself as a strong, fierce presence. The air sharpened the sting in my eyes, and I knelt down and felt the ground for dirt, which I rubbed together in my hands to create heat. I placed my palms on both eyes, and when I opened them this time, I saw the spirits of those who had died before me, warriors, hundreds of them. I saw their sleek figures and raven-black hair and a thick, swirling dust building behind them. They wielded black and red clubs, the colors of courage and blood. They were watching me from a distance—for what reason I do not know. And I could hear them calling out:

Ayanuli hanigi! Ayanuli hanigi!

Walk fast! Walk fast!

In the distance I saw fires aroused from smoldering coals. I was left alone in the night, alone, near a stream reflecting the quivering moonlight. I approached the water and leaned over to look at my reflection. The image peering back at me in the water was not the face I had during my life, but some hazy figure whose eyes I could not see.

I stood and looked to the sky, where I saw two twinkling lights in the darkness. The stars told me our people were being held at a campsite nearby, and I needed to help them. I heard the howling of a wolf across the stream and saw that the wolf appeared to be in pain, lying on its side. Wading through the stream in shallow water, I felt no bottom to the stream. I crossed the water to the wolf, which howled again in pain, and I could see that the skin on the wolf’s neck had been ripped out, exposing blood and bone. I knelt down and placed my hand on the wound, which made the wolf stop howling. Then the wolf stared at me. His eyes held my gaze. He spoke to me through his eyes.

There is a great sadness coming to the people and this land, he said. Your people are being forced to leave, to move west, and many will suffer and die.

I did not speak to the wolf, but he knew I did not trust him.

He continued to stare at me: If you want a sign that I speak the truth, you must first throw me into the water.

So I lifted the wolf and placed him in the shallow water, and I saw that the wound had healed. Then I stood back, and the wolf came out of the water and shook its body dry.

For this I will protect your family. For this, because you are a spirit, you should know that you can transform yourself into a creature for eternity.

The wolf turned and walked away, and I shouted to him: “Wolf, how do I change my form?”

He turned his head and looked back at me: Believe you have wings, and you fly. Believe you are an animal, and you roar. Believe you are dead in the mud, and you sleep with the worms in the mud. No matter what you decide, provide counsel to your people as they are removed.

Then I followed the trail leading to the campsite on the westward trail. I never tired. I walked and walked. Along the way, I stopped and knelt down to wash my hair in a stream. My reflection was too dark to see, even in moonlight. The water rippled. I cupped my hands with water and drank as I had done in my life. Despite the winter, the water running down my chest and back didn’t feel cold.

In the ground I saw horse tracks. I saw footsteps, handprints, all leading toward the mountains, and I knew the soldiers were looking for those hiding in the caves there. I leaned down and smoothed the dirt, erasing the tracks with my hands. I kept smoothing it, and strangely, my back was not in pain as it had once been during my lifetime. Time was unknown to me, and I kept crawling and smoothing dirt for what must’ve been hours without pain or fatigue. After a while I stood and saw that the sun was on the horizon.

Ahead, I saw the long trail of wagons and horses and our people walking. I saw all the guards, the ones who slept with their ugly mouths open and their white bellies uncovered, their jugs empty, their bodies drunk and freckled and light-haired and stinking with sweat and evil. The migration had begun.

I saw, too, the manifestations of others like me: the roaring bear in the woods; the soulful, howling coyote; the eagle circling in the endless sky; and I knew I was not alone. A satisfaction came over me when I saw these things, and for a moment I felt my anger lift away in the silence of the night. I was calmed by the sounds and visions of the night as I moved forward. I thought of what I taught you, beloved: harmony and peace. Anger is like flooding water, slowly building to destruction.