It hurt and I ran, trying to escape it, trying to follow Red Crow, who would show me the way. I felt as if any sound I might make would be that of an animal. Sometime later an old woman, assisted by two younger girls, teenagers, led me to a place where they’d gathered water in plastic five gallon jugs. There was more body painting, this time in blood, although I didn’t know where or what it had come from. It was a mushroom and the boy spoke again, urging me to eat it, and to swallow the remainder of the cup as well. I’d been cut deep on both sides and there was pain, but it was lost to the sudden penetration of the wolf’s penis as it slipped its sheath and stabbed inside me quickly. My body shook with the force of the animal’s thrusting, the tip of his cock driving up and in, over and over while the tribe around us went unheeded. When he had finished I wore two rings through my nipples and the pain faded quickly, especially as a young Indian girl of 12 or 13 was right there to dab some sort of creamy ointment around the fresh holes in my body.
