Three-Rivers had ridden in thunderbeasts called cars and busses, and flown in thunderbirds called airplanes, and floated in a humming journey-house called yacht. He had also ridden thunder itself to do the world-canoeing called time-travel. But none of the curious methods of travel on Sunset quite compared to riding the thunderhorse called motorcycle or bike. The journey on the thunder-trail called highway was loud, windy, perilous, and most exciting! Eddie commanded his thunderhorse in much the same manner as a Spanish would ride his antlerless fury-elk called warhorse. Three-Rivers, for his part, just held on to Eddie’s backpack straps and tried not to die from falling while he looked around at the masters and riders of the various beasts and their enslaved manmade animals.

Three-Rivers had first learned of thunderbeasts back in Mother Earth. Now, every medicine-man in Mother Earth already knew about thunderbirds—although not about their bustling nests called airports. But when Three-Rivers met DeathSong under the trees of Mother Earth, and saw the pictures of thunderhorses and thunderbeasts painted on his back called tattoo, he knew that thunderbirds had ground-dwelling cousins just like eagles and other flyers had four-leg cousins. He could plainly see in these pictures that thunderbeasts were ridden by men and sometimes killed men; specifically the parents of DeathSong.

After this revelation Three-Rivers first developed the notion that he would come to Sunset and beseech the Grandfathers of Sunset in their White House of the American Tribes concerning the enslavement of the thunderherds, and perhaps win their freedom. This was not to be. The Sunset People did not even believe that the thunderbeasts were alive! That so many could hold such an absurd notion was frightening, although understandable, as the enslavement of these mighty beasts was beneficial to the Sunset People, who gained a lot of time by this. And time, to a Sunset Person, was as important as living was to a Civilized Person of Mother Earth.

And look at you Sunset boy called hypocrite, riding the very beasts you had once sworn to free! You are becoming like these busy, pointless ever-hurrying people. Look at them all, thundering along, either attempting to be the first person to get to the next town, or not even contemplating their journey or the awesome power they command. Look at that woman painting her lips as she hurdles along faster than a swooping owl! Look at that fat man with the greased hat bouncing along up in that gigantic belching beast that is longer than a house. He yawns, wanting to sleep, even as his beast tries to suck this thunderhorse beneath its many hooves called wheels. See that man there, possessed by his domineering cell, pecking away at its symbols…

The passengers were even more interesting to watch. Some of these were children who waved to him triumphantly, thinking he was a child zooming around like a thunderhorse tribesman called outlaw biker and pillaging towns. He waved back to them, risking his life in the process, by giving them the thumb-pointing-up-sign with the confirming-wink-of-the-eye.

Eventually they came to a place of giving money to a matron—and there were many such places on Sunset! This place of giving money was called a toll, which permitted Eddie, for two CherryTreeKiller Ancestor trade notes, to thunder through a long cave called tunnel that brought them into the Town of Burnt Men. This was most exciting. To bless their passage into this town of stony despair he chanted the Den Song used by hunters to lure sleeping bears out into the light of spring. He felt that this was perhaps an irreverent act. But it was the best burrowing song he had, since Scamper Ground Hog Scamper was really just a song to entertain children, and he was, after all, a thunder-stealing medicine-man on a quest…

They headed down onto a black thundertrail and Eddie said, “Welcome back to Harm City son.”

Eddie guided his thunderhorse along the stone trails that crisscrossed this congested warren of high stone houses. As they rumbled past a dirty crowded bay called harbor and a journey house with roped trees called masts he was certain that this was the same ground on which the Spanish had built Porto Soto back in Mother Earth. Eddie then took them beneath the square sky-piercing mountain houses and put his beast to sleep outside of a trading place called Lexington Market.

“Okay son, around here we carry our helmets and saddle bags. We need to get some cell phones—prepaid, and a coat for you. Then we go get a hotel room.”

There was only one decent food stall in this sprawling trading place; a place of bread-trading, where Three-Rivers traded money for bread called multigrain. He also bought a coke and sipped on it while pinching his nose against the reek of burned animals. The Sunset People had some disgusting dietary habits: foremost among these being the cooking of one animal in the melted fat of another animal!

What crooked mind first decided to melt the fat of a four-leg and then burn the flesh of a flyer in it!

The most unfortunate of all Sunset animals had to be the flyers—that obviously could not fly very well as they were caught in such great numbers—called fried chicken. Everywhere he turned one of these poor birds was being torn between the hands and teeth of some ravenous person. And then there were the shaved imprisoned bison called cows ridden by boys with hard moccasins before having the milk sucked out of them and being ground up by some pitiless thunderbeast to fit between two pieces of cow-eating bread called roll. Even though Three-Rivers loved his bread he could not bring himself to eat one of the tasty cow-oppressing rolls. Last, but not least abused, was the dirty squealing Spanish animal called pig who was turned into flesh-bark called bacon, flesh-maize called sausage, and ribs called finger-licking good by Eddie, who so relished the fake blood called barbeque sauce slathered on with a sacrificial brush by the persecutors of these fat animals!

Wrong-eyed boy, it would be best if you avoided dying while on Sunset, for you might just transmigrate into the body of one of these hapless animals to be devoured among these dirty stalls.

“Eddie, when you are done sucking your fingers can we find a pinecone trader. I want to burn something in our space-trade that will smell good.”

Suck, “Sure thing son”, smack, “Miss Sheila ova dare gotz a whole cart”, slurp, “a some nice smellin’ shit.” lick.

Beginner save me!

“Eddie, I am not so poor that I must trade a matron for her waste to burn in my campfire!”

“Oh, my bad—a figure a speech son. She got smelly beads—yo Sheila! Hey baby girl gotz a customa’ fo you girl!”

Matron Shelia, who, on any sane world would have been named Melted Bead after her art, stood by a cart that did not roll but had wheels anyhow, and sold her beads. Three-Rivers walked up to her and bowed with praying hands and said as formally as possible, “Matron Sheila, I seek the scents of Mother Earth in order to cleanse my nose of the vile reek that abounds here.”

The woman beamed with puffy brown cheeks creased in an honest smile. “You came to the right place young man. Let me demonstrate our weekly special. We have Lassie, turkey and dolphin burners with tea lights, stick matches and an assortment of beads—any you choose. I make these beads myself in thirty-four scents. Fifteen gets you the whole deal—gift-wrapped. What will it be?”

“I am headed out into the wild for a vision quest, so I should need the turkey—he is a friend though not a close one. I will have oak, pine resin and spring-flower scents—no manure thank you.”

Sheila made a show—and an art—of demonstrating the melting of her beads, sold him on an extra measure of clean-cotton beads, wrapped it all in a medicine box, and blessed him by God.”

“May The Beginner bless you and your beads as well Sheila!”, and they were off to get cell-phones…