The children had finished their evening meal and now huddled in their blankets, watching sparks drift upward into the dark.

Their mother finished wrapping a blanket around the youngest while coyotes called somewhere across the valley.

The old man stirred the fire with a stick.

For a while, the family was content contemplating the glowing embers.

Then the oldest boy looked up at the sky and asked, "Grandfather… why does the wind always seem to know where it's going?"

The old man smiled slowly. "Well now," he said, "that's an old question. Older than these hills."

He pointed toward the wide prairie sky.

"Some folks say the wind just wanders."

The fire popped softly.

"But the old stories say something different."

The children leaned closer.

"According to the legends," he said quietly, "the wind knows where it's going because someone has been guiding it since the first days of the world."

He nodded toward the stars.