The shaman before her, Inyan Ceye, smiled reassuringly through his buffalo mask as he prepared his knife. The obsidian was sharp and the warrior could hardly feel any pain when the skin of her chest was cut open. Two thongs were attached to her. “Wait, Wi Ile Anpo,” the shaman said. “You and I are not finished.” The woman could feel the blood trickling down her chest, staining the leather she wore. She swayed a little from her overall weakness as the shaman circled around her. And then she could feel two more incisions on her shoulder blades and more thongs attached. Kathleen watched as her warrior was pulled from the thongs hanging from the pole as well as the ones attached to stakes pounded into the floor behind. As the shaman moved away from Anpo, she could see her winuhca swaying back and forth, pulling at the rawhide that held her pinned. Around her the crowd continued their singing, repeating the same song over and over as the dancers danced. As one by one they pulled away from the pole, ripping themselves free, the gathered people cheered for them.
