The prairie remembers everything. The men who crossed it believed they were making history. They were only making graves. This is where Wehwan was born, where his people lived, and where everything ended in a single night of fire and silence. 1835. The beginning.
July 1863. Three days after Gettysburg. The country is tearing itself apart over the question of who counts as human. Wehwan moves through this war as a man who is property to some, a curiosity to others, and invisible to most — while being, perhaps, the most perceptive person in any room he enters.
Every people has its medicine men. Men who stand at the border between what is seen and what is not. Wehwan has lived his entire life at that border — uncertain which side he belongs to, uncertain whether the visions that have guided him are gift or damage. The spirits do not explain themselves.