Fallen Star grimaces his face as he stares up at the mess above him. Behind him, his wife and mother hold their hands up to the sky, concentrating. In front of him, his aunt does the same. He gives his head a frustrated shake, then holds his own hands up in an identical pattern before concentrating in the same manner.

The walking giant above them - criss-crossed with barely visible chariots from those pesky Olympians and Romans - is wreathed in a storm of clouds, gray and green in a way that only a prairie storm can conjure up.

The voices of the four immortals rise above the storm, cutting through it in a manner that only they know how - “Glekhiya!”

“Go back from where you came!”

They know their power is not enough, but with the grace of the Grandmother and Grandfather, they should be able to keep the massive titan from walking over ȟesapa, the Black Hills.

Their charge is the heart of the world. The Olympians may have the mouthpiece of the world, but the spiritual essence of everything in this mortal world is right underneath their feet, and they don’t even realize it.

Fallen Star snorts as the titan stumbles off to the north, around ȟesapa. “And they don’t even know what they almost stomped on, do they?”

Standing ten feet away, his immortal mother shakes her head. “Nay! Not them again. Them damn Olympians… they think they know this continent, but they haven’t been here on Turtle Island for more than a few centuries! They haven’t even found the heart of it, yet.” Her lilting rez accent reminds Fallen Star of the gentle summer breezes, and he smiles at his mother’s annoyance.

His wife, the youngest of them all, but still far older than most of the gods fighting above them, speaks softly. “We can’t keep pushing them away, can we? We’re not getting any younger down here…”

Their matriarch, the woman standing at the front of them, is the one who answers, with a proud and loud accent, like his mother’s on steroids. She is his mother’s older sister. “Nay! We need to do what they’re doing, don’t we?”

“And that is…?” Fallen Star inquiries, but suspicion is in his voice. He steps back towards his wife.

Blue, their immortal matriarch, gestures towards the sky and the retreating Olympians. “They have… what do they call it? Two camps for their half-blood offspring.”

To his side, Red Cheek snorts. “Aye, if only we Lakota were anywhere near that promiscuous. Nay, I’ll not be cheating on my husband anytime soon.” She looks upwards, blowing a kiss towards the sky. She shouts at it, “I know you’re listening, dear husband! I’ll see you again soon enough, or maybe I’ll pull you down here for another visit!”

She smiles broadly, her cheeks bright red in the hot sun.

“I wouldn’t mind seein’ dad again,” Fallen Star agrees, pulling his wife closer. “But children? Do any of the spirits have children?” He directs the question towards Blue.

She shakes her head slowly. “Nay,” she explains. “The old spirits are too… too powerful to do anything down here.” She laughs at the idea. “Ha! If old Wi were to show up down here… I think we’d all fry hotter than my frybread and bannock on the summer solstice. Either that, or they’d blind anyone they tried to woo.”

“What can we do?” Rising Star’s quiet voice cuts through.

The four immortals watch as the titan disappears over the horizon, silence enveloping them as the sun sets.

“Pray to the upper spirits,” Blue says finally, as touches of red begin to streak the western horizon. “Because I’ve no idea.”