“And afterward, I stopped at Red Cloud's grave to pay my respects to the old chief. Some Oglalas had left him tobacco ties, little sacred bundles in all the colors of the four directions. I asked him to take care of my woman out there, where she was new and maybe lost. I asked him to take her into his lodge and protect her until I could come for her. That's all I remember.” DeathLossGriefProtectionAfterlifeIndigenousNative AmericansIndigenous PeoplesOglalaRed Cloud Book:Six Kinds of Sky: A Collection of Short Fiction Source: Six Kinds of Sky: A Collection of Short Fiction