His words spoke the answer to her question about Colby. "If he dances, then he reclaims a life that he doesn't want. Can he reconnect with his family and not dance?" She sighed as she realized unearthing those answers would be like finding a lost earring on the forest floor.
"Gray Cloud," Christa said. "Does the audience ever get to dance? Do we wear costumes?"
"It is called regalia, and no, you do not need to wear regalia to participate in the intertribal dance," Gray Cloud said. "It is a chance for everyone to have fun. Each dancer will have a different experience during the Pow-Wow. Cherish it and treasure it. I do want to remind you to never touch a dancer's regalia. You may ask questions, but under no circumstances do you touch it. A dancer's regalia is an extension of himself and his spirituality. Years go into making the regalia. Some are passed down through the generations with new symbols or beads added to show the important aspects of the dancer's life. It is a symbol of pride, hard work, and truth. You must respect that." The storyteller took a small breather.
"Remember, a Pow-Wow is a celebration. You will not find ill will or hatred at a Pow-Wow. Everyone is there to have fun, to dance for himself, or a loved one. Go and enjoy."
Other questions were asked and answered. A renewed enthusiasm shone in the kids as they sat straighter yet leaned towards Gray Cloud. Legs bounced and feet tapped the ground, while eagerness and curiosity filled the faces around the campfire.
"They caught Rodeo Fever again," Megan said. "There is the inability to sit still, the constant chattering, and the wide-eyed enthusiasm. Great." Megan sat frozen, unsure of her ability to handle the next month and all of these campers. "One month of Rodeo Fever. Yee-haw! It's a good thing Faith is around to help. Without her, I would never survive the next thirty days." Megan returned her focus to Gray Cloud, refusing to let her thoughts about the campers ruin her spirit.
As Gray Cloud talked about different dances, such as the Prairie Dance and the traditional buckskin, the dancers passed before Megan's eyes, their rhythmic movements in time with the drumbeats. Chants in native tongue surrounded the camp, as did the jingling bells worn around ankles. Bodies bent like willow branches, while ease and joy shone in their expressions. As if a stranger had entered camp, the dancers dispersed.
"Crazy old man."