[center][h3][color=000056]Chaska[/color][/h3][/center][hr]

	[i]A sound of moving water began to fill his mind, gentle at first, a mere trickle.[/i]

	Chaska's bare feet pressed into the damp dirt as he grounded himself firmly where he stood, his bare torso emitting a soft fog from the heat of his skin and the cold of the air. He was standing by a small stream on a patch of dirt near it's banks, a place he had found nearly as soon as he had found his dorm. This place was sacred to him, a place he could meditate and extend his soul to the [i]mni-nagi[/i], a place to teach himself the will and ways of his element. In his home, among his people, he will be required to guide in the way of his [i]icinupa nagi.[/i] To do such, he must mature and grow in his understanding of water, of the [i]tunkasila[/i]. 

	Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pushed the balls of his feet deeper into the wet soil, feeling the cold water flowing before him throughout his form. As he focused, his body lowered to a crouch and his hands submerged into the icy stream. For a few moments he shivered, but as he relaxed he felt the cold become comfortable and spread over his body.

	[i]The trickle began to grow, the sound of running water echoing throughout his mind.[/i]

	He began to feel the movement of the water, feeling the places it could flow, and where it could not. He lowered his head, and the ends of his long raven-black hair tickled the surface of the water, and he felt the contact within himself. Focusing on that sensation, he began to push his spirit outward, feeling the bottom of the stream, mapping it's textures and feeling it's obtrusions in the form of rocks and dust. He felt himself being pulled down, and allowed his spirit to flow with the water, experiencing each turn and drop as the stream grew and grew.  He felt himself moving faster and faster still, as the speed of his soul increased so did his mass, the conjoining of streams was making him larger and larger.

	[i]The sound grew steadily, and soon their was a roar within him.[/i]

	He was moving at dizzying speeds, but he forced himself to remain grounded and focused. He knew from his times before what was coming, a great fall of water that had always disconnected him from the water he longed to connect with in his soul. He felt a rising in his stomach, the nausea of such wild movement sickening him to his core. The vertigo had always become unbearable at this point, some of the earlier attempts had even caused him to fall into the stream before him. His fingers dug into the dirt of the stream, and as he pushed himself further and further streams of water began to flow up his arms, and their was water spreading across his exposed chest in individual lines. Dozens of them traveled across his form, and the streams soon began to crawl up his hair as well.
 
	As the water began to cover his physical form, he felt the point at which he had always failed arrive, and with an audible groan, he felt his spirit fly from the edge of the mountain, collapsing into the pool of water hundreds of feet below.

	[i]The Sound was silent, and he could hear it throughout his entire being.[/i]

	The individual streams of water traveling across his body broke apart as he pulled his hands from the water, and soon he was dripping wet from his head to his toes. Luckily, he had learned a long time ago to wear nothing but a pair of dark grey shorts when he meditated. Standing up, he rinsed his muddy feet in the water, and walked from the dirt patch to a nearby cluster of rocks; upon which he had placed a single towel and his regular clothing.

	Being sure to check his surroundings and guarantee there were no wandering eyes, he pulled off his damp shorts and picked up the towel, drying first his hair and then his naked form. After drying his torso and extremities, he clothed himself with a pair of dark blue-jeans and a simple black t-shirt. He had been lucky with these jeans, finding a pair that fit him this well at the goodwill on his reservation was a rarity, especially in such fair condition. He then sat upon the rocks and dried his feet, ignoring the slight dampness at his knees by the contact of wet feet and denim. After they were dried, he pulled on a pair of simple black socks and dark brown boots; some sort of generic timberland he had been given before leaving for the Academy by one of the Elders.

	After tying the laces of his boots, he pulled on the light Jacket he had brought as well, a simple thing with, in Chaska's opinion, beautiful blue hues. Reaching into the right pocket, he pulled out a soft-pack of unfiltered cigarettes, something his mother had promised to mail him in secret abundance. Smoking tobacco was a way of life for the Lakota long before the Europeans had come and wrapped it in paper, but one must admit it was far more convenient then a pipe. Removing a cigarette from the white pack, he placed it in his mouth and lit it with a lighter he produced from his jeans. 

	Taking a deep puff, he continued to towel down his hair, attempting to get it as dry as possible. He held the cigarette in his mouth as he rung the towel out with a quiet curse a few feet outstretched from him. His hair was still relatively damp as he dropped the cigarette to the dirt and ground it into the soil it had once grown from. Blowing out the final puff of smoke he had inhaled, he threw the towel over his shoulder and made his way back to the dorms as the morning light cast shadows behind the trees he walked through.