Fionna was so excited she was wiggling like the four-year old she was. Her parents stopped the car to look at a roadrunner. They were in Arizona near Sedona on their way to visit The White Deer Native American Museum. Reina White Deer had been a famous artist and activist for native Americans.

“The bird is smaller than I imagined,” her father said. “Now all we need is Wile E. Coyote.” Her mother laughed, and said, “What’s up, Doc?” The museum was in an old, rambling stone building. Fionna looked at beautiful weavings, paintings, baskets and jewelry with her parents. Her parents were in conversation with an older woman, who was sitting behind the jewelry counter. “My mother was Reina White Deer,” the woman said. “This museum holds my memories of her and of me; my name is Jill Prince.” She pointed at a painting on the wall of a beautiful young woman, holding a little boy in her arms. “My mother painted that of me and my son. Shortly afterwards, my son disappeared. This is all I have left of him.”

Fionna wandered into the vast back room, which was like a garden, full of desert plants and animals. The farther she walked, the sandier the floor became. A hawk flew low over her head, bells jingling on its talons. She was startled, and darted through two trees where she saw a door strangely high on the wall. She brushed away cobwebs; no one had passed this way in a long time.

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