The wind brought Chaska, and also took away the time of her growth. The fragments of free turquoise are like the earliest scars in her life. They shattered gently, but let her start the journey of transformation.

The purple dead leaves are dull in color, but they weigh heavily on her shoulders. That is the hurdle she must cross. The animal teeth are sharp and cold, like the test of fate for her. The immature, the experienced, and the domineering ones are all embedded in her bones and blood.

The gift book of “Dispute” is not a gentle guidance, but a cruel experience. From teaching to philosophy, every step is full of struggle and blood and sweat. The silk feathers and the crown of wisdom are the marks of her growth, and also the pain that cannot be erased from her heart.

Her weapon, the red feathers of the starry sky vulture, carries endless storms and prairie fire. The mist of the divine secret smoke and the fragments of the refraction embryo, the whistle, all declare her loneliness and strength.

Mora is her only flowing blood, supporting her groping in the dark many times. The deep and entangled gaze and the withered leaves and purple flowers are the eternal scenery in her heart, desolate and hopeful.

The wind blows, but Chaska still stands. The wind takes away her youth, but brings her strength. Her growth is a silent struggle, and it is also the most real poem in the wind.