Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

Mictec had to admit, she felt ridiculous about the next part but if she did not abuela would have smacked her. The thought brought a small smile to her face and she sat by the marker and bowed her head. With eyes closed gently she spoke aloud in the ancient tongue that only the Tlacuilos, the pack elders, spoke, a tongue that was dying in place of their more common speech of Spanish.

"Ompa huehuetihuan in techixiptlahuazqueh, tlehuitzintin ompa itech citlalmeh, ma titechpalehuiz in tloqueh itlacameh huan ma chicahuaz in tocuauhtli." ( "To the ancestors whose spirits guide us, shine as stars above our path, that we may honor your legacy with every step and allow our roots to grow strong.")

As her tongue washed over each spoken word, she felt a strange sense of pride, one that made her begin to believe in the value of the prayer.