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The above coordinates are for the general area, and where you park your wagons is up to you, neighbour. Up here is nothing much but wind, a wide prospect and a few ol’ buzzards!
The story goes, a young brave, too small to go on the warpath, sat dozing by a camp fire one night, half listening to his elders drone on about buffalo.
After a while he sensed a change in the rhythm of the talk, and he could hear the Chief and the Shaman chanting a ritual. Listening carefully he realised this was an important secret, and he memorised the words.
Kawaci nîyânan mon nîyânan ayinânew mon mon ayinânew
Kisiso mon mon peyak mon newo nîyânan nîyânan nikotwâsik
The following dawn the young brave slipped away on his great adventure, and some folk say he became a rich injun; others say he yelled out ‘miki'-miske'n’ while still in earshot, and he got what he deserved, not what he found.
Just maybe what he was lookin’ for is still out there somewhere. Anyway on a still night folks say that kind of angry voices can be heard on the hillside.
‘Tániwé’ they say.
Oruvaq vil pbirerq srapr cbfg
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Coordinates are in the WGS84 datum