In Memory of Mom "Cheyenne"

~ Marie Arlene, Dec 17. 1949 Jan. 27, 2026

“It felt as if she had dropped a long, long way from the moon…”

That’s how Cheyenne arrives in The Faeries of Willow Tribe—a little out of place, tender-hearted, trying to understand why she is here. And for me, that opening has never been “just” a beginning. It’s a mirror of life: the feeling of landing in a world that’s beautiful, yet unfamiliar… and learning, slowly, that you belong.

My mom was practical. She believed in what was real, what was steady, what could be counted on. Good shoes. Good education. Showing up. Doing the work.

And yet—she also believed in story.

She created Cheyenne.

She described her as the red-haired, freckled faerie from the Redwood Tribe, and she asked me to place her in the tale. Those freckles weren’t a flaw to correct—they were a signature, a constellation, a kind of sacred proof that “different” can be destiny.

Back in 2002, my mom even helped fund the artist because she believed in the vision. The early art didn’t fully capture what she could see so clearly and years later, in 2024, it felt like the universe finally met the character halfway—AI filled in the blanks and Cheyenne appeared the way my mother always knew she would.

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As the story turns toward its final blessing, the Redwood Chief gathers everyone in stillness. The tribe pauses, listening, because some news is sacred enough to require silence.

Cheyenne, he says, is not only loved—she is essential.

Without her, the Redwood Tribe would wander on this Earth Walk without a way home. But with Cheyenne found, everything changes. The tribe’s freckles—those unique dots and spots—become more than markings. They become a map. A living alignment. A kind of “DNA” written in starlight, able to match the patterns of the heavens and guide the whole tribe back to the Star Nations.

And when the call comes, it isn’t an ending.

It is an honor.

The Star Nations open like a doorway of light. Thunder rolls through the valley. The tribe rejoices, because the next step in the Sacred Circle of Life has arrived. They lift their faces to the sky. They dance. They reach upward, and their freckles align like constellations—each one a small truth, each one a point of guidance.

One by one, they rise—carried on silver paths of light—moving forward, not in fear, but in celebration. And Cheyenne goes last: twirling, singing, not so much a goodbye as a happy farewell.

That’s where my practical mother and my spiritual heart finally meet.

Because my mom taught me what lasts: how to be steady, how to show up, how to love in tangible ways. And through Cheyenne, she also left me something sacred: a story where the “different one” becomes the key… where belonging is remembered… where home is written in the stars.

Now, as we step into the Year of the FIRE Horse—courageous, strong, forward-moving, and true—I imagine my mom’s spirit the same way: practical courage in her bones, sacred light in her wake. Called onward, not lost.

Mom, thank you for the character you created, and the love you lived.

May Creator receive you into the Celestial Heavens. May the Star Nations welcome you home. Mitakuye Oyasin—We are all related.

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