As they talk, the dreamcatcher walks into the tent. His clothes are wrinkled and dusty.

“Hau,” he greets them.

The shaman looks up at him and turns to the chief.

“Another one who didn't notice the doorbell. What a waste of money,” the shaman says. “What brings you here, Blue Arrow?”

“Nothing to write home about. I just saw Man Mountain’s horse outside your tent and thought I’d pop in and say hau."

“Alright. How are things going at work? No offence, but you look as if you've been dragged across the desert.”

“Mine's a tough job, man. I was hunting dreams in the desert when my horse lost a horseshoe. I had no choice but to reshoe it right there. It was so sweltering I thought I’d pass out.” The dreamcatcher runs his fingers through his messy hair. “But I can’t really complain. I’ve had a bunch of folks lining up day and night outside my tent.”

“How come?” the chief asks.

“That’s the thing. I haven’t figured it out yet, but they all tell me the same story: they can’t dream. So I’ve been filling orders like crazy. What about you, Shakiro? Word on the street you want to retire. What is it? Your prostate or something?”

“Very funny, Blue Arrow… I’d gladly tell you about how things are down there/in that department, but I’ll spare you the details out of respect for Man Mountain.”

“Just kidding, Shakiro. You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah… especially on weakdays… But speaking of wet ties…”

The dreamcatcher and the chief look at each other in confusion.

“Haven’t you seen me in your dreams lately?”

The dreamcatcher pauses to think.

“Not that I recall.”

“Not even in your nightmares?” the shaman insists.

The dreamcatcher shakes his head hard.

“Exactly! You don't remember because I haven’t been in them, that’s why!

Anyway, we have more important things to talk about now,” the shaman says, pulling a small computer out from under the rag and starting to type on it. Man Mountain and Blue Arrow look at the little device, goggle-eyed.

“Yes, I have an internet connection. Don’t look at me like that.”