The boy was fast, but not silent. Each footfall stirred the dust of his ancestors, and he knew the snake could feel it.

He was not a warrior yet. Not until he brought back the serpent alive.

The old ones had given him no weapons. Only a clay bowl, a looped yucca cord, and the blessing of his uncle—the Snake Priest.

“If the snake bites, it is your fault. If it flees, it is your shame. But if it trusts you—you will never go hungry, and your enemies will never see you coming.”

He ran between the sun-blasted stones, following the trail of the rattler, its winding body leaving tracks like lightning in the sand. The creature had nested beneath a sacred juniper—where prayers were still tied in faded corn husks.

When he saw it, the snake was still.

Coiled.

Watching.

He slowed his breath. Snakes did not fear strength, only chaos.

He knelt. His hand trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of generations watching.

Then he spoke, as taught:

“Brother Snake, I bring no war. Only the will to learn your way.”

The rattler lifted its head—but made no sound.

With slow hands, the boy lifted the bowl and gently tapped the earth three times. The snake moved. Not in anger—but in rhythm.

It slid into the bowl on its own.

That night, at the mesa-top fire, the boy danced with the others—live serpents in their hands, held like sacred spears. His elders watched without speaking. The flames cast their shadows like warriors on canyon walls.

The old Snake Priest finally whispered, “He walks the serpent’s path now.”

And from that day forward, the boy no longer ran to chase prey.
He moved like wind and struck like fang.

All front logos are customizable for military members, at no additional charge.  "Contact us" link at top and let us know what you're thinking.  

All of our products are made to order, to alleviate waste.     

• 50% polyester/25% combed ringspun cotton/25% rayon jersey
• Sizes are standard men's/unisex sizes.
• Soft AF