The country was a dry rugged land with big rocks, sage, prickly pear cactus, creosote trees, in the distance were mountains. The small village was probably Apache and likely before Europeans had entered the land-- at least they were no factor in the story. The homes appeared to be like wickiups-- rounded, not teepee like, with small saplings forming the roofs and walls. I was a young woman, married but with no children.
I can't say I was unhappy exactly. My husband was a kind man but there was another in that tribe who was the one I was attracted to. He was a younger man. He was in training to be a spiritual leader. He and I resisted the attraction between us until we didn't and eventually were found out. We were banished from the tribe.
Once off by ourselves and reestablishing a small camp, he was depressed, had lost his purpose, felt he had failed the people, himself, and Spirit. I felt sorry for his losses but was living on a simpler level and was happy just to be with him, to have no more deception, but life was not easy. To survive in this country was hard even for those in the village, let alone by ourselves. It might have been a time of drought.
He went farther and farther from the camp to hunt and then one time he didn't return. I didn't know why. Did he desert me? Was he killed? No way to know. By myself survival was questionable anyway but I quit trying and starved to death.
(The photographs in this blog are from my times in the Dragoon and Huachuca Mountains of Arizona very like where the story could have taken place.)