You're a native walking through the Southwest deserts a couple thousand years ago. It's night, the terrain is rugged but passable. The moon, obscured by clouds, is nearly full. It was a typical hot summer day. Now it's a warm, pleasant evening and you're taking a batch of roots from one village to the next. You're travelling at night to avoid the heat. The brujo told you not to chew a root until you made it safely to your destination. You've made the trek before but not often. You know the landscape for miles around. You chewed a small root soon after you left camp. You're hearing sounds you've never heard before. You enter a small canyon that you thought was near the next village. You recognize the people and speak to them as you meet them. It isn't until morning light that you discover you were speaking with a patch of friends like those above.