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In memory of Cheyenne Amine Webb (aka Dakota Wolf)

Cheyenne was a trans woman who lost her life while in a men's prison. Here is a compilation of memories from people that loved and cared for her


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My name is Pharaoh Rohn Grayson, and I was lucky enough to have had the gift of a friendship with Cheyenne Web over the last 8 years. She left us too soon and we miss her so much..

    I could come up with a million stories about Cheyenne, "Chy" for short, but one story or two or even three is not enough to glimpse the beautiful person she was.. Like all of us, we are molded by our life events, and the  indelible mark life leaves on us. Hers was a story  of a soldier, who put her life on the line for our freedom,  of a parent, and spouse who suffered a loss of her family by a tragic accident.... That accident brought her here to us.. And a person strong enough to take that step of transition here in prison..Not an easy task by any means.!!!

     For most of us, we were a bit smitten with her looks.. Those cute freckles sprinkled across her face. The devilish grin and snappy wit that drew us in and put us at ease. She was someone who was that proverbial light that we all flocked to.. The closer I found an artist, a guitar player, a chess player, and someone who had so many natural abilities it was quite amazing to see..Her dark humor was quite fetching as well, and left me smiling and a bit tickled in each encounter.

     What really makes people memorable is the gift they leave and how they changed you..... I was blessed to see Chy come into  her transition and commit to it.  I bore witness to the hardships of issues that kept dragging the medical aspect of her transition on, for far too long. She was fearless and unapologetic all the way, and it gave me the strength I needed just at the right time, as I fought so long with my own identity...I have happiness these days because she showed me hope.... She literally blazed the trail with key other individuals for all the LGBTQ+ here, to be themselves and gave people the sense of community we so desperately needed in this bleak prison space.

    My last time in her presence, I had a medical appointment for hair removal, and got to medical to find Chy sitting in the corner of the waiting room.. Her usual beautiful smile, and general concern for me was evident as always... I,was a bit gruff that morning because my appointment had been put off, but her usual opener melted my mood., and I found myself in comfort as I waited with her.. What I would give to have that  moment in time. To say, I love you.Chy, and thank you for all I got from our friendship.. Your friend forever........ Pharaoh 




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 My favorite memory of Chy is the time we were out in the yard when she spontaneously removed her shoes and socks (even though the ground was soggy at the time).  She said she wanted mud and grass between her toes.  I bared my feet as well and joined her in walking around in the soggy grass.  While we walked, we talked about how much tougher our feet were when we were younger.  I remember she told me that walking barefoot in the grass made her feel connected with the world.  Whenever I walk barefoot in the grass, I remember Cheyenne Webb.  Jaina Raelynn.



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 I remember chy as always being true to her druid practice. It was always fun to see her take her shoes and socks off at ritual and how she always loved being connected to the earth. She always took such care preparing the fire too. She was such a good leader and always wanted to help people learn. she would always make these funny faces when around her friends just to make them laugh. She always made me feel loved and like I mattered. She was a great friend and I will always love her.

Ashley Raelynn.

      

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In the spring of 2018, I arrived at Stafford Creek Corrections Center, utterly terrified. It was my first time being incarcerated, and the stories people had told me about prison were horrifying for someone like me who was a fresh-faced twink. I walked into the pod, placed my bag of small personal belongings in my cell, and hid, gripped by fear. Soon, there was a knock at my door, and I was requested in the resource room. That’s where I met Cheyenne. Chy, as we affectionately called her, took me under her wing for the longest time. She provided everything I needed and made my stay more bearable. At that time, I had nothing—no family support and no job. She gave me all the hygiene products I needed, fed me, kept me company, and taught me the ins and outs of the prison and its politics.


Now let me tell you about Chy. She was STUNNING! She had this coy but fierce look about her at all times. Her piercing eyes sparkled with a fierce inner light, and her sharp jawline framed a smile that could disarm even the toughest of souls. Her coquettish personality was infectious and fun, and she had such fierce energy that followed her everywhere. She was wild, loving, loyal, and sweet. She was SO sassy and had such a wit about her. We would always make each other laugh and had great chemistry.


Chyenne had a way of making everyone around her feel seen and valued. Her laughter was contagious, a melody that could lift the heaviest of spirits. She had an uncanny ability to find joy in the smallest of things, whether it was a shared joke or a quiet moment of reflection. Her presence was a beacon of light in the often dark and oppressive environment of prison. She was a master storyteller, weaving tales of her past adventures with such vivid detail that you felt like you were right there with her. She always left a lasting impression on everyone that she met. 


As I got to know her, I learned a lot about her past. Chy was a parent who had endured the unimaginable pain of losing her family in a tragic accident. She was also a soldier who had served and survived in Iraq, carrying the heavy burdens of war. Her struggles didn’t end there; she battled addiction, a fight that took a tremendous toll on her spirit and ultimately led to her incarceration. Internally, she grappled with her identity and the constant quest for acceptance. She was someone who was hurting tremendously, a soul burdened by the weight of her experiences and the scars they left behind. She was a complex, multifaceted individual who had lived through more than most could imagine, yet she remained fiercely protective of those she cared about. Her journey was a poignant reminder of the profound human cost of trauma and the incredible strength it takes to keep moving forward.


Cheyenne was a woman who loved heavy metal and played the guitar with a passion that was palpable. Her spirituality was a cornerstone of her life; she was always attending her rituals, guiding others on their spiritual journeys, and serving as a teacher along the way. She was a fierce protector, always ready to fight for others and herself. For me, she was a source of immense comfort. Her kindness and unapologetic nature helped me come out of my own shell, allowing me to grow and find my inner worth. I admired so many things about her—her talent, her grit, her mama bear ferocity, and her infectious energy. She was someone I deeply wanted to emulate, and I was in awe of the strength and resilience she displayed every day.


Some of my best memories of her bloomed from the eight months we spent working in the greenhouses at Stafford Creek. In the herb shack, a tiny kingdom of fragrant chaos, was where you’d find Chy. Perched on a weathered stool, she tended to her herb with a quiet intensity. Lavender, sage, thyme, and rosemary—a symphony of scents that filled the air as her nimble fingers transformed living plants into fragrant treasures. It was in this haven that she seemed most at peace, her spirit as serene as the gentle sway of the mint bushes outside. We’d often share the warm concrete floor of the lush greenhouse, our skin kissed by sunlight as we lost ourselves in conversation, our hands entwined, dreaming of a world beyond these walls.


I count myself incredibly fortunate to have shared a piece of life with her, to learn from her strength, and to have loved her fiercely. Yet, the weight of her absence is a relentless ache. The knowledge of her silent struggle will wrestle with me forever, and question every moment, every choice. Could I have reached her through the shadows? Could I have offered a lifeline when she felt most alone? I only wish she had the chance to experience life out here as her authentic self. I find myself wondering, if she were to have made it out  here, what clothes she would have worn, how she would do her makeup, what style she would have rocked, and what kind of mischief would she get into? She deserved to live again, to experience life, to love and be loved,  instead of dying in a cage. I desperately wish to have seen her soar. 



Her life, filled with resilience and struggle, underscores the profound human cost of incarceration. The system failed her, as it does so many others, by not addressing the root causes of her pain and struggles. Instead of providing support and rehabilitation, it confined her to a cage, stripping away her dignity, identity, hope, and potential. I envision a world where people like Chy, are given the resources and compassion they need to heal and thrive. Helping to create a society that values restorative justice over punishment, and that sees the humanity in everyone, regardless of their past. Chy deserved to live a life free from the chains of incarceration, to experience joy and freedom as her authentic self. Her story fuels my commitment to fight for a world where no one has to endure the same fate, where healing and support replace punishment and isolation. I miss her terribly, and invite you all to reach out to someone who you think might be struggling or lost, and give them a little comfort or hope.


With love,


Stanley Feliciano


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I met her at Stafford creek in 2017!I enjoyed when she'd laugh at my joke's even when not funny.the talks we had about our experiences in life and hopes for the future.Her honesty with me when I needed to be held accountable.The joy that she brought to those who surrounded her.just a simple head nod or hello when we'd see each other on the breezeway. these are some of then things I'll miss of my friend. these memories are what I'll cherish. Anselmo Braffith


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