Taylor Sheridan’s expansive Yellowstone universe continues to unfold across generations, weaving together stories of the Dutton family and the Indigenous peoples whose land they inhabit. Among the most compelling narratives in 1923 was that of Teonna Rainwater, a young Native American woman who endured horrific abuse at a Catholic boarding school before fighting back and escaping. Her story, filled with courage, violence, and survival, resonated deeply with viewers and brought long-overdue attention to the historical trauma faced by Indigenous communities in early 20th-century America. Now, as fans await Sheridan’s next Yellowstone prequel—likely set between 1923 and Yellowstone 1969—one question looms large: What became of Teonna Rainwater?

Teonna’s arc in 1923 was one of the series’ most brutal and emotionally raw. Subjected to physical and sexual abuse at the hands of the school’s nuns and priests, Teonna’s resistance culminated in a violent and vengeful escape. Her character, portrayed with haunting authenticity by Aminah Nieves, became not just a survivor but a symbol of defiance. She embodied a story rarely told on television: the resilience of Native women against systemic oppression and erasure. But by the end of 1923‘s first season, her fate was left hanging—reunited with her father and on the run, her future remained uncertain. That unfinished arc demands resolution.

Sheridan’s storytelling has always leaned into legacy—how the past informs the present, how trauma echoes through bloodlines. Teonna’s storyline fits seamlessly into this philosophy. If Sheridan continues the Yellowstone prequel timeline, either in a direct 1923 sequel or a new series like Yellowstone: 1944, the fate of Teonna should be a central thread. Her experience is not just a side story; it’s a vital piece of the larger historical puzzle. Teonna Rainwater could very well be a direct ancestor of Thomas Rainwater, the tribal chief in the main Yellowstone series played by Gil Birmingham. If so, her survival and actions would help explain his strength, leadership, and deep connection to the land.

Answering Teonna’s story is not just a matter of plot—it’s a matter of responsibility. 1923 introduced viewers to a horrific part of American history: the residential school system, which aimed to assimilate Native children by stripping them of their language, identity, and culture. By making Teonna a main character, Sheridan brought this history to the forefront. But to leave her story incomplete would feel like a disservice. Viewers need to see whether she found safety, community, and healing—or if her battle was just beginning. Did she ever find peace? Was justice ever served? Did she grow into a leader or live a quiet life in hiding?

A time-jump sequel could answer these questions meaningfully. Perhaps we see an older Teonna, having helped establish a tribal school or legal organization protecting Native rights. Maybe she becomes a matriarch whose story inspires future generations. Even if she’s no longer alive in a future prequel series, her legacy could live on through descendants, with references to “Grandmother Teonna” who defied the church and the government. The emotional weight of her journey deserves that kind of long-term impact.

Another possibility is that Sheridan may introduce a new Native character in a later timeline who uncovers Teonna’s past through oral history or tribal records. This technique would allow her story to influence the future even if she’s not physically present. Imagine a young Rainwater descendant in Yellowstone: 1944 learning about the atrocities Teonna endured and using that as fuel for activism or land reclamation. It would deepen the cultural and emotional layers of the Yellowstone world while showing how historical trauma is carried and transformed across generations.

Sheridan has proven he’s not afraid to explore uncomfortable truths. In 1883 and 1923, he painted vivid portraits of the brutality of frontier life, colonial expansion, and systemic racism. Teonna’s story is the rawest example of this—and it struck a chord because it wasn’t just about survival, but about reclaiming dignity. Her continued story could tackle questions of identity, justice, and belonging for Native people during the Great Depression, World War II, or even the American Indian Movement of the 1960s if the timeline pushes that far.

It’s also important to consider the cultural impact. Teonna Rainwater became a breakout character because she stood in stark contrast to the frontier hero myth that dominates Westerns. She wasn’t rescuing others; she was rescuing herself, and in doing so, she became the most courageous figure in the series. A continuation of her arc could cement her place in television history as one of the most important Indigenous characters portrayed in a mainstream show. And for Sheridan, it would be an opportunity to build trust with Native communities and audiences who saw their truths finally reflected with dignity.

Of course, any return to Teonna’s story must be handled with the same sensitivity and historical grounding that made her original arc so powerful. That includes Indigenous writers, consultants, and cultural advisors shaping her next chapter. Her story cannot be reduced to trauma porn or revenge fantasy. It must show growth, community, and the complexity of post-trauma life. Teonna isn’t just a victim or a fighter—she’s a person with hopes, fears, and a desire for normalcy. Seeing her evolve in a sequel would honor that humanity.

There’s also a storytelling advantage to continuing her arc. Teonna’s journey provides a counterbalance to the Duttons’ narrative of land ownership and generational power. Her perspective reminds us that before the Duttons, the land belonged to others—and that the cost of building dynasties like Yellowstone often involved violence and theft. Bringing Teonna’s voice back into the fold would enrich the franchise’s complexity and reinforce Sheridan’s recurring theme: that justice is often a matter of perspective, and history is written in blood.

In conclusion, Yellowstone’s next prequel must revisit the story of Teonna Rainwater. Her arc in 1923 was groundbreaking, emotional, and necessary—but it is far from complete. Whether through direct continuation, ancestral legacy, or historical remembrance, Teonna’s fate deserves closure. And not just for narrative cohesion, but because her journey represents real histories that were buried for too long. Taylor Sheridan has the platform—and the responsibility—to finish what he started. For Teonna. For viewers. And for the truth.