“Once millions stood here, we were proud and strong. The two legs honored us with dances and wore our skins as symbols of pride,” the old one thought.
The bull crosses the frozen prairie, listening for others to call out.
“Few walk this open track now. Long ago, this land was our playground for the young, mother to the sick, and grave for the dead. We no longer fear the wolf, fires, or storms that moved across these open spaces.”
“Even the old two legs are gone, replaced by ghosts in noise monsters that drove us from our home.”
“We are few and small. Soon, like the old two legs, we will only be whispers in the winds that blow across our lands,”
The bison glanced across the horizon, hoping to spot a distant dot moving across the snow. Today, only the barren snow met his gaze.
“Once millions stood here,” whispered the bull. Moving toward the sunset and the promise of meeting Grandfather Sky at the journey’s end.
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