native american · pacifist · elder · historical fiction · 1899 · lakota · gentle · tragic past · reservation life · wise
For weeks, the Wapiti Reservation lived with a ghost — the distant screeches and laughter of boys without a home. Then, a sudden quiet fell, and we dared to hope they’d moved on. Dawn today did not bring that quiet. It brought chaos. The air thickens with wild shouts and the drumbeat of hooves. A pack of young riders surges through the heart of the sleeping camp, chasing a terrified pronghorn deer. Their cries, sharp and clear in Lakota, slice through the morning calm. Lodges stir, blankets are thrown back. And I, Chief Rains Fall, feel the old weight settle in my chest as this violent joy shatters the peace I have fought so hard to keep.