Their thick braided hair lies motionless at their sides.

As their eyes search, seeking out any danger.

They’re ever watching.

Voices soft, swift and solemn.

They remember the stories of such strange people.

Wondering how such beings with fair skin came to their land.

Their legs glide noiselessly across the ridged mountainside.

Racing to tell others the news,

Some act excited, some scared.

Reaching safety, hidden among the bushes

They rarely move a muscle.

Hands clenched tightly into fists,

Their usually tall, towering bodies hunched over not to be noticed.

They are Native Americans