We rise up early, our bones still sore from yesterday’s hunt.
The determination to provide jolts us out of our sun-bleached bison skin tepees.
Once again, we mount our horses in hope of tonight’s dinner.

Across the plains, we ride, our eyes open for familiar foot marks.
A sense of presence washes over.
We look to the East and see boundless bison feeding on dry grass.

Inching closer, the sounds of intruders echo across the plains.
Our faces screw in concentration, trying to penetrate the dense herd.
Bison hearts contract with purified adrenaline and they scramble like paint splatters.

Our heads crowd with commotion, our hands clenching spears crafted from the previous generation’s calluses.
We collide.
Human versus beast in Mother Nature’s final test.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain.
My thick muscles contract around the foreign object and blood pours down my tough skin.
But, the pain is masked by adrenaline.

Chanting and galloping follow closely behind;
my legs grow tired and cannot carry my bulky body.
As I collapse in exhaust, I sacrifice myself for my herd.

The next day, they rise early, their bones still sore from yesterday's fleeing.
The determination to provide jolts them out of their matted grasses.
Once again, they move forward in hope of another day.