My clothes have become soft and supple deerskin. They mold to my body just like a second skin. My hair has been parted and pleated in the traditional fashion of the young Indian maidens.
What used to look like rundown little shanties now look like smoking cones of deerskin with poles jutting out from the top. Oh, smell the aroma of rabbit and venison roasting over the open cook fires, and the mouth-watering scent of squirrel stew.
I see myself along with the other women of the village kneeling over a wooden frame. Attached to this frame is a deerskin being stretched while I scrape it with a sharp stone to clear away all the unwanted fat and hair. Then I use a flat round stone to soften the leather by stroking it back and forth, in a wide circle.
The other women, just like I am, are either humming or signing to themselves to help pass the time. Every once in a while we hear one call out a greeting to another as she passes by. The braves of the village are inside the council lodge with the chief making plans to raid the neighboring Crow village. They are planning to steal their horses so we can replenish ours which were stolen during the raids.
I can tell that the White Eyes had not been very kind to my people. Even though they seem to be happy, I can tell that deep down they are hiding the pain that they feel from losing loved ones during unnecessary rights over the land.
It seems that every day there is some kind of new problem to face and each one gets harder and harder to cope with. The biggest problem is having to bury more and more people who die. Whether they die defending their lives, of old age, or of diseases, it is still the hardest one to cope with.
It is my biggest wish to stay here where I am most happy. I would like to stay here and help my people through their tough times, but those days are over.
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