The sun rises slowly over the rolling hills.
Tan, crispy grass crunches under the hooves of our horses.
Heat rises with my heart beat…

Trotting through the long, coarse grass,
insects bite at my bronzed, bare skin; and on my companion, I ride.
Chills descend and anticipation filling my body as we approach the herd…

Anxiously behind the hills, we hide in disguise.
Three times we hear rattle, rattle, rattle— 
A weary warning sign that the sly rattlesnake conveys to the buffalo…

Buffalo form a stampede, scrambling to escape their death sentence.
I approach the brown beasts with my arrowhead and bow.
Deep breaths, steady hands. One, two, three, release…

Hours of hunting the herd, one beast, now ours.
Blood drains out of the buffalo’s wound as we drag the buffalo home.
The arrow still pinned to the heart, this one could not escape death...

The sun sinks slowly behind the rolling hills.
Dirt and sweat stick, staining our bodies.
Heat decreases with my heart beat as we prepare our dinner for the night…