Story 178: The Last War Cry

The air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat. Shouts echoed through the valley as the battle raged on. Chief Black Hawk stood at the edge of the hill, his breath heavy, his heart pounding like the war drums in the distance. His people, the last of the Plains Tribes, were locked in a fight for survival. For generations, they had roamed these lands, free and untamed, but now, that freedom was being ripped from them by settlers who sought to claim what had always been theirs.

His long feathers, streaked with dust and blood, fluttered in the wind. The tomahawk in his hand was heavy with the weight of his ancestors. Every strike, every blow was not just for his people but for the spirits of those who came before. They watched over him now, their voices guiding him, pushing him forward.