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// Chief Thunderhooves -- Memories 
// Story: The Album 
// by Peregrine Caged 
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Written by: NotTheOP
Rated Everyone


The faraway plains glowed in the afternoon sun. The sight just kept on going until the obscure border of the horizon ended the visible part of the scenery. The cliffs and mountains surrounding the large flat part made it look deeper than it actually was, casting sharp shadows over it, giving its residents some cover from the burning sun.

On the top of one of these mountains stood a mighty buffalo, in defiance of the sacred sun, observing the heavenly sight he had come to know over the years.
 
It was that certain time again. The sun would stay up for the whole day, allowing the land to have its share of the life-giving light. It was a sacred time for the buffalo.
 
And this one certain buffalo had come here, to the very same mountain, every single year since his father had passed. It was not his duty. He could have been home, in his cozy little teepee, enjoying the company of his family--the herd he was part of.
 
But he was here, admiring the view that Mother Nature had given them, respecting its power and beauty.
 
Hours had passed and the sun was finally starting its daily ritual of lending its stage to its little brother that would light the night, allowing the predators to see. A ritual that never lost its glory. It was always such a beautiful event, affecting the lives of every single organism--at least on the physical level, if not on the mental.
 
The mouth of the lonely buffalo was dry. His stomach was growling in hunger. His whole body was in pain caused by either the burning sun or the stress that was affecting him.
 
But still, after multiple long hours, he was standing still, strong and glorious, reflecting the spirit and persistence of the natives that crowded the plains.
 
A train traveled in the distance, its tracks penetrating the beautifully green landscape. The sound of the whistle it made while passing the lands of the now-friendly natives broke the silence.
 
Soon after the whistle, the sound of the hooves of the four stallions pulling the train came, followed by the even somewhat annoying noise of the wheels of the train hitting the rails. The clouds of black smoke coming out of the boiler floated up to the skies, blocking some of the beams of the sunlight.
 
The train slowly made its way through the scenery and disappeared as it went into another tunnel that penetrated a mountain that was in the way of the tracks. Silence fell over the landscape yet again and all the marks of the sudden encounter were gone.
 
The one buffalo was all alone yet again.
 
He had no family. His grandparents had ended their journey before he was born. He had only heard tales of the mighty buffalo he was related to. And judging by those tales, they had been even mightier than he was.
 
They had tamed the wild, making it safe for the buffalo to roam free, not having to be constantly afraid of getting ambushed by one of the many prairie predators. They had continued the long tradition. They were the leaders of the herd, guiding the others and taking care of the most responsible tasks the community had. They watched over the others as they lived on, passed by or started their journey. They made sure that one’s life didn’t end too early, or that if one committed crimes, he or she would be punished in an appropriate way.
 
His father had been a leader, too. It was in the family. Leader after leader, chief after chief. Some were greater than others, some were just names in the past.
 
His father had ruled for a long time. He was remembered amongst the greatest of chiefs the herd had ever had.
 
The pain had been incredibly hard as he had been found in his private teepee, lifeless.
 
The mourning time had lasted for months. Multiple honored leaders of other tribes had visited the little community, paying respect to the great chief and showing their support to the herd.
 
But despite the support, the herd had found it difficult to move on. The weeks after the burial ceremony had been hard. Everyone was still down and the community was frozen.
 
Three weeks after the burial, the wife of the chief had lost it. On one cloudy day, she had walked out of her teepee, stood a while in the middle of the crowd and left to the endless plains. Her body was never found.
 
By that time, everyone knew that someone needed to take the lead. The herd couldn’t survive without a good leader.
 
That’s when Chief Thunderhooves had realized that it was his job to take the lead after his father.
 
Only mere days after the wife of the chief--Thunderhooves’ mother--had left the community, Thunderhooves had been officially declared to be the leader. The ceremony had been a small one, consisting only of the ritual itself and a minor speech. The speech was meant to cherish the community, to raise them from the pit they were in. It was no use to live in the past, as the future was far more important for them.
 
And it had worked. The community had risen back to the level it had been. But the deaths of the chief and his wife never left the mind of Thunderhooves alone. He had lost his father, his mother, and his chief. Those things had permanent effects on one’s mind.
 
Every year after that day, when it was the holy day, he would come up to the very mountain and pay respect for his father and his mother, the greatest chiefs in the history of their tribe.
 
And every year he would bring the same gift, representing his feelings, his respect, and his love towards his parents.
 
Chief Thunderhooves lifted his left forehoof up, took a quick look at the white prairie flower he had on it, shifted his glance to the beautiful plains illuminated by the setting sun and threw the flower into the air.
 
As the wind took hold of the flower and guided it towards the orange sunset, Chief Thunderhooves shut his eyes and, for a brief second, he could feel the presence of his beloved parents.