Long ago, when the buffalo roamed free across the hills and plains, a brave named Falling Rocks became legend. Come, listen to the tale of how he saved his people. A story of buffalo mythology.
Long ago, before the ponies came to this land, the buffalo roamed free across the hills and plains, and the stampedes could run from mountain to sea without fear.
In those days, a buffalo brave, Falling Rocks, became legend. Come, listen to the tale of how he saved his people.
Long ago, before the ponies came to this land, the spirits of the sky ran freely across the clouds, and all the peoples of the land lived in peace. In those days, the buffalo roamed free across the hills and plains, and the stampedes could run from mountain to sea without fear.
One day, the spirits of the sky howled with anger, and laid a blanket of snow all across the land. In that time, all of the buffalo were as one, and the great chief Smoking Mountain spoke to his people.
“The winds seethe with anger, and the rivers are covered with ice,” he said. “Tell me, who among you is so brave as to climb the mountains and speak to the spirits to learn of their anger?”
The buffalo stirred.
“It is too cold!” cried one.
“It is too far!” said another.
Chief Smoking Mountain looked out over his people, his heart hanging heavy in his chest. “Will none go speak to the spirits, to tell them that we suffer?”
“I will go.”
“Who speaks? Who is it who will brave the mountains and the snow and return peace to our land?”
The buffalo brave stepped forward. “I will. For I am Falling Rocks, and I will not fail my people.”
“This will be a perilous journey,” said the Chief. “Take this.” And the chief reached back and pulled, and out came a great gray blanket, thick and gray as the clouds in the sky. “This was given to me long ago by the caribou. May it keep you warm.”
And so the brave, wrapped in his blanket, set off for the highest mountain in all the land through the snow and ice. The wind blew at him, the cold sharp as arrows, but the chief’s gift kept it at bay. The rocks trembled and shook with the force of the storm, but Falling Rocks was surehoofed, and he did not fall. All the world was against him, and still he forged on.
At long last, he reached the sacred mountain; at its peak, he could hear the spirits howling in anger and pain. Falling Rocks was cold, and he was tired. His bones cried out to him, “Let us turn back, and let another carry this burden!”
His horns cried out, “Let us turn back, and let another freeze!”
His tail cried out, “Let us turn back, and let another die!”
But Falling Rocks was brave, and he would not listen. He strode up the mountain, determined to speak to the spirits crying in the sky. He closed his ears to his bones, and let them ache. He closed his ears to his horns, and let them freeze. He closed his ears to his tail, and let it hang limp behind him. But he was very cold.
High, high up the mountain, he found a cave frozen with ice and he thought, for a moment, that he might find rest. But shouts and discord greeted his ears, as pony fought pony in that icy place. Now, Falling Rocks had seen many things, but the ponies were new to this land, then, and they were a strange sight to his eyes, in all the colors of the rainbow, shouting and struggling amongst their brothers.
“Why do you fight?” he asked.
“Because we have wings, and can fly,” said one.
“Because we have horns, and can do magic,” said another.
“Because they think they are better because we have neither,” said a third.
“Are you not cold?” he asked them, for indeed, the snow had grown heavy over their coats, and ice glistened from their tails.
“Yes,” they said. “But we can build no fire, for we have no wood.”
“Here,” said Falling Rocks, and he pulled the great gray blanket from his back. “Take this, it will keep you warm.”
“But there is only one blanket, and three of us,” said the ponies. “How will we decide who can stay warm?”
Falling Rocks looked at them. “You are small,” he said, shaking his head. “If you cease to fight, you will all fit.”
“I will not share a blanket with them, for their horns are cold,” said the one with wings.
“I will not share a blanket with them, for their wings are cold,” said the one with horns.
“I will not share a blanket with them, for they would not share it with me,” said the last.
“Then I will take this blanket, and continue on my way,” said Falling Rocks.
“No!” cried the ponies.
“Then will you share the blanket?”
“Yes,” they said as one, as they shivered.
And so Falling Rocks took the blanket, and cast it over the ponies, so that they may be warm, before he strode out into the storm once more.
Now his bones cried, and his horns cried, and his tails cried as one. They bade him to turn back, to take back his blanket, but he had cast his eyes over the ponies, and they had found peace, shivering together beneath the sheet. So he continued onward, up the mountain, even as his bones bent and his horns froze and his tail grew stiff with ice.
At last, Falling Rocks reached the peak. Ice shone over his hooves as the spirits of the sky cried out in anger above, whirling and shouting and stampeding across the sky.
“Why do you do this?” called the brave. “Why do you cover the land in snow, and make us suffer?”
But the spirits gave him no answer, only crying out wordlessly and whirling all the faster.
“You are bad spirits!” he cried out. “We have honored you for generations, and this is how you repay us? You drape a blanket over our land, killing the grass with snow. You freeze the rivers, so that the fish cannot swim. You take all from us, and will not even tell us the reason for your anger. You have not honored us, as we have honored you. Begone!”
Falling Rocks stamped his hoof, and in that moment, the sky flashed with the light of a thousand storms and the ice cracked beneath him. The spirits of the sky knew what they had done, and fled, and the snow came to melt across all the land.
And that is how Falling Rocks saved the buffalo from the spirits of the sky.
Long ago, when the buffalo lived in the land of their ancestors, there was a buffalo brave named Falling Rocks. In those days, all of the buffalo were one tribe, and the Great Chief Smoking Mountain led the people. The days had been long and good, but when the spirits of the sky turned on our people, Falling Rocks had to tell them to go, and never return.
At first, the melting of the ice was a blessing; with the blanket of snow gone from the land, there was much water, and the grass grew green and thick. But without the spirits of the sky to bring clouds for the people, there was no shade, and the sun hung high in the sky, blinding the people as they stampeded across the plains.
The Great Chief Smoking Mountain looked upon his people with a heavy heart once more, for they stumbled into each other as they ran, and fell into rivers, and tripped over rocks. And so he called upon the brave Falling Rocks once more.
“Falling Rocks,” he said. “The sun hangs in the sky, and the people cannot see.”
Falling Rocks bowed his head. “I will speak to the other peoples of this land, and learn how they find their way.” And so Falling Rocks left his people once more to help them.
First he went to speak to Sister Cow, for she had long been the friends of his people, standing aside as the buffalo stampeded by as they grazed on the grass. “Sister Cow,” he said, “tell me, how is it that you do not stumble around blind with the sun hanging so heavy on our heads?”
“That is easy,” she replied, and she showed him how she took her dung, and spat in it, and placed it on her cheeks.
“Thank you, sister,” Falling Rocks said, but in his heart, he did not thank her, for she stank, and did not help him.
And so he went to Brother Donkey, for he had long been the friend of his people, living in the swamp where no buffalo would walk. “Brother Donkey,” he said, “tell me, how is it that you do not fall into the swamp with the sun searing our eyes?”
“That is easy,” he replied, and he showed him how he took the mud from the swamp and placed it on his cheeks.
“Thank you, brother,” Falling Rocks said, but in his heart, he did not thank him, for he was covered with flies, and did not help him.
Falling Rocks despaired, but then remembered the ponies he had given his blanket to. And so he travelled to the sacred mountain, and found many of them there, in all colors. But there he saw that they would be no help, for they, too, were blind, wandering around their houses of stone and falling in their fields.
With sorrow in his heart, Falling Rocks turned away from the ponies, but then he saw some, all black, with their heads hanging low. But they were not blind. He spoke to them.
“Brother ponies,” he asked, “How is it that you can see?”
“We can see because our cheeks are black, but our eyes only remind us that we lack the color of our friends. We would leave this place, but we have no boats.”
“We have canoes,” said Falling Rocks. “But we have cheeks of many colors, but not black, and so we cannot see.”
“Perhaps we can trade,” the ponies said.
And so the ponies came with Falling Rocks, and the buffalo took the black from their hides and put stripes under their eyes, and could see. In their joy, they gave the ponies, now half-black and half-white, their canoes, and the ponies went off over the great waters where they would not be reminded of the color of their friends.
Long ago, the buffalo owned all the lands as far as the eye could see. They roamed free over the country, and stampeded where they chose. In those days, the Great Chief Smoking Mountain guided the buffalo, and the great brave Falling Rocks saved them from snow and sun.
One day, a pony came to the buffalo, and told them that the ponies wanted to build farms on the plains. The great chief told him that the lands belonged to all the people, to stampede wherever they pleased, but the pony said that was no good, for they would crush their crops and their people would starve. The great chief told him that the buffalo would not leave, but he would not listen, and so for a third time Great Chief Smoking Mountain gathered his people so that he could speak.
“The ponies do not respect the ways of the land or our people. They say our land is their land, and that we can no longer stampede. We must fight.”
The buffalo stamped their hooves, and cheered, but Falling Rocks felt only sorrow in his heart.
“We cannot fight alone,” Falling Rocks said. “I have been to their cities and I have seen their numbers, and they are as many as the grass on the plains.”
“But we cannot give them our land,” the great chief said.
“I do not say we should give them our land,” Falling Rocks replied. “The people have many friends, and we may speak to them, and ask them to stand beside us, so that the ponies know that the cost is too great, and none have to fight.”
“Then go,” said the great chief, “and ask our friends to help us, as we have helped them.”
And so Falling Rocks went to the cattle, because they had great sharp horns just as the buffalo did.
“Cows and Bulls,” he said, “we have long been friends. You have stood by as we have stampeded across the plains for many generations. We ask for you now to come stand by us, so that we may keep the plains from the ponies.”
The cows spoke amongst themselves before their chief stepped forward. “We have long been the friends of the buffalo, but the ponies give us all the hay that we can eat. We are sorry, but we cannot help you.”
And Falling Rocks looked upon the cattle, and he felt sorrow, for he could see they had become fat and lazy eating so much hay, and could no longer fight. So Falling Rocks returned to his people, and told them of what he had seen.
“The cattle will not help us,” he said.
“Then they are no friends of ours,” the buffalo cried, and while some would deny it, all knew in their hearts it was true.
“So who will help us, then?” asked the Great Chief Smoking Mountain.
“I will go speak to the donkeys, for they are strong, and can carry many things.”
And so he did, travelling to the donkeys where they lived in their swamp. And Falling Rocks called the people together, so that he could speak.
“Donkeys,” he said, “we have long been friends. You have lived in the swamp and as we have lived on the plains. Today our home is threatened, and we ask that you may stand by us so that the ponies do not sweep us away.”
The donkeys spoke amongst themselves before their chief stepped forward. “We have long been the friends of the buffalo, but the ponies give us shiny things so that we may pull their wagons. We are sorry, but we cannot help you.”
And Falling Rocks looked upon the donkeys, and he felt sorrow, for he could see they had become stupid and swaybacked pulling the wagons, and could no longer fight. So Falling Rocks returned to his people, and told them of what he had seen.
“The donkeys will not help us,” he said.
“Then they are no friends of ours,” the buffalo cried, and while some would deny it, all knew in their hearts it was true.
“So who will help us, then?” asked the Great Chief Smoking Mountain.
“I will go speak to the caribou.”
There was much commotion amongst the buffalo. “They are too far,” one said, “far beyond the mountains. If you go, you will never return.”
“I will return,” said the brave. “The caribou are fierce warriors, and we have never done them wrong. They will help us.”
“Then go,” said the great chief, “and return with help.”
And so Falling Rocks went to the north, far away to the mountains, as the buffalo waited. Summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, but still, he did not return.
“It is too cold,” said the buffalo. “He will come in the spring.”
But spring came, and Falling Rocks did not return, but the ponies did.
“This land is our land,” they said, and the Great Chief Smoking Mountain knew that it was true, for they were as many as the grass on the plains.
“We will fight!” said the buffalo, but the Great Chief walked before them.
“We cannot fight,” Great Chief Smoking Mountain said. “They are too many, and we are too few. We would lose, and then we would have nothing.”
“But where will we go?” cried the people.
“We will go to the south, where the ponies do not want,” the Great Chief said.
“But what of Falling Rocks?” asked the buffalo. “Surely he will return with the caribou, and we will fight.”
“You are right,” Great Chief Smoking Mountain said. “But he is lost, and needs help to find his way home.”
And so the great chief spoke to the ponies, and he made a deal, that the buffalo would leave in peace if only the ponies would aid them in the search for one of their own. For many moons, buffalo and pony searched, throughout all the mountains of the land, but they could not find the buffalo brave. Finally, they agreed; they would warn all travelers to seek out the buffalo brave and, if they found him, aid him on his way back home.
And that is how the buffalo came to live in the lands of the south, far away from their ancient home. Long have the people yearned for the return of their hero, so that they may stampede across the Great Plains once more. And while the ponies have forgotten the bargain they made, believing the lands to have been forever empty before they were claimed, they still remember to leave notice on all the mountains and high places of the lands to keep an eye out for the the lost brave. The signs rest on every trail, and even up the Sacred Mountain upon which they built their great city, so long ago. Many see the signs, but few remember what they mean.
