She sat in a circle on the grass with the little ones. They each had straightened sticks, split feathers, and string-like willow strips. Each one was focusing with the laser intensity of the very young on holding the feather on the stick while evenly wrapping the string. They were dubious that fletching was more important and much harder than actually shooting the arrows, but they applied themselves.
Misae was considered an Elder, even though she had to live apart from the People. Her status was passed along from Cheif to Cheif down through the generations. They sent the People here to her when her skills and wisdom were needed, and she loved those times.
“Unci?” the little girl in her too short jeans and tshirt with holes in it looked up from her stick.
“What does in...indig...indiginus mean?”
Ah, yes, that was today. The flashes of death and devastation flashed through her mind. The feelings of hopelessness, not understanding Land People actually making this kind of war against each other, not being able to stop it.
“Indigenous,” she pronounced for them all, “means people who are originally native to an area of land. When the Wah-Zha-Zhi came from the Sky, they originally settled in the Middle Waters. They were Indigenous to that area because there were no Land People there before.”
Another, older child spoke.
“Then the Whites came and killed us all and stuck us on the Rez. They suck.”
Misae sighed. Yes, from their perspective the “Whites” did “suck”.
“You, and the Whites, and the Blacks, and all the other Colors are Land People. You are the same. Don’t ever forget that, little ones. What the European Land People did to other Land People was completely wrong. It was against Nature. Just remember they are still Land People. And the rest of the Land People must try to help them remember that.”
All the little eyes were wide, looking at her. Some in disbelief, some thinking, some skeptical, but all listening. Good.
“Now. Back to your fletching. If you’re ever to hunt your dinner, you must first master your tool.”