My final submission for the creative writing class I took in the Spring of 2021. I felt it was a bit rushed, but I had a good time writing it, and think of it as the first piece after my conscious choice to write from the perspective of non-humans.

Just across the river, right over that rolling hill. This part of the journey was always my favorite. As my front hooves dipped into the cool Platte River, I could taste the sweetgrass just a few hundred feet away.

            It was this final stretch that the herd always got a little too excited. The young calves begin testing their stamina. Challenges are issued, races are won, egos are hurt but all is quickly forgotten at the chance for a swim and a nice meal. The elders, stoic as always,  maintain the ranks. A periodic glare to the calf who strays too wide. Mostly they are occupied with the smoke traveling westward beyond the horizon. Everyone in between is, well, in between. Too young to join the ranks of our herd’s strongest and wisest. Too old to be taken seriously on the impromptu racing grounds. We keep our eyes forward, keep our ranks close, and sometimes let our minds wander to life’s finer things.

            Personally, I paid no mind to the rumors of human expansion. I had heard the stories of Canssass City, a huge chunk of the plains expanding and contracting with alien life. Light Grey spires growing and even glowing in the dark. Sure, the herd had come across humans before, but how could anyone be scared of them? They were so cute! They had to rely on horses to move those tiny legs even just a few miles, how could they possible do any harm to us? The city could be explained another way. The only animals capable of such construction projects were the Wichita, and we haven’t seen them in years.

            It was right over that hill that we saw humans last, just about a year ago. Our migration always leads us here around the same time that the air becomes dry and the ground freezes. Moving South as the winter approaches, this was the last feeding ground that provided the summer grass before we were stuck with the dry, snow covered grass of December. When we crossed over that crest, peering into the fertile but modest valley, their horses were galloping west. They didn’t even spare a moment to think of the feast beneath their tracks. My guess is they didn’t survive the winter.

            This year I could feel their absence. The herd was at ease. Stepping out of the flowing river, I take a moment to regain my land legs. Just ahead the first of my family was beginning the descent into the promised land. I was still taking a moment, wandering into the bliss that is the prairie. Letting my mind wander kept me sane, I loved being in between. The prairie was a safe place beneath our hooves.

            When I finally force myself to ignore the water dripping from my under coat, there is a slight commotion just beyond my horizon. I’m sure it’s just a warning, the elders must have seen a group of humans. Perhaps they survived the winter after all.

            Some of my family around me sensed something going on as well. I glance to my left to find worried faces. They open their eyes slightly, while throwing their head forward, “What’s going on?”

            “Excitement, the calves have heard stories of this place since the Spring.”

            Perhaps my expression was a little off, they did not seem to understand. I try again, calmly lowering my head, continuing my patient stroll. There’s nothing to worry about, surely they understand now.

            “Something is wrong,” They counter. Throwing a sideways glare with narrowed eyes. Clearly, I had not inspired calmness. With this, they turn away and begin toward the hill with haste. Much of the herd has followed this idea already. Quickly I am falling towards the back, and the trailing elders are fast approaching out of the water. They are in a canter, throwing their heads over the hill. I receive the order clearly and begin to hasten myself.

            Nodding my head side to side, leaning slightly back. I hope that those worrying around me will pick up on my message, “Don’t overreact, I’m not worried. Let’s just enjoy the pleasures of the prairie.”

            Finally reaching the hill for myself, I find that there were no eyes turned towards my nods of reassurance. Even the trailing elders have broken their rigid lines to glimpse toward the valley. No one in the herd has progressed down the slope, leaving a mass of Buffalo, jaws hung slightly, eyes wide open in disbelief. Before us lays the once greet plains of green and yellow that had occupied my dreams for the past week. The wildflowers and gold flowing grains have been dismantled and cast away westward. In the wake of the blue verbena and sage, replacing the ashy sunflowers and the buffalo burr was a strip of rocks and an inhibition band of inert mud. The valley was variegated by a path of death, accented by a sight feared throughout all the plains. We had heard the stories of human expansion and I had always taken them for ghost stories, but there before me lies their unmistakable signature. In the center of the desecrated land lay two thin strips, in dark contrast to the light gravel they lay on. If the stories held true, the humans were here to stay. Any moment now we could expect their hairless monstrosities to tumble down those two simple bands at unimaginable speeds. Destroying whoever falls into their path. They had made it through the winter. They had taken our promised land.

            Those who were not still frozen in shock  began to spread out on the hill, myself included. No one dared start conversation, for there was nothing to talk about. We knew the migration had to continue, one way or another, and so we took our cud before the march went on. The grass had not yet become sweet, there were no flowers to claim as dessert. But it was better than trekking on a few empty stomachs.

            Eventually the elders gazed south beyond the rails. There was time enough to mourn. In unison their incessant leading strides continued again. The smoke still beyond the western horizon was paid no more mind, as the obvious cause had now been discovered. I turned back to the Platte River one more time. Who could tell for sure if we would ever return this way. Or even return at all. We knew the humans brought death wherever they came. Before joining my brothers I left myself feel the grasses that supported our nature’s balance. I took one more moment to let my mind wander to life’s finer things. Gazing from side to side. The early moon, too excited to wait for darkness. The reeds on the river banks, harboring those who are too small to protect themselves. The fraternity of trust and cooperation that manifests around me in magnificent coats of brown fur and muscle. To the east, my mediation ends. A plume of smoke, closer than seemed possible, dominated the endless sky.

            I knew our only chance to make it was to leave now, so I joined the ranks and began down the hill. I noticed the mud beneath my hooves as I sunk a few inches with every step. This was not one of life’s finer things. As I reach the gravel I can feel vibrations through the ground. Ahead of me, hundreds of heads turn east in unison. There on the ridge approached one of their hairless monsters. There was a panic. Everyone knew they would not stop for our blocking their path. More than half the herd still had to make it across those tracks, and we did not deal well with separation.

            It was hard to concentrate on the crisis at hand for another tragedy was fast approaching. These monsters never travelled without their handlers. The humans would be here soon, bearing guns to fight their battles and horses to carry their tiny legs. If we were lucky enough to make across those two thin bands, the chase will have only just begun.

            As I approach those tracks myself I remember the flowers that once graced this land, not so long ago. I remember the joy I felt when I made my first migration. I remember the winds that brushed the grains, and the soil beneath their roots. No matter what ensued, the prairie would live on. Whatever the humans could build, it would be there beneath. The finer things would prevail.

            The horn got louder as I could almost feel the monster’s fiery breathe. Nodding my head side to side, leaning slightly back. I hope that those worrying around me will pick up on my message, “Don’t overreact, I’m not worried. Let’s just enjoy the pleasures of the prairie.”