“Half the reservation’s inside, recovering from the brutality of DOPC,” I said. What I was feeling was beyond anger. I was feeling violated. This was my home. Had always been my home. If I had children, this would be their home. Where did the DOPC get off, coming here and attacking us like this? What had we ever done to them?
I began walking to the teepee. The eyes of the survivors were on me. I could feel their gazes boring into me. With the elders incapacitated, with our children held hostage, with our numbers dwindling, they desperately needed leadership. A plan of action.
“Listen to me, all of you!” I raised my voice. “Are we but weak pups, squealing and mewling with our tails between our legs? Have we forgotten our lineage? Have we perhaps lost sight of what is bigger? Our Creed? I
