He was always alone. He had no buffalo herd-mates to munch the sweet plains grasses with, or help get rid of the obnoxious clouds of horseflies in summer, or to stay warm every icy winter. He had no one. His grandfather, a white elder of the herd, had told his mother he was different. They thought he hadn’t heard them as they stood in the shade of a huge branching tree. Maybe they didn’t care. He could never be sentry for the herd, and warn with a snort and stomp when the humans came with their long fire-sticks to hunt. He would never snort in rage to defend his right to a female. He would never bellow his might, and listen to it echo down through the dry, but green canyons. His mother had shaken her head sadly and snorted, blowing the short, green grass outward before it shivered back in place. From then on, the herd all but ignored him, as if he was deaf. Well, he could hear just fine. He just couldn’t make a single sound. He was mute. So, no one stood by him.

She never spoke. Oh, she had so much to say, if only they would listen. But her father was a mountain man, a great hunter of the fierce buffalo, so she lived a solitary life. The Indians of the Plains had told him of the Great White One, the biggest of the buffalo. Now, killing that mighty mammoth was all he ever thought about. She was left alone in a silent house, to keep everything in order for when he got back. No matter that one of his horses had crushed her left knee, leaving her a cripple at nine. No matter that she was always in pain from the ineffective drugs he gave her. She would have hated him if he didn’t come home every day, just as the sun was melting the white-capped mountains to the west, and help her fix the dinner he’d caught that day. They lived alone, but for each other, on the edge of the Rocky Mountains. The wide valleys below rippled in golden sunlight every sunrise, and plunged the mountains into a deep crimson purple as the sun peeked over the jagged range.

Normally staying on the outskirts of the herd, the young buffalo knew he wasn’t welcome in the inner confines where his family stayed. Because of the clear resentment from his father, he stayed as far away as the herd would allow. To pass his loneliness away, he would chase butterflies through the dry, green grass of the plains the herd roamed. Sometimes, he would spot small rodents and chase them, too, much to their dismay.

Usually, an older mother would bawl at him when he got too far away, but one day, he never heard the daily bellow. He didn’t realize he had gone out of sight of the herd until he become conscious of the soft wind picking up and rustling through the tall wildgrass, as the crickets that heralded the onset of night. Oftentimes, the wind couldn’t be heard over the constant shuffling of the buffalo. He picked the direction he thought would lead back, and began climbing. Soon, he reached a very rocky quarry. Wandering through the rubble, he came across the smell of a dark, foreboding presence. The young calf quickly passed it, lest his fear get the better of him and cause him to stumble in the failing light.

Fire bloomed up his rear leg. Bawling silently, the calf collapsed to the unforgiving, rocky ground. Looking back, he saw the jaws of a silver creature clamped around his hock. Terror tore through the small calf when he couldn’t find the rest of the animal. He tried kicking it, but the creature never responded. Desperate and in pain, he began mindlessly trying to pull his leg free from the unmoving jaws. Gradually, the same dark smell intruded into his nostrils and through his fear. He looked up and saw one of the feared hunters of buffalo holding his long fire-stick. The human growled wordlessly and jerked backwards with a loud bang. The shock echoed through the quarry as something hit the young calf’s right horn with enough force to snap his small head up and backwards. The calf bawled the only way he knew how and wrenched himself around in an attempt to escape. Pain flashed through his hind leg, as terror forced him to wrench away even harder, so that he actually ripped his hoof out of the metal jaws. The hunter growled again and the calf bawled, struggled to a stand and stampeded in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, his leg hurt too much to continue at the pace fear had set and the young buffalo tripped, rolled several feet before sliding off a small ledge, and hitting a rather large, sturdy boulder with a solid thud. He lay there in shock, unable to think of anything in particular, unable to focus at all. He didn’t surface until the sun was but a distant memory. The night passed slowly.

When the sun splashed her warmth against the calf’s shaggy small hump, he tried again to stand and find his way home. He whined when his back leg wouldn’t hold his weight. Carefully, he fell back into a more comfortable spot, and watched the sun’s rays crawl across the wide rocky ledge he had fallen onto the night before. He could see the deep river that ran through the canyon the herd passed though every autumn. A vixen and her two cubs cautiously trotted up to the shallows of the swift moving river and quenched their thirst. The calf snorted the dust out of his nostrils, wishing for that very same water.

Every once in a while, he would try and stand, but the pain shoved him back to the ground with an involuntary whine. Thankfully, he never smelled the dark smoke again.

On the third morning of his painful exile, he heard a strange scuffle from the left. Looking up, he saw a small human limping towards him. He snorted in alarm and defensive warning, and she stopped. Sunlight reflected off her short-cropped brown hair. The strange sound had come from her legs. He saw she had something clamped around one of her legs. The young buffalo sniffed experimentally, and then backed up as much as he was able, but she didn’t move from where she had stopped. When she did move finally, it was only to limp painfully away. He thought no more of her or her leg until she returned with a strange container smelling of sweet grass. Carefully limping closer, she slowly upended the basket near him, and then moved a safe distance away. Unsure of her, he slowly inched closer to the pile of pulled-up grass. It smelled ok… He recalled he hadn’t eaten since the first morning. The pile of grass was soon gone.

Every day, the girl returned. Sometimes she spoke to him, sometimes she stayed silent. Eventually, he began to recognize the emotions in her voice. After a week, she dubbed him “Odakota.” A friendly Sioux Indian who had once traded with them had always greeted her father with the word. He later told her it meant friend. The girl didn’t move much while she was caring for him, except to bring grass and buckets of water for the newly christened buffalo. Every time she did, the calf noticed flickers of pain cross her face. The colder the day, the less she moved. One particularly cold morning, he woke to find her curled up next to his warm mass. Feeling a strong sense of protection, he didn’t move, but to sniff her curly hair once. After that, both lost their fear of each other, and welcomed the warmth of friendship. She smelled of a summer breeze; cool from gliding down the mountains. She smelled of impending rain, a soft spring shower on a sparkling morning. She was no different than he. A loner, a young one, lost to her own kind but found to him. Kindred spirits in different skin.
Every day, the girl would try to coax Kota to stand, but he would only roll slightly, and snort in derision. He couldn’t stand with the pain in his hoof, but she never seemed to understand. Gently, she would replace the cool cloth above his hoof and wait for the next day. Some days, he wouldn’t even eat, but she never gave up on him. Always there, always coaxing until he gave in and did as she asked.

Finally, he even gave in to her relentless belief in him that he could walk. She removed the cool cloth from his hock, stood up carefully, walked off a few feet, turned around and held out her free hand. Kota didn’t understand at first, but comprehension dawned when he was the small green patch of clover in her outstretched hand. He snorted, and turned away, as if he didn’t want it to begin with. She didn’t believe that for a minute. Patiently, she stood there, and waited.

After a while, he turned slightly to watch her. His nostrils flared when the wind caught the scent of bluebell clover and tossed it at him. He turned to see her better. She hadn’t moved. He knew by now that her leg would be hurting her, but still, she didn’t move. His neck stretched out towards her, his eyes pleading her to come closer. She smiled, but refused his silent request. Finally, the buffalo calf grunted, and heaved himself upwards. At first the pain made him want to give up the taunting smell of bluebell, but her lilting voice urged him onward. In one final heave, he stood.

He looked around, shocked at he could stand. The pain was there, yes, but it wasn’t the throbbing pain of days gone by. He took a step toward her. Soon, he was contentedly munching his clover. Though he still limped, the swelling quickly went down.

The day his leg was fully healed, she led him back to the plains. Carefully walking across the quarry, the girl cried out when she slammed her foot against a rock, falling against Kota’s side. Instantly, he paused while she recovered and righted herself. Her limping was more pronounced. Again, he stopped. When she looked at him, he laboriously laid down beside her. Understanding flashed through her dark features, and she crawled up behind his hump. He stood up, and glanced back at her. She smiled and hugged him. He snorted back at her and started off. She giggled when he broke into a slow trot. When they reached the plains, they saw with a shock that the buffalo herd had moved on.

Sadly, the girl carefully slid off Kota’s back. He walked off a ways, toward the midday sun, but then turned back towards her. The feeling in her voice told him to go. Kota walked back to her and nuzzled her chest in farewell.

The herd had returned to the plains for summers beyond count. None had mattered. Until now. Each summer, he returned to the cliff where they met, but he never saw her. For two summers, he searched. But she was gone. The next summer had come and almost gone before his search was rewarded. The morning dawned bright, but cloudy. Birds twittered in the few trees dotting the green plains. The herd was beginning to get restless. The winds were changing direction, heading south.

Suddenly, a darkly familiar loud bang echoed across the grassy savanna. The herd jumps as one and stampedes away from the threat. Distantly recognizing the sound, the tall full-grown bull slowed, turned and headed back. Trotting towards a flat pile of tree debris, Kota spied a tiny puff of black smoke rising from the leaves. Curious and cautious, the buffalo walks over and around the dead pile. The herd is gone, leaving nothing but a dusty trail. Only Kota and an older buffalo elder remained. The elder rolled on the ground again, vainly trying to stand. A small dark smudge tainted his white hide behind the shoulder. Kota’s attention in pulled from the dying elder as the dead leaf pile shifted, then shuddered and collapsed into a small hole in the ground. The hunter slowly walks over to the white elder and his fire-stick jerks back with a final bang. The elder stopped moving. Kota, who had followed after a pause, snorted in surprise and rising anger. The hunter whirled around, gasping for breath in sudden terror, backed up, but froze when he touched the still-warm bulk of the white buffalo. His eyes slowly travel from Kota’s nose, which steamed in the final traces of the early morning mist, upwards to the bull’s right horn, to the tell-tale hole that showed they had met before.

A painful and terrified scream interrupted the deadlock. Though she only shouted a single syllable, Kota recognized her voice. His spirits lifted with the rising wind, and he turned to face the girl. The hunter fell over backwards across the dead buffalo when the living one in front of him snorted hard. The man could only watch as the huge brown bull trotted over to his fallen daughter. He reached her and nosed her chest gently in greeting and love that was long past due. She laughed as his whiskers tickled her face. A sudden sharp pain in his rear caused the buffalo to pull his head up sharply and whir around to face the hunter, who had finally stood up and had his fire-stick in hid hands again. The buffalo grunted and doggedly shook his head. He gave a feint charge, and the man swallowed dry-throated, but held the stick steady. Kota charges for real, but slowed to a slight right turn at a call from the girl. The hunter yelled at the girl hoarsely, his fear clear in his voice, but she only limped closer, stopping at Kota’s side. He turned his shaggy head a little and snuffled her outstretched hand. She placed a hand on his hump and he laboriously lowered himself to the ground next to her. Carefully, slowly, she climbed onto his back, behind his hump, and the buffalo stood. She sounded sad as she called a farewell to the hunter. Sad, but satisfied with her decision. Then she leaned forward to rest completely on her friend’s hump. He understood, as he always had and turned to walk off. The man could only stand there until the two companions were out of sight, disappearing into the horizon.

Eventually, Kota learned to recognize her name. He never needed to call out to her, for she would always be there, she never needed to fear the night, for he would always stand by her side. He never needed to doubt, for she would always believe in him. He was her friend. She was his Faith.