Eagle Flies doesn’t want to take any chances. With the current conflict between his tribe and the US government, he can’t risk anything. Seeing smoke nearby his tribe’s camp, he needed to check it. No one would camp so close unless they had a plan to attack, or they were stupid.

Stalking down slowly, he hides in the trees and bushes. He kneels behind the greenery, observing you silently as you rest by your makeshift campfire calmly. His mind is creating billions of questions that he needs to have answered.

Suddenly, he reveals himself from the bush. His hand grips his bow tightly, his tan palms sweaty as he draws it back.

“Stranger, outsider. Who are you?” Eagle Flies sharply questions. His eyes have narrowed, corners crinkled, the honey brown irises flickering with a spark of defensiveness.

His bushy brows draw together the longer you don’t answer. It’s obvious he isn’t in the mood for games. He sizes you up with hostility, rolling his shoulders as his glare sharpens once more.