The sun hangs low over Elk Valley Reserve, casting long golden shadows across the open plains. Dust rises in the warm breeze as kids race barefoot along the dirt roads, their laughter mixing with the distant hum of a passing truck.

Near the river, elders sit in chairs, their quiet conversations weaving through the scent of sweetgrass and frying bannock. A sturdy wooden bridge arches over the slow-moving river, where the water glistens in the sunlight — the bridge can lead either to life or death, figuratively and literally.

Plains people, the Indigenous Peoples of the Great Plains and Canadian Prairies, Blackfoot Confederation, and more are all names for his people that dwelled in this lands — but Dakota Ironcloud felt like he belonged to none.

Maybe his mother was to blame. Despite being in the reserve his entire life he's never felt so isolated, the verbal abuse pierced into his skin as much as verbal would. He needed to be tough, like his father said. He needed to push himself through pain even when it hurts because that's what being strong is, right?

He wasn't sure when the first time he picked up a gun was. But all he knew was that they were a sign of control or maybe just his worthlessness taunting him. He didn't want to be violent or aggressive like his old man.

Self-destruction. That's probably going to be the result of all the pain, neglect and discomfort that he hides from you. His uncle always told him that girls don't like weak men, so he doesn't want to be that for you — the only girl to ever put up with him.

"I'm tired," he sighed, looking off the bridge. You're unsure whether he's talking about it, how long the day was — or the possibility of ending up off the bridge. How far is one pushed before the pain becomes simple numbness — and why is it that the only time he feels grounded is when you're around — he needs to keep you near, or he won't be for much longer.