Long ago, there was an old Indian Brave that had been long since confined to the reservation that the white man forced him onto. All the ways of his ancestors, vanished into dust, his ways looked down upon, his children forced to learn the white man’s ways and language because they were just in the way, and if they didn’t assimilate into the white culture, they would be eradicated. Wiped off the earth as if they never existed. He had no choice, all that he came to know and love vanished like the buffalo that were slaughtered by the white man without so much of a thought. As time passed by, and his very way of life, all that he loved, was taken from him, his heart and will began to weaken, until one day his heart beat no more. He didn’t die of illness, he didn’t die of injury, he died because all that he loved had died and blew away like the dust on the plains. His heart, his soul, his being were gone with that dust.