Hallowed

One foot on soil that didn't belong. One white toe across that red borderline. The chieftan smiled. That was all he needed.

His men gathered in the forests, their bows and arrows at the ready. They waited for the young man to venture farther into their territory, farther away from the safety of his comrades and their fire-sticks. They followed him like prey, stalked through the trees, making no noise, although even if they had he would have covered it with his own clumsy traipsing. His heavy boots destroyed the earth beneath it with his every step.

When they felled him, he shouted but made no noise. One of the arrows must have punctured his lungs. The chieftan did not laugh, but he did not feel sorry either. The horrors that those white men had committed against his kind could never be atoned. But this chieftan had vowed to do his part to even up the tally.