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It had been well over 68,600 cycles or so since I traveled with my people during our forced removal. I had watched as person after person fell sick, not able to go any further. Our numbers already greatly reduced, as we were struck by diseases we had never before encountered. The infants and children were amongst the sickest, not yet able to retain as much strength. The already weakened adults carried the little ones as well as they could during this harsh journey. I walked near the back of the group trying to encourage the slower ones to keep going, for stopping would make them face even worse consequences by our captors.
Kchémnedo fired me from clay, molded to look just like all the others. The Great Spirit must have left me out in the sun too long, though. As I dried, I grew harder like the bark of the trees and half looked like one, growing cones and needles along my skin. I never asked to be immortal, but that is how it would be. The thought that staying still would eventually turn me into part of the forest had crossed my mind on more than one occasion. One would think that my strength would allow me to fight back, but there were simply too many of them, always with more to come. If I attacked, they would just attack the innocent people in return. I walked alone for so long; never aging, never thirsting. The first time I came across another person, I was scared. They immediately accepted me into their lives, showing me how to be part of something bigger. Treating me exactly how they would each other.
Hoping that the illnesses wouldn't spread as far within the tribe. They all knew who I was, even if the outsiders thought I was some sort of evil entity. They had captured me, held me down while trying to break my body and spirit to use against my people, calling them savages. They whispered amongst themselves that their god wouldn't make an abomination such as myself. They had taken my arms, taken my legs - insistent on studying them. I was finally able to make my escape from their clutches when they left me on my own in the harsh elements. They thought I wouldn't have been able to move without my limbs, but the red cedar trees felt for me. They lent me their strength; helping me regrow, soon to be just as strong as their trunks once again. This is why I had always tended to the weaker ones in the darkness of the night, where detestable men couldn't see me.
Soon I joined my people once again, though still not able to do much of anything without our normal medicinal plants available. They had long been taken away by the very people that were forcing us to to leave our home to make this treacherous journey. I took pieces of myself, throwing it into the fire to disperse the smoke into my people's lungs. It took some of their fevers and coughs away, but couldn't bring them any relief for their dehydration. All the others with me were so, so thirsty, even if I wasn't. What I wouldn't give for the life-saving fluid to fall from the sky. The dryness was so pervasive that even the dirt was longing for its nourishment. Less people arrived at our destination than the amount that departed, unable to carry on any longer. Many of our chiefs had been imprisoned in a horse-drawn jail the entire way, making it impossible to fight their captors.
It was so long ago, but I will continue to keep the fire and stoke the flame of my people. Preserving the history that also affects many tribes on this continent. Many had their own trails with different names: The Place Where They Cried, The Long Walk, The Trail of Tears. We had never been known as one of the supposed civilized tribes, as we wanted nothing to do with slavery. We had our own beliefs, language, and arts that were all taken away from us and we weren't about to take anything from others for our own gain. Our firm stance soon got our home taken away as well, but we never regretted it. Even the ones who agreed to abide by the abhorrent ways were eventually forced from their homeland as well. There were many reasons that we dubbed this tragedy the Trail of Death.
Many cycles later, a new town was formed nearby, made up almost entirely of freedpeoples. Even after all our struggles, we just wanted to help. We knew what it was like to not have anything, to not know how to use the limited resources that our new environment gave us. The winter was all too frigid for us. We persevered alongside our new friends - friends who had encountered the same kind of evil men that forced us into our dire situation. Eventually, we even began prospering together. This is just my story, though there are countless others.