The drumbeat resonated from a quarter mile away. We could feel the steady rhythm in our feet as we stepped onto the ground from the vehicle. Our heartbeats picked up the rhythm and we could feel the excitement build. Blood of our Ancestors crying out to be a part of the celebration.

We looked to the blue sky, a lone eagle majestically swept the canvas keeping watch over all who gathered.

The voices began to ring clearer to the Heavens in sync with the beating of the drums, dancers from the Tsalagi Nation in the Circle regalled in colourful and splendid gear.

The smell of grilled meat of some sort wafts through the breeze and we make mental note of the area for lunchtime will come soon enough. For now, frybread with a dash of salt.

Faces representing proud descendants of a people who could not be broken. Stories of their heartbreak, passed from generation to generation never forgotten, repeated here educating the future, so as to never allow it to happen again. Beaten then, but never broken.