The Last of the Comanche

May 7, 2017 by Patrick Starks


Pallaton stood in silence as roar of men spilled out with anger around him. He remained silent, still, nose pointed to his feet, with hair as long as a pure-bred stallion. The men around him stood firm, and watched anxiously as frustration began to build. An arrow then pierced through the air as bullet would. The arrow was like no other arrow, it’s speed were remarkable—not even the wind itself could keep up with it. It’s tip was pointed like the beak of an eagle, wood finely carved, with the feathers of a hawk at its end to symbolize it’s power of awareness. The arrow eased its way past the many men that stood; however, had its focus on Pallaton. The arrow reached its target nearly piercing the temporal lobe of its attended kill. But before any harm could be done, Pallaton took one step forward as gracefully as a dancer would—avoiding the arrows puncture. Continue reading