I dreamt of dust. I dreamt of thunder. Just as the stars in the heavens cannot be counted, the beasts before me were too numerous to number. The land trembled as hooves struck earth, with one-ton masses of shear muscle and resolve riding high. The air was thick with scent and heat and wild energy. The american bison, the buffalo, had returned to the prairie.
They call it the Hi-line. A vast expanse of Montana plains, stretching from the Rocky Mountain-Front eastward along the Canada line. Grass, wind, and people as tough as their boots characterize the region. Beneath an austere and desolate facade hides an intricate and beaming existence.