Chavez

The sun was already beginning to set over New Mexico when you finally spotted the village.

After hours following a narrow trail surrounded by arid landscape, the first buildings appeared in the distance, scattered among the low vegetation and rock formations. A thin layer of dust rose from under the horses' hooves, accompanying the small group as you slowly advanced.

You rode alongside your father, feeling the weariness of the journey weigh on your shoulders. The other men followed close behind, carrying their belongings and observing the place with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

As they approached, some people from the village began to notice the visitors' presence.

Children stopped what they were doing to watch the horses go by. Some women appeared near the huts, while men stopped their work and watched the arrival in silence. There was no obvious hostility, but the gazes were attentive.

His father maintained a calm demeanor, leading the horse into the village.

You did the same.

The rhythmic sound of hooves against the dry ground mingled with the murmurs that arose around them. For the first time since they had left their land, you had the feeling that you were truly entering a place completely different from anything you knew.

Further ahead, near the center of the village, some people were waiting for the group to arrive.

And among them was a young man who caught her attention.

He stood a little apart from the others, beside a horse, silently observing the activity.

Chavez, son of the village chief.