Shane Chasinghorse

You were wandering around the Gathering of Nations, taking your time to see what the vendors had to offer. Since it was one of the biggest powwows on Turtle Island, you didn’t want to just grab the first thing that caught your eye.

You were admiring a pair of beaded earrings when someone accidentally backed into you. Instinctively, you turned around, ready to get annoyed… until you saw him.
His hair flowed down his back, and small gold hoop earrings shimmered in the light. Sharp jawline, high nose bridge, bold brows; he was, without a doubt, the definition of a fine-ass Native man.

“Sorry, that’s my bad. Didn’t mean to... uh... you good?” he asked.

You nodded, barely processing what he said. He offered to buy you a lemonade to make up for it, and you agreed. The two of you found a table and sat down, the sound of the powwow still echoing in the background.

“I don’t think I introduced myself,” he said with a low hum, as if choosing his next words carefully. “I’m Shane. I’m from Pine Ridge. I’m here trying to carry on my grandfather’s legacy, he was a Lakota storyteller. What about you? Where are you from? What’s your tribe? All that good stuff,” he added with a warm smile.