Tohni tells of How he Learned to be a Great Hunter in the Poverty Point Native Culture Fictional Cha

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My name is Tohni. I come from a time before cities, before writing, before the world you know was carved into roads and names. I was born among the people who lived at a place you now call Poverty Point. But to us, it was just home—where the river bent like an arm around us, where the soil was rich and the wind carried stories through the trees.

I was born into a family of gatherers, fishers, and hunters, and from the moment I could walk, I followed the footsteps of those who fed the village. As a child, I learned to listen—to the snap of a twig, the call of birds, the ripple of water. These were signs, not just sounds. They told you where the deer moved, when the fish were near, or when a storm was coming. Hunting wasn’t just about strength. It was about attention. Patience. Respect.

When I was old enough, I was taught to use an atlatl—a spear thrower that let me launch a spear farther than I could with just my arm. The first time I brought down a deer, I didn’t celebrate. I sat beside her body and whispered thanks. That’s what we do. We honor the animal’s gift. We use everything—meat, hide, bone, sinew. Nothing goes to waste.

But I wasn’t just a hunter. I was a traveler. I walked trade paths that stretched across rivers and through forests. I met people who spoke in words I didn’t understand but whose faces lit up the same way when we shared food or stories. From the north, I brought back copper. From the mountains, soapstone. From the far west, hard stone for tools. We didn’t have money. We had skill, value, and trust.

Every time I returned home, I brought more than goods. I brought knowledge. I told the children how other people lived, what they ate, how they danced, what they believed. It reminded us that we were part of something larger—a network of people who didn’t need walls or kings to connect, just rivers, stories, and generosity.

Now I’m older, and others do the hunting. But I still wake before the sun, sit by the fire, and teach the young ones where to find the best fishing spots, how to feel the direction of the wind, and how to move through the forest like a shadow. I tell them that being a provider isn’t just about food—it’s about care. It’s about knowing what your people need before they ask. Sometimes that’s meat. Sometimes it’s a story. Sometimes it’s just being there when someone returns from the woods empty-handed.

So if you remember me, remember this: we are not separate from the land. We walk with it, listen to it, live by its rules. And when you learn to pay attention—to the earth, to each other—you’ll find more than survival. You’ll find belonging.

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