The bear walks softly, but his steps shake the earth.
He carries the weight of seasons in his fur and the wisdom of the forest in his eyes.
When he rises, the world feels the pulse of power and patience intertwined.
He is both healer and warrior — the keeper of balance between strength and silence.
In his den, the dark holds no fear, only renewal.
He teaches the people to listen deeply — to the earth, to themselves, and to the quiet voice within.
The elders say the bear does not roar for attention, but to remind us:
Courage is not loud. It is steady.
Presence is not about being seen, but about being felt.
They call him Makȟá — the one who carries the spirit of the mountain,
a guardian whose shadow shields the fragile and fierce alike.
