Long ago, before the ships came and the stars were charted by maps, the People of the Coast spoke of a spirit older than time — Makwa-Ona, the Bear of the Waters.
Makwa-Ona was no ordinary bear. His fur was silver like moonlight, and his eyes carried the memory of a thousand tides. He rose not from the forest, but from the ocean itself — a guardian between the land and the sea, between dream and waking.
They say he came when storms raged and balance was at risk. When greed-filled ships crossed sacred waters, and fish vanished from the nets, the people would light fires and sing the old songs. Then the waves would rise — not in rage, but in warning — and Makwa-Ona would appear, silent and mighty.
One stormy dusk, as a golden moon watched from above, a ship approached the coast, unaware of the sacred boundaries it crossed. The sea grew restless. Flowers along the shore bent in reverence. And from the crashing surf, Makwa-Ona emerged, his presence so powerful that the stars paused their journey across the sky.
The ship turned back, the sea calmed, and for a brief moment, the world remembered its place.
To this day, the elders say:
"Respect the bear, respect the tide — for both carry the weight of ancient truth."
And if you find yourself near the ocean under a glowing moon, listen closely.
You might just hear Makwa-Ona breathing beneath the waves.
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