In the northern lands where snow crowns the mountains and icy rivers roar through ancient pines, the Elders spoke of a guardian — Makwa, the Bear Spirit of the River.
Makwa was no ordinary bear. He was born in the heart of thunder, where glacier met stone. His roar was the echo of waterfalls, his breath the mist of dawn, and his eyes glowed with the wisdom of the forest. The people believed he was sent by the Great Spirit to protect the sacred water that fed all life.
But a time came when the river ran dark.
Greed had crept into the valley. Outsiders cut the trees, dammed the flow, and poisoned the stream with their hunger. The salmon, once plentiful, vanished. The birds flew silent. The people, too, grew weak — for the river was their lifeblood.
One night, under a silver moon, the river surged without warning. Out from the foam leapt Makwa, fury in his stride, water crashing around him like war drums. With each stomp, the riverbanks trembled. With each growl, trees bent in mourning.
He fought not with claws, but with the storm.
The intruders fled. The forest held its breath.
And when dawn returned, Makwa stood still in the water, his reflection glowing like fire against the snow-fed stream. Then, as quickly as he came, he disappeared — not gone, but watching.
From that day forward, the river healed. Fish returned. Trees whispered again. And the children of the tribe were taught to say a prayer before taking water:
“May Makwa walk before us,
May our hearts flow like his river —
Strong, sacred, and wild.”
Moral:
True power isn’t in conquering nature — it’s in protecting it. 
