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The relentless winter had gnawed at our spirits as much as our bellies. The buffalo herds, once plentiful, were but a memory. We, the Lakota, had fought valiantly, but even the bravest warriors cannot overcome starvation. Thus, we found ourselves at Fort Buford, a place of surrender, not victory. -- General Terry, a man whose steely gaze mirrored the cold wind whipping across the plains, demanded proof of our compliance. We, the Lakota leaders, were herded into a makeshift studio. A strange contraption whirred and clicked, capturing our images in a single, blinding flash. Sitting Bull, ever the leader, stood tall and impassive. The woven lanyard, a gift from his wife Tatanka Istamani, felt heavy against his chest, a silent reminder of the life they were forced to leave behind. -- This image, they said, was a record. Its purpose remained unclear. Perhaps it was a trophy for the victors, proof of their dominance. Whatever their reasons, Sitting Bull knew the fight for his people's way of life was far from over. This surrender was a bitter pill to swallow, but hope, like a faint ember, still flickered within him. This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1927.