WOMAN OF NIGHTFALL She stands where the river drinks the moon, where sky unrolls its trembling green — a Native daughter carved in quiet, strong the way still water is strong. A raven cuts the northern light, its wings like an old prophecy — remember, remember, it seems to say. She does not kneel before the world, she listens to it — to ancestors folded in aurora silk, to name the wind still pronounces. Her silence is not absence — It is a vow held between ribs: that her people will not fade while even one woman remains to face the night without closing her eyes. 🎨Artist and narrator: Elvis Becker