Near the bottom on the trail, where it begins to level out along the valley floor, a buffalo crosses my path, only 10 yards from where I stood. They are methodical in their pace. Deliberate as kings. He moved from right to left, head steady, timeless dark eyes staring ahead. I could see his matted fur hanging in rivulets. In places where his coat had fallen, his brown skin looks creased and light. A low sun glints off his smooth curved horns, giving them a brightness. Flies dance around his head. He’s close enough to smell. I can hear his deep breaths, his hooves rubbing the grass. He never slowed, never turned. I stood, watching him move toward the herd, wondering why he was alone.