Somewhere in this landscape — or possibly somewhere north of it, deeper into South Dakota — a specific spot holds the remains of one of the most significant figures in the history of the Lakota people.

The landscape does not announce this.

It is just the land, as it has been for thousands of years.

The grass grows.

The creek runs.

The hills erode.

The weather changes with the season.

The burial of Crazy Horse in this landscape — in the land of the Lakota, rather than in the custody of the Army or in some designated cemetery — was itself an act of belonging.