Blue skies surround them, shining sunlight on their motherland that is one with them. The indigenous people desperately grasp onto every remaining aspect of the natural landscape. The refreshing water of the lake, glistening amid the green and brown grass. The trees tower over them, safeguarding them from the impending threat of intrusion. Long trumps of brown wood and leafy green hair populate the landscape, stretching so high, seemingly reaching for the sun to soak in her warm embrace. The people take comfort in the golden rays of sun on their skin and the fresh air in their lungs. They rely on the mountains that stand tall and large in the background to shelter them from any potential threat. Smoke from the fire they’ve created to cook their food and warm their hands, fades into the scattered puffs of misty grey clouds. The clouds are so faded as if they’re preparing to vanish into the wind, leaving nothing behind but the luminous sun to inhabit the pale blue sky. Under these skies, their surroundings are sublime. The sound of the beaming sun accompanied by euphonious nothingness brings serenity, knowing that this piece of land has yet to be polluted by loud men in peculiar clothing. Whilst the lake is overflowing with life and jubilance, they are aware that this tranquillity is only temporary. Simply waiting for the strange men to disturb more of what does not belong to them.