“What’s wrong?” my mother asks me quietly. “I think . . . I might have made a mistake with Riona.” She looks at me with her clear blue eyes. Ellis had blue eyes, too. But I choose to think that my eyes came from my mother. My sense of humor and my cooking skills, too. From Waya, the desire to care for and protect the people I love. And the means to do it. He taught me to hunt, to shoot, and even to fight. He always said, “Be slow with your fists. But fight for things that matter.” “Most mistakes can be fixed,” my mother says.
