was impossible to ignore for a few reasons. For one, any sort of noise could bring the predators, so we tried to stay quiet. And then there was the song itself. That’s what sent me out of the tent. “Do you hear that?” she’d whispered through my hair. I’d listened. There it was. “Yeah,” I’d responded against her neck. We’d stayed still, just listening to the shake of a dry seed rattle, alert to danger, until the singing began. Miigwans. Now I stood near the firepit and set my feet in the direction of his voice. It was a low, moaning voice, the kind the body used to travel through pain, the kind
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