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the language.
“Kiiwen. Kiiwen, promise?”
“Kiiwen,”
“Kiiwen.
“Kiiwen,
an almost unrecognizable bunch of mourners held together by habit and grief and a shared history of survival.
No one mentioned that we’d lost the key to taking down the schools.
Miigwanang — feathers.
the half dozen books the camp owned.
‘Jean, running only works if you’re moving towards something, not away. Otherwise, you’ll never get anywhere.’”
running towards an idea of home that I wasn’t willing to lose, not even if it meant running away from the family I had already found.
“Ahneen.”
“A hunch. And a lot of hope.”
“Gonna send out the welcome party.”
everything would change in just a few hours, including the idea of keys.
“I hope we find an Elder,” Tree said just ahead “Someone who can help against the schools,” Zheegwon finished.
Four tents, military-style A-frames.
After the weather got violent and the islands were battered, the West Indian population here had swollen.
“Kinana’skomitin.”
Clarence was a curator of Cree.
He’s way more fluent than me or anyone else I’ve met. And walked his lineage back.”
“The key doesn’t have to be old, the language already is.”
the nurses and the Nish,
“Nehiyawok,
“Isaac?”
Georgian Bay