Down the slope the herd is already waiting for you, drifted in like ghosts, not even one of them bleating or calling. The ground under them is churned and dark and raw. The smell is so wonderful. You can’t breathe it in deep enough. “The kid saw you, didn’t he?” Gabriel says, laughing it true. “P-Po’noka, right?” “Ponokaotokaanaakii,” you say down to him. Elk Head Woman.
