It’s a field of … not spikes of snow, no, there’s no such thing. Bones. “What?” she says. She—she can’t be that far out, can she? Marias, that massacre or whatever? The bones from that wouldn’t still just be lying out there, would they? Bones don’t last that long. Unless. Unless she already died a few steps back, and is walking forward through her people’s past now, maybe. Is that how dying works?
