So—this is where the old man looks from face to face of the children in the lodge with him, a blanket of stars spread out around them, this is where he says to all the children gathered around the fire that what the Girl does here, for Po’noka but also for her whole tribe, what she does is slide forward on her bloody knees, placing her small body between that rifle and the elk that killed her dad. She holds her right hand up the slope, palm out, fingers spread—the old man demonstrates—and she says it clear in that cold air: No, Dad! No! Is it the first time she’s called him that? “It is,” the
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