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Heidi *Bookwyrm Babe, Voyeur of Covers, Caresser of Spines, Unashamed Smut Slut, the Always Sleepy Wyrm of the Stacks, and Drinker of Tea and Wine*
Kindle Notes & Highlights
When the whole world hurts, you bite it, don’t you?
More nights than not, he’s eating potatoes or tofu or beans. And that’s fine. Every middle-aged Indian needs a diet exactly like this.
He raises his face to those cold wet flakes, closes his eyes, holds this elk calf he’s been calling his daughter close to his chest. She hasn’t been growing as fast as Andy, and she hasn’t moved since stabbing that leg up into the air, but she will, he knows. He just has to get her home, to land she knows, to grass she remembers. He’ll watch her grow for the rest of the year, keep the coyotes and wolves and bears away, and, when she can, he’ll let her go on her own, stand there crying from sadness, from happiness. And then it’ll all be over. Indian stories always hoop back on themselves like
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If the only good Indian is a dead one, then she’s going to be the worst Indian ever.
The skullcap of a wolverine, because the old days were metal as hell?
and as long as she keeps dribbling behind her back when she doesn’t have to, then her real dad won’t even really be gone, will he? He’ll still be there in her reckless smile. Because nobody can kill that.
