“Ivory?” I feel the apprehension fill my face. “Walrus ivory,” Jonah corrects. “Alaska Natives are allowed to hunt them. And don’t worry, every last part of that animal would have been used to help Ethel’s family survive the winter.” “I don’t doubt that.” I study the two birds. They’ve been shaped to perfection. “The raven and his goose wife.” I smile softly as I hold it up for us to admire. Jonah shakes his head. “That woman loves her stories.” “She got this one wrong.” I am not Jonah’s goose wife. Or perhaps I am, but I’m a goose wife who survived to see the spring thaw, and who is
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