Picture Perfect

by Jodi Picoult

around in the camps of his enemies and steal their secrets. His home was a tent that stood beside the sea in a calm, calling breeze, and he lived there with his sister. His skill as a fighter carried his reputation far, and many maidens wanted to marry him. But Strong Wind would have none of their silly, simpering smiles, their false boasts of being the perfect match. He said that he would marry the first maiden who could see him coming home at night. It was a test

turn to the current girl who peered over the horizon. “Do you see him?” And every waiting maiden would quickly lie: Yes, yes, there he was. Strong Wind’s sister would ask, “With what does he draw his sled?” The answers were many: With the hide of a caribou. With a long, knotted stick. With a length of strong hemp. His sister would know the lies for what they were, simple

own jealousy, took advantage of her nature. They tried to detract from her beauty by leaving her clothes in rags, cutting off her shining black hair, burning the smooth skin of her cheeks and throat with glowing coals. They told their father the girl had done these things to herself. Like the other maidens in the village, the