Into the Wilderness (Wilderness, #1)

by Sara Donati

“That’s a question I can’t answer,” she said. “Except to say that I have a feeling I need to know more than I want to know.” Curiosity nodded. “That’s the way of it, many times.”

It belonged to no one, and never could; the mountains and the scattering of lakes in greens and azures and the endless, ageless forests. The thought came to her that it was a great vanity and self-delusion to believe that such a world could be claimed, could be owned, by simply putting a name on it. She felt humbled,

“You call yourself teacher, and summon children to you. White children, and black, and Kahnyen’kehàka. But we ask, what do you have to offer our children? You cannot make a moccasin or skin a deer. You cannot cure hides. You know nothing of the crops, how to plant or tend them. You cannot turn your hand to hunting, or show them how to track. You do not know the names of the moons or the seasons, or of the spirits who direct them. Of medicines you know nothing. And yet you call Kahnyen’kehàka children to your school. You will teach them to read and write your language. You will teach them of your wars and your gods. You can teach them only to be white.”

It occurred to her, as it had every day that she had spent with these people, that everything she wore and everything she ate came from them, but that this was taken for granted: their generosity was fundamental to their character.