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Fragrant Herbs’s eyes misted, and she turned to test the strength of the hides tied to the inner frame of the lean-to.
    Old Grandmother’s eyes crinkled into deep creases. Her tongue seemed to push her lips into a smile. Grass Child could no longer control herself. She rushed to Old Grandmother and fell beside her. “I’ll come back to see you,” she promised between sobs. “You’ll be waiting for me. I’ll bring you fresh meat to keep you through the Month of Howling Winds.”
    Old Grandmother motioned. No, no, this is the way it has always been, it must be. She could not speak for fear of betraying her own emotion and deep love for the child who carried her own girlhood name, because they had both loved to watch the wind make gentle waves in the grassy meadows.
    After several days of slow travel, the horses dragging travois, the chief found a place sheltered from the wind, so that the tribe could camp a few days and hunt game to add to the meager food supply for the winter.
    While the men were hunting, the women sewed and cut strips of fresh meat to dry on racks for jerky. Fragrant Herbs and her daughters beat the wild grasses and sunflowers for all the seeds they would yield and caught them in skin robes. Some of the women were inclined to laugh at the wife of their chief for her labor, but refrained because of her reputation as a fine cook. That evening, the hunters brought in several antelope and many rabbits. The women prepared a feast, and there was a dance of thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for sending his people to such a fine place with plentiful game. The old men told stories and smoked dried kinnikinnick. The boys played buffalo hunt. The child who was “it” bellowed like a bull, while the other children tried to catch him. The girls kept the pots of meat andvegetables hot so that when anyone felt hungry, he might eat.
    It was a glowing time of red and yellow falling leaves. On the third day, Never Walks and Spotted Bear went on the hunt with the men. Rain Girl and Fragrant Herbs went from their temporary grass shelter to beat more tiny seeds into the old hide. Grass Child visited with Willow Bud and her family.
    On the pretext of getting some sewing, she slipped away and took two skinned rabbits from her mother’s supply under a pile of fresh leaves and stones. She wrapped them in an old buckskin. She took a small bag to collect fall berries and quickly started on her way back to the abandoned summer camp on the Little Big Horn, the lean-to of Old Grandmother. She was no papoose, she told herself, and could come and go as she pleased. It was easy to find the way because the travois marks were still plain and the horse tracks were everywhere. Nights she curled herself up in a warm pile of leaves like a bird in a nest.
    When Grass Child came in sight of Old Grandmother’s lean-to, the small bag was full of huckleberries, large and dusky blue. Her hands, face, and tongue were stained blue. She was not hungry. She was content and happy to be close to her beloved Old Grandmother. She had not thought of being afraid. The outdoors was her home, and most of the animals were friendly. The squirrels chattered at her, and the blue jays scolded as she walked past. If she met a moose or bear, she could quickly climb a tree.
    The child was not prepared for the sight in front of her. Fresh blood was on the ground. Old Grandmother’s body lay still, slashed to death, partially devoured by wolves. Grass Child tried to let out a high shriek, but her throat was so constricted that no sound came. She sat on the sleeping couch where the top robe had been pulled off and left lying in the doorway. The rabbitskin pillow was shredded and flung against the back of the lean-to. The pouches of bread had been gnawed open and the contents spilled. She stared at the hideous mess for a long time, suddenly aware of the putrefying stench. Then she noticed her teeth were clenched so tightly her jaws ached.
    Finally she rose, picked