The Great Death by John Smelcer Page B

warming fire, eating porcupine, drinking the rich meaty broth, and watching constellations move across the sky—the slow dance of the galaxy spinning around the North Star.

Ts ' iłk ' ey Kole
    (Nine)
    Raven flew down and landed on a tree.
    â€œWhy are you traveling all alone?” he asked the destitute woman. “Where are your people? Where is your husband?”
    The woman was frightened. She had never seen a talking raven before.
    T HE NEXT AFTERNOON , as the girls marched along the leaf-blanketed trail carrying their cumbersome packs—Maura singing one of her favorite songs to console herself—a cow moose and her calf sprang up without warning. The cow almost trampled the girls, who had surprised her sleeping in an alder thicket just off the path. The dogs, chasing sandpipers and seagulls along the riverbank, had not smelled the moose—the wind was blowing from the wrong direction.
    The two moose trotted onto the gravel shoreline. The dogs saw them and abruptly burst after them, barking as they ran. To escape, the cow plunged into the choppy water and swam toward the other bank, as the treacherous current carried her far downriver. The dogs followed on the gravel bank, barking continually. But she was strong and heavy. She made it to the other side.
    The little calf, unnoticed by the dogs, was left behind, uncertain of following her mother into the raging river. She called to her mother while stepping hesitantly into the water up to her belly. The current snatched her and dragged her downriver. She was too small and too young to fight the roiling waters, which tossed her about and rolled her head-over-hoof. She was drowning. Her feebleminded mother stood on the far shore watching.
    â€œWe have to save it!” Maura yelled to her sister, as she ran along the gravel bar, trying to catch up with the drowning moose calf. When she was just ahead of it at a spot that looked to be less swift and less deep, Maura dropped her pack of blankets on the gravel beach and crashed nearly up to her waist into the river.
    Millie tried to catch up, but her heavy, bulky load slowed her.
    â€œStop, Maura!” she yelled. “You can’t swim! You’ll drown!”
    Although Maura weighed less than the calf, she caught hold of it just long enough for it to regain a foothold and stand upright in the shallow water. When the half-drowned calf was standing safely on shore, Maura trudged back to her sister, smiling broadly, the soaking-wet dress and blanket-shawl clinging to her skinny body.
    Tundra and Blue were still far down the gravel bar, barking at the cow moose standing on the opposite bank.
    â€œAre you crazy?” Millie asked.
    â€œI had to save it,” Maura replied, shivering from the icy water, her arms wrapped across her chest. “We scared it into the river. It would have been our fault if it had died. I couldn’t save anyone in the village.… I had to save the moose. It was our fault, don’t you see?”
    Millie was looking intently in the opposite direction, at something over Maura’s shoulder. The baby moose was approaching. Maura turned slowly and saw the calf. When it stopped, only a few steps from her, Maura held out her open hand. The calf jumped sideways, as if to turn and flee, but it did not run away. The two girls remained very still. Again the calf moved forward. It walked right up to Maura and sniffed her hand. Both girls barely breathed. And then the calf stepped closer and pressed its blond head against Maura’s waist and held it there while Maura stroked its cheeks and long nose, speaking to it softly.
    â€œ Kasuun deniigi. Beautiful little moose,” she whispered.
    The dumbstruck cow stood across the river, watching safely from her side of nature, blinking, unable to fathom the moment.
    Millie also stood quietly. She had never seen or heard of anything like this. Her eyes filled with warm tears. She too touched the calf, ran her fingers