Whitewater Gorge The Door of Death is made of Gold

"you have done well!" the duck exulted, pleased with a fervor of relief to hear her tongue upon another's lips. repeating the phrase, this time more slowly, she nosed the plant now laid across her withers. "it is called nautchiak," kukutux purled. "your word for it is 'mint.' 

to agana's apology, the pale girl gave a gentle shake of her head. "no. it ... my heart hurts, but the place..."  jadestone eyes blinked silently as she searched for the words to compel her tale to tongue. "last year, i lived upon an isle. there were falling rocks. my family did not survive."

"we call the place where they have gone 'the dancing lights. kikuyat," she breathed, for the word blossomed sweet upon her tongue. "and when someone has died, we do not speak their name again, for fear of bringing their spirit from its rest."

finding that she had spoken much, the girl cast a rueful glance to agana. "i have been alone too long."