Arrow Lake the water in my bones was running dry

The corners of his lips quirked up. There was truly no better use for an antler than shoving it down the nearest jackass' throat, especially when it radiated power the way that one had. Ephraim could still remember the sensation of his hair standing up when they unearthed it. He couldn't help giving in to superstition even if he fancied himself a nihilist.

How will you know when it is? he wondered, the curiosity rooted in a greater question still: how did Qiao determine what was important? She had assigned significance to the specter that followed him around and dragged it into the light. Ephraim had been forced to confront it ever since. He could no longer deny its existence, at least not in his reality, where the mere idea of a haunting breathed life into it. What had made her do that? What had drawn her to the antler?

She asked about his paw. He gave it a few deft flicks. Works. He made as though to take a step toward her, to drop his guard just a little, then lowered his foot back to the earth again as if held back by a tether. This was close enough.