Bitterroot Valley she said it didn't seem like that long ago

It was a relief when this send-off was accepted, as she did not want to speak any words to the cooling doe that she didn't mean. Blessings given in bad faith were curses, after all, and only they, the living, could receive curses.

Still. It was clear that Miska had a different relationship to the doe than Angel. She looked down at it again before answering, unsure what time she should take or how her wording ought to change — so she gave up and spoke simply, her tone matter-of-fact.

"It'd probably soured," she said of the bear pelt, privately thinking that the bear must have been long dead and overripe before the boy even found it. "I clean, dry, and stretch mine. Where I'm from, we used them to line dens in the winter, and for young women to show of their skill and craftsmanship, and for men to show that they are loved, and proud to be loved."

She thought it was beautiful, even if the Round Valley contingent had thought her rather strange for the practice.

"There is a smell," she admitted after a moment. "I suppose I'm used to it. But it doesn't smell as bad as even a living bear."