Meadowlark Prairie i'm getting older

That. . .didn't really answer her question. Nor did the other things—like, duh, she knew what a skull was—but Blueberry knew an authoritative tone when she heard one. Uh, okay, she said dubiously, and settled down, watching the woman intently.

When you learn to listen to the world, it speaks to you.

Blueberry could scarcely listen to the adults in her life, let alone the world. How could she possibly tune into something so vast, so far beyond her capacity to even understand?

When you learn to listen. . .

Maybe. . .she could hear the sea, if she listened carefully enough. It may have just been the murmur of her pulse in her ears, or the constant barrage of prairie wind at her face, but she. . .heard. . .something.

Her stomach growled again, and it brought her firmly back to the present. She glowered at the other stomach. Y'know, the dead stomach. (I'm really just trying to cover my ass writing "stomach" twice in one sentence.)

If she was a little more stupid, a little more desperate, she'd snatch it right up. How on earth could you waste perfectly good food like this?