Upon one thing, all agreed: While the katsinas and the Flute Player were locked in mortal combat, the Blue God was left free to prowl the land.
Whatever the risks and dangers, tomorrow Spots and Cactus Flower would take the trail east to rejoin Wrapped Wrist and Bad Cast. They would winter in the Great River Valley, and later perhaps their children could return here to reestablish their roots.
He heard the sibilant whispers of the Spirits in Nightshade’s pack. They reassured him that coming here had been right. He needed their assurance—he, Spots, who had fled from all that was spiritual.
“Our world is dead,” he told Sister Moon. “I only have you to share this night with.”