"But creatures are different." Wolf Dreamer spread his hands. "Look at how we're shaped. Nothing else uses darts, to hunt. Nothing else warms itself by fire."
Heron reached over, plucking an age-darkened skull from the wall. "This is human." She pulled another. "This is bear. Both have teeth, both have the same bones . . . just differently molded. Two eyes. See? One nose. You peel the hide off and bear looks just like man. The feet have the same bones. So, outside of the fur coat and the different shapes of bone, all animals share things. You have fingernails. A bear has claws. A caribou hooves. It's the pattern. All the same."
Broken Branch huffed, disturbing the tension. She pushed a strand of brittle gray from her withered face, whispering, "In the legends of the People, all creatures were stars once, each formed from the same star dust. Father Sun sent us tumbling to earth and breathed life into us. People were the worst of the lot. Father Sun forgot to give us a fur coat. The caribou let us use theirs when we eat them. A gift to a brother. We didn't get mammoth's trunk, but we got hands to do the same thing."
Wolf Dreamer blinked contemplatively. "I remember, Grandmother."
Heron shook a finger in his face. "Do you? What is it in you that remembers?"
He pointed quickly to his stomach. "My liver. I—"
"Bah!" she growled, slicing the air with a fist. "I know the People believe that but it's wrong. It's your brains that remember—and Dream."
"What makes you think brains do that?"
Heron leaned back, lips pursed. "You've seen a man hit in the head? What happens? He forgets things. When his arm is cut off, he doesn't forget. When his stomach is sick, he still thinks the same as he always did. Ah, but when he hurts the bone around his brains, he thinks differently. If the damage is bad enough, he doesn't think at all. Same with anything. Club a caribou in the head, and it dies. Shuts off the mind."
"I guess so."
"Don't guess," she told him. "See for yourself. Learn. Think on your own. Don't believe everything the People have always told you. Question!"
Broken Branch bristled. "You telling him I was wrong about Father Sun and the star dust?"
Heron blinked as though it hadn't occurred to her. "No. That's one of the few things you've ever been right on."
"You old witch. I ought to—"
"Why do you know all this?" Wolf Dreamer interrupted. Inside him, a horrifying anxiety built. What was he doing? If he learned what Heron sought to teach him, he'd lose the world he loved completely. "Why doesn't everyone?"
Heron chuckled at Broken Branch, then shrugged. "In the camps of the People, no one has time. Hides need to be tanned. Meat needs to be hunted. Moss has to be gathered. Children always need something, or are fighting, or are hurt, or are curious.
"A Dreamer has to clear his mind to be able to think and feel without worrying about who's squabbling with who. Without being interrupted by nonsense."
She rubbed her nose. "Here . . . before the People came . . . you could hear, feel, let the world wrap around you. The land breathes, the animals follow their ways. Seasons, cycles, it all goes around. Everything's inseparably locked together. Grass grows where mammoth dung falls. Seeds blow in the
wind. Mammoth eats the grass and makes more dung. The People know this, but not what it means. And who can think about the One Life when three kids are howling for food and someone is telling jokes in the back of the shelter?"
"So, all I have to do is be alone?" he asked skeptically. It sounded far too easy to be true.
She bowed her head and laughed. "All you have to do is set yourself free."
"How do I do that?"
She grinned insolently. "First you have to learn to walk."
"To walk?" he asked, bewildered.
"Sure, then you learn to Dance."
"Dance?"
"Uh-huh. Then you learn to stop the Dance so you can get a good look at the Dancer."
He shook his head. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"The One Life. It's all a Dance and you have to feel its motions before you can understand it."
"And you think I don't know how to walk yet?"
She sniffed lightly. "Wolf Dreamer, you can't even crawl."
He twisted the fur on his parka hem, forming it into a sharp point as he thought.
"You'll teach me?"
"Are you ready to learn?"
An unaccustomed dryness parched his mouth. Am I? "Yes."
"Come." She stood, joints cracking, and pushed the door flaps out of the way.
On the way out, he noted the bear skull, empty orbs staring at him darkly. He clenched his fists in determination. He'd learn.