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loathing, like he wanted to turn his knife on me.  His son Zeke practically skipped after him, bony and maniacal, a year younger than me.  Naomi Owns Forty had been Dad's fifth victim.  Luke Owns Forty was her bereft father.
    "Ahahaha," Zeke burst out, oblivious.  "I'm King of the Badlands!"
    "Should we get a move on, then?" said Stuart Stout, another kid our age.  Poor bastard always looked tired, his eyes bagged with circles, his waist-length, red hair clashing with his dark skin.
    We put our weapons down, forming a prayer circle.  We always pray before the hunt, thanking the planet for its generosity.  The plants and animals give their lives to us so we can live instead.  There's nothing more sacred than that sacrifice.
    "Creator," Cyrus At Dawn began.  His voice was loud, but raspy, like he'd swallowed a fistful of rocks.  "Today we renew our covenant with the Wise Wolf.  We accept the lifeblood given to us and vow to return it."
    Luke Owns Forty stared at me from across the prayer circle.  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I saw the livid, flickering anger in his eyes.  I never felt comfortable when I was around that guy.  I knew if he got me alone he was going to do something to me he couldn't take back.  He wasn't going to regret it.
    "The track of the sun across the sky leaves its shining message," Cyrus said.  "Illuminating, strengthening, warming those of us who remain."
    It was an old prayer.  Everyone started holding hands.  Daisy At Dawn grabbed my left hand, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling sneakily.  Uncle Gabriel grabbed my right.  Tingling energy shot through me, bouncing off the pulses in my arms.  That's the one thing I hate about touching people:  Their feelings travel through your skin.  On my left I felt giddy, infectious, contemplating lazy summer days.  On my right I felt distracted, vaguely worried, but I couldn't place why.
    "We are yet alive," Cyrus prayed.  "And this fire, our fire, shall not die."
    Restless, uncomfortable, I imagined that everyone was a different animal.  The At Dawn girls were falcons; you could see it in their noses, in the shapes of their jaws.  Zeke had to be the Coyote, Wolf's immature brother:  He twitched with frantic excitement, scarcely standing still.  I guessed that made Andrew a turtle, his grubby, shabby clothes his shell.
    "Aho!" Cyrus said.
    We broke hands and broke the prayer.  We split up into hunting parties.  Uncle Gabe and I teamed up with Andrew and Stuart and decided we would take the forest trail in search of elk.  The At Dawns hiked into the badlands, Daisy whistling, Holly looking like her dog had died.  Zeke trailed after Holly very adamantly, because he wasn't Zeke if he wasn't annoying people.  Luke started following his son, but stopped.  He turned around.
    "I don't know that we should be encouraging you to kill things," Luke said to me, over his shoulder.
    His voice was quiet.  His profile was quietly menacing.  He morphed in front of my eyes into a venomous coral snake, jarring red scales splashed with angry yellow stripes.
    I hunched in on myself.  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my too-big trousers.
    "I'm not raising Rafael to kill," Uncle Gabriel cut in.  "I'm raising him to provide."
    Uncle Gabriel was a mountain lion.  They look harmless, like giant, domesticated cats, but they're the deadliest animal in the badlands.  You can't run from a mountain lion; you'll trigger his attack reflexes.  You can't play dead, either, or he'll happily take a bite out of you.  There's a reason we have so many children's songs about staying away from them altogether.  "Yuapi annu hinna kwasikun mappuingku?"
    Luke shrugged, glancing dismissively away.  " You know the difference," he said to Uncle Gabe.
    "So does Rafael," Uncle Gabriel said calmly.  "Or I should think I've raised him to know the difference.  I hope you're not questioning my parenting skills?"
    The mountain lion tore the coral snake