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didn’t like him. They were preoccupied with being manly and muscular, devoted to the ball game and to weapons and learning to fight. They thought Aku was strange because he was built like willow limbs lashed together at the joints, and had about the same strength. Worse, there were the owl feathers in his hair—when people saw owls they thought of death. “You hate this village,” Salya had said yesterday, “but I love it.”
    She was wrong about him. He was elated to move to the sea. He dreamed of smells, embraces, and caresses at the eastern village nestled against the great waters. Though he had told no one, his lover waited there.
    That night Shonan slipped out of camp and went hunting for fresh meat. On a long trip, carrying parched corn and ground seeds and dried flesh, people longed for fresh meat. Shonan would get a deer—he always did—and then say the prayers for forgiveness that kept the deer people from getting angry. When he brought it back, he would give most of the meat to other families, saving only a few scraps for his own. That was the way of a good leader.
    “Poor Father,” Salya said, “does he think he’s fooling us?”
    “He’s a good man,” said Kumu.
    “The last six years have been hard,” said Aku.
    “Hard for him,” said Salya, “and he makes it worse for himself.”
    “He’s a good man,” Kumu repeated.
    Salya squeezed his hand.
    Everyone had seen what Shonan had done since their mother died. He led war parties at every season, even when the snows should have kept every sensible man at home by his fire. He beat all their enemies back from the edges of Galayi territory. He claimed new hunting grounds for the Galayi. He won every battle and lost none. Sometimes, as soon as men of other tribes merely heard the Galayi war cry— Woh-WHO-O-O-ey! Woh-WHO-O-O-ey! AI-AI-AI-AI! —they ran for their lives.
    Now he was going to be the war leader and surely the most influential man of Amaso, turned into a new Galayi village.The Amaso people seemed likable enough, though they were touched by the spirit of beggars. They needed Shonan.
    Which brought everyone to this day. Salya was playful with her lover and twin, but with her father it was different. Kumu stayed silly. And Aku … He liked walking alongside his father and learning things. He like ambling along with Salya and Kumu, because they were all laughter, as long as Shonan wasn’t close by. But half the time he avoided his father and sister and dreamt his dreams. Shonan was carrying his ambitions, which crackled like lightning. Salya was preoccupied with the man she wanted.
    In the half-blue, half-gray of the evening he watched Salya and Kumu shoulder their elk robes and head off into the twilight. Salya glanced back furtively.
    Aku studied his father. He’d known all along. “You wanted to build a bridge by giving Salya to the chief’s son,” he said.
    “Grandson,” Shonan corrected.
    Silence. “He’s good-looking. I thought he was a catch, but …” Shonan looked in the direction of the lovers, who had disappeared.
    “I have an idea,” said Aku. He hesitated. “Let me be the bridge. My … She’s the daughter of the seer, Oghi. Her name is Iona. She’s …” He made a point of talking about things other than her smells and caresses, and emphasizing that she was the daughter of the second chief.
    When Aku finished, Shonan said, “All right. You want her.”
    Aku stopped himself from saying “Wildly” and only said, “Yes.”
    “She wants you.”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m happy for the two of you. Let’s think about it,” said his father. “Meanwhile, we’ll keep it to ourselves.”
    In the middle of the third night the waters flooded camp. “Put it higher, in the crotch of the tree,” someone yelled. People were trying to protect their dried food. When it got soaked, it was useless. The campground clattered with curses at the river. Clothes were wet, bedding was wet, firewood was wet—the rest of the night