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be here. I’ve gotten permission to build here from the Kayenta chapter, I’ve gotten you permission to live here while we do it, and my workforce and business connections are all in Kayenta. This here is where we change the world, Mr. Druid. «
    › But no pressure or anything, Atticus. ‹

Chapter 4
    As we were hiking back down the hill, three white work trucks rolled up behind the car. They were full of people in jeans and orange T-shirts, some wearing cowboy hats and others wearing hard hats. One man in a hard hat started giving directions, and the workers moved to get stakes and sledges out of the truck beds along with surveying equipment and one of those portable toilets. A woman and an older man stood next to the man in the hard hat. They weren’t wearing orange shirts, and thus I concluded they weren’t technically part of the work crew.
    All three of them were very happy to see Coyote. They shook hands and traded smiles full of affection for one another. Their faces turned expressionless, however, when Coyote began to introduce the white people. He remembered our fake names, thankfully.
    » Reilly and Caitlin Collins, « he said, » this here is my construction foreman, Darren Yazzie. « The man with the hard hat nodded at us and mumbled a » Pleased to meet you. « He was a well-muscled fellow in his mid-twenties, his eyes mere slits in a sort of perpetual squint from working outside all the time. He wore his hair long and braided in the back in a single thick queue.
    Coyote pointed next at the woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She wore a thin black Windbreaker over a yellow polo shirt. Her hair was pulled back and tied in a simple ponytail, and she had a pair of eyeglasses with thick black rims resting on her nose. A hundred subtle cues of body language told me that there was a keen intelligence behind those eyes; I knew she was important to this project before Coyote said a word. » This, « he said, » is Sophie Betsuie, the head engineer. «
    » Hello, « she said, shaking our hands firmly. » Nice to meet you. «
    The elderly gentleman had character carved into his face, arroyos and washes of years trailing above and below his mouth, around his eyes, and down his neck. His black cowboy hat sported a silver band set with turquoise in the front, and he had a buttoned-up broadcloth shirt tucked into his jeans. He had a giant chunk of turquoise floating at the base of his throat, because he’d apparently missed the memo that said bolo ties were out of style and quite likely had never been in style at all. His belt buckle was an enormous silver job worked in fine detail, though I couldn’t say what the design was, since I didn’t take time to examine it carefully. I was too distracted by his aura, which had the telltale white light of a magic user in it.
    » That’s Frank Chischilly, « Coyote said. » He’s a hataa³ii . «
    › Did he say hot tamale? ‹ Oberon asked as I shook hands with Frank.
    No, he said hataa³ii. In the Navajo language, it kinda sorta means a medicine man .
    › Who needs medicine? ‹
    Excellent question .
    » I’m honored to meet you, sir, « I said.
    » Likewise, « he replied. To Granuaile, he didn’t offer his hand but rather tipped his hat and said, » Miss. « His voice was scratchy and warm, like a wool blanket.
    » What brings you out here, Mr. Chischilly? « Granuaile asked before I could.
    » Well, he has to be here, « Coyote explained.
    » Oh, « Granuaile said, nodding, then added, » Sorry, but why does he have to be here? I’m not too clear on what that thing was you called him. Are you a tribal official, Mr. Chischilly? «
    » Nope, « he said, a faint trace of a smile on his chapped lips. » I’m here to do the Blessing Way ceremony, once we get a hogan built up there. «
    » Cool! « Granuaile said, a huge grin lighting her face, and then it disappeared, replaced by uncertainty as Frank’s vague amusement vanished. » Oh. I