The wonder working power in the precious...

...credible as they seem are not the results of mass hysteria...

You may wish to adjust the dial.

You are currently tuned into the wrong station. I'm When Jufan had lived to see the new son once for every finger on his hands,

and then, once more, his father, Josen, went to the assembly of the tribe.

This spring, he told them, I will take Jufon with me to the trade.

It was still winter.

Beyond the hide walls of the great tent, Father Wind was in a fury, and hard shards of ice hissed at anyone who walked outside.

Within, low red coals burned in the center of the tent, sending smoke through a hole in the ceiling.

Their dim light flickered against the animals painted on the walls, making them dance, making them run.

He is strong for his age, said Fanla, the women's representative. The women of the tribe present

no complaint. All bowed their heads to her. The next person with the right to speak was

Shaudun, was shaman. He was the oldest man in the

tribe, ornaments of rare copper hung from his ears, braided hair and neck. His teeth had fallen out,

and he wore dentures carved from hyena fangs. One half of his face was painted red, representing

life. The other half was painted black.

He has not been initiated, said the shaman.

His voice was like, no human voice.

His eyes saw things that no other person saw, and nobody could meet them.

Jufan's father looked away.

Surely he does not need to be, Josen said.

He is still young.

...