Summer 1834 – Feathered Dog’s Last Hunt

Four Serpents said, “That’s Feathered Dog, all right. He’s still trying to look fancy.”

I folded my arms and stared at the spirit. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if waiting impatiently. I was glad that he had stopped chanting. The chanting had made my ears itch and my stomach as fidgety as his feet.