Stone Carrier was my grandfather, my father, my brother, and
my son. He was a good and brave man, and he taught me many
things. He shared some of his memories with me, memories
that were of another age than my own. Once, he told me of
an encampment at Rainy Mountain. It was on the north side
of the mountain, he said. It was a large camp, made up of
many tepees, so many that they seemed a great flock of geese,
come to pause in the course of their migration to the sun's
winter house. I could see the camp in my mind's eye. It was
the beautiful dream of a time that was cherished and lost. And
on the east side of the mountain are the ruins of a boarding
school that my grandmother attended as a child. Many years
after it closed Stone Carrier would go there at night, and he
could hear the voices of children sounding on the grass. There
was laughter in the voices. And sometimes he could see smoke
rising among the stars.