Not another one of us was ever caught in the closing shell of an abalone.
The Swift One and I managed to bring up one child, a boy--at least we managed to bring him along for several years.

But I am quite confident he could never have survived that terrible climate.

And then, one day, the Fire People appeared again.

They had come down the river, not on a catamaran, but in a rude dug-out.

There were three of them that paddled in it, and one of them was the little wizened old hunter.