“White Buffalo said, pointing to the tiny green sprigs among last year’s growth. “All are different, though they look much alike now. This one,” he knelt to touch the new growth, “is the tall real-grass. At the time of awakening it looks much like the other tall one, the plume-grass, but it does not matter. They, together, give the sign that it is time to burn.” “Is it time, Father?” Elk asked. “No. Another few days. It should be about this tall.” He indicated with thumb and forefinger. “Then we... must have a day when the wind is right, both in direction and strength. If we send smoke through the camp, we lose some respect.” “And then the buffalo will come?” “It is to be hoped for. Usually, it happens. This is all very much intertwined, Elk. The herds are now far to the south, who knows where? Something happens to start them moving north. Maybe nothing but a few warm days, Sun Boy’s torch warming again. Probably, they are already moving. Now, we burn the old grass to prepare a good feeding-ground.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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