Maybe I Should Go Back

Mine, ... Mine Is What She Is.

Identity Was Partly Heritage, Partly Upbringing, But Mostly The Choices You Make In Life. ~ Bran

My Will Broke At The Sound Of His Voice, And My Head Turned With As Much Inevitability As A Sunflower Turning Its Face To The Sun.

A Second Floor Window Opened, And Kyle Stuck His Head And Shoulders Out So He Could Look Down At Us. “if You Two Are Finished Playing Cowboy And Indian Out There, Some Of Us Would Like To Get Their Beauty Sleep.” I Looked At Warren. “you Heard ‘um Kemo Sabe. Me Go To My Little Wigwam And Get ‘um Shut-eye.” “how Come You Always Get To Play The Indian?” Whined Warren, Deadpan. “cause She’s The Indian, White Boy,” Said Kyle.

My Grandfather Would Have Loved To Have Met You," He Told Her Huskily. "he Would Have Called You 'she Moves Trees Out Of His Path.' " She Looked Lost, But His Da Laughed. He'd Known The Old Man, Too. "he Called Me 'he Who Must Run Into Trees,'" Charles Explained, And In A Spirit Of Honesty, A Need For His Mate To Know Who He Was, He Continued, "or Sometimes 'running Eagle.' " " 'running Eagle'?" Anna Puzzled It Over, Frowning At Him. "what's Wrong With That?" "too Stupid To Fly," Murmured His Father With A Little Smile.