Because it didn’t become completely dark at night – just a greyer day – he did not think in terms of time. All he knew was the canoe and the forest sliding by, and keeping his belly full of salmon and blackberries.

And that he was getting stronger. With the growing strength came the returning knowledge that he had been – literally – deathly sick. Had seen Little Carl die and thought he was also dying. To come back . . .

Back from that to being able to paddle the cedar canoe, take fish, eat berries, move north, was something he at first thought would be impossible yet now found himself doing with more and more purpose and force.

Still not all the way back to normal. But getting there, closer and closer, and feeling the core of him getting stronger sometimes dazed him. He would sit in the drifting canoe, riding the current, just watching the forest slide by slowly, and carve on his story board, as he came to think of it, in private wonder.

Except that he couldn’t really call it private since he was never truly alone. Ravens were with him constantly, flying near him, sitting in trees as he passed, flying ahead to watch him as he drifted by them. On more than one occasion a raven would land on the front of the canoe as the eagle had done, and eye his stock of dried salmon carefully. As if adding it up in some way, calculating how much salmon he had and then fly off gurgle-talking to other ravens.

Talking about me. And my food. Making fun of me.

Nor were the ravens the only ones near him. While the eagles didn’t come as close to him as the ravens they would swoop down just over him, then out in front of the canoe, dip to the surface of the water, and snatch a fish. Leif was surprised at how often they would clutch a fish that was too heavy and have to drop it back in the water, and even when they made a successful grip on a salmon they could handle they would have to align it carefully, head forward, tail back, to streamline it because they couldn’t fly with the weight hanging sideways.

Add to all this the intermittent flock of crows that would appear flying next to and around the eagles carrying the fish, trying to peck out the eyes of the large birds of prey. Often an eagle – especially the younger ones who did not yet have their white heads – would become frustrated and angry at the smaller black birds and drop their fish and have to go back, still accompanied by the flock of vengeful crows, and try to get another fish.