“Their mothers got worried when their sons did not come home. They went down to the town house to look for them. There they saw their sons angrily dancing around and around. But no dust was being kicked up by their feet—for as they danced they were rising up into the air. The mothers tried to reach their children and pull them back down, but they were already dancing up above the roof of the town house. One mother grabbed a long chunkey pole and managed to strike it against her boy, who was the last in line. It pulled him down, but he struck the ground so hard that he sank down out of sight into the earth.

“Those other six boys kept on dancing, rising higher and higher until they became stars. Those same six stars dance around the sky together to this day, reaching the top of the sky in the middle of winter every year. And where that seventh boy struck and sank into the earth, up grew that tall tree we now know as osgutanuhi, the pine.”

Ahyokah looks up at me. “You see,” she says. “I knew it would be a good story. My father is the best storyteller. Are you not glad I made him tell that story to us?”

“Wado, little sister,” I say. “I am glad, indeed.”

Ahyokah stands up, still holding my hand. “Now I know you want to spend some time by yourself with Father. So I will leave you two alone. Also, I should go back and help my mother. It is very hard for her to get all her work done without my help, you know.”

My mouth has fallen open while Ahyokah is speaking. She understands so much more than I thought she did. Even though she is years younger, she is more mature than I am. I feel even more ashamed of myself for those jealous thoughts that I had to drive from my head. Rather than a rival, Ahyokah is an ally. No, more than that! This bright, friendly little girl whose gentle smile and voice are a perfect echo of my father’s is my sister. My sister!

Now I am the one who wants to hug her.

Ahyokah presses her lips together in that way of hers that shows she knows she has gotten her way. Then she squeezes my hand one more time, turns, and vanishes back through the door as quickly as a squirrel scooting around a tree trunk.

My father laughs out loud.

“My son,” he said, “you see who runs my life?”

There is such contentment in his voice that all I can do is nod—and enjoy the smile coming to my own face as I share his happiness.