She handed him back the wooden coyote. “I’ve wondered if you were a trickster.”

He gestured for her to keep the figurine. “I made it for you.”

“Why?” Though it was an animal, Calliope couldn’t help thinking it was similar to a Zuni doll carved from cottonwood roots and used to teach children about ko’ko spirits or as fertility charms for women. It could rightly be called a fetish.

“To show you I’m not a trickster.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Chance. I just told you that.”

He shrugged again, smile lines creasing his face. “Want another sandwich?”

She shook her head.

“The girl will be fine, mujer. She just needs to process whatever Coyote told her.”

Calliope sighed, stifling frustration, remembering her resolution to trust Chance.

“We still need to get to the rez. I’m planning how, so we should talk about it.”

She nodded but said nothing.

When Chance took Calliope’s plate to the kitchen, she touched Eunjoo’s forehead. It was scalding. Calliope stood quickly, removed the blanket. The girl stirred then sat up. “Chica. You’re awake.” Calliope hugged the girl, whose body emanated almost as much heat as the fireplace. She motioned her to sit on the opposite side of the couch, away from the cast iron.

The others came from the kitchen, Mara with a mug of water she handed to Eunjoo, who sipped it gingerly. “Holy hell, girl, you scared us,” Mara said. “Why’d you go coyote hunting all by yourself? You got a death wish?”

Eunjoo’s eyes had returned to their former brushed granite, inky and human. Deep purple bags swelled beneath both eyes, and her skin was sallow. But her face had resumed the relaxed and curious demeanor Calliope had become so fond of—that had disappeared for those terrifying minutes in the snow when the girl was wild.

“Tell us what happened, little bird. Why’d you follow Coyote?” Chance asked, his tone more Socratic than confused. “He need to tell you a story?”

Eunjoo nodded. “But the story wasn’t for me.”

“Oh no? Who for then, little bird?”

Eunjoo pointed to Calliope. “Phoenix’s mama.”