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to be a singer as well, to express all these things through the prayers. He would like to know many of them, to learn to conduct the Mountain Chant, and know all the beautiful stories behind the songs and ceremonies inside the Dark Circle of Branches. That would be really on the trail of beauty; to work in silver and turquoise, own soft-moving ponies, and lead the Mountain Chant. Just thinking about it was good. It made him feel cool inside.

All the time he was passing his hand along the pony’s neck, along her back, feeling the lines of tough muscles.

‘E-ya, Grandfather, are you going to dance with the horse?’ Jesting Squaw’s Son called over to him, ‘food is ready.’

‘Hakone!’ He returned abruptly to the quick-moving life of the dance. ‘I can eat it. I did not know you were coming.’

‘I came when I heard you were to race your mare. I think there is money to be made, then, and I want to see her race.’

They went up arm in arm into the crowd, pushing their way into the circle around one of the fires. Busy housewives gave them coffee, the big pot of meat was passed over, and a flat, round loaf