Ninsianna pretended to study her hands. Mama stabbed her bone needle into Papa’s kilt again and again, no longer making eye contact as she wove the coarse yarn back and forth far more than was appropriate for a mere work kilt. This was a piece of her family's history she hadn’t recalled existed, although it explained how reverent Papa was of Mama even though sometimes the warriors teased him for being browbeaten by his wife.
“Why did you come back?” Ninsianna finally asked.
“Because I love him,” Mama said. “And because he agreed to only go into the dreamtime when he needed information, not to be an open channel to any spirit that feels like stopping in to say hello. He put boundaries on how he used the gift.”
“But it will slow my progress…”
“How much progress do you think you will make
