Night in the Hollow

I climbed the rocky path back to our hollow as darkness settled over the canyon ridges. Inside the stone recess, the gray wolf figure waited motionless, its dark shoulders catching the cool blue night. I knelt on the swept slate floor and reached into my pouch for the acorn cup boat, which I brought in from the pool before the evening chill deepened. Setting the tiny craft upon the flat face of the heavy river stone near my carving tools, the dry leaf sail caught a faint draft from the threshold and tilted gently. In Lakota, we say *ókihe* for sharing quiet resting space. I leaned my shoulder against the wolf's steadfast flank, listening to the night air pass softly outside.