Mottled gray sea gulls shrieked demands for fish and wheeled on invisible air currents above the cold green waters of the bay. The days were chill, and low gray clouds heavy with rain, their presence a constant reminder of impending winter storms, hung over the mountains. Nights were bleak; no stars brightened the sky. Autumn reigned. The Hesquiat villagers bustled about preparing for the annual move to the winter village site. Sarita squatted on the beach, packing a large freight canoe with household goods. Her days were busy with preparations for the upcoming journey. Precious Copper arrived on one of her numerous trips from the longhouse, her arms laden with baskets and bundles of dried foods. She passed a basket stuffed with dried herbs to Sarita. Sarita smiled her thanks, then found a corner of the canoe to stow the bulging basket. She and Precious Copper worked together companionably, disposing of the rest of the bundles. When they were finished, there was little room left for anything else.
