Jolena gazed up at him in wonder, then laughed happily as he swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the village.
Behind them, on a tree limb, the dreaded nymphalid, the butterfly that portended death, flew out of its pupa, dropping its red liquid that resembled blood from the air. The nymphalid fluttered about, trying its new wings.
Then it flew away, high above the hills, away from the Blackfoot village.
*****