Holding his hands out in front of him, palms down as though warming them over a nonexistent fire, he began to sing quietly. The words of his song came from Langland’s book, words in the tongue of the coastal Salish. Although he couldn’t speak the language, the book had thoughtfully provided an English translation, and it was this that ran through his mind. He was only guessing at the pronunciation, and the melody was one of his own creation. But maybe the totems won’t care, he thought. Only what’s in my heart, in my soul, should matter.