Chapter One
There’s only five of us. Five people turning sixteen in the village: me, Malice, Piper, Ivy, and Weed. I throw a glance at Piper and scowled. She caught me glaring and smirked.
My hands balled into fists and I quickly looked away before I would do anything that would give the two guards on either side of the door any reason to have to contain me. They were large, burly men, clad in plates of modest armor. Not so modest, however, were the long spears they held, the sharp tips gleaming in the evening sun. I couldn’t fathom why the Shaman needed guards. Sure, he was a frail old man, probably older than the dust and stars themselves, but what kind of harm was there in a few teenagers? Besides, who’s foolish enough to kill a shaman?
Oh, there’s plenty of willing people ready, a voice deep in my mind chuckled cynically. With so many acts against the old ways, what makes you think shamans are safe anymore?
I couldn’t help but wince. I chased away the thought using logic, reasoning that the shamans were the only ones who could make totems—small, wooden animal carvings. But this wasn’t entirely true. How could there be so many totems for people to trade and exchange if only shamans were making one per person? No, it didn’t make sense. Illegal mystics and sorcerers carving out animal figurines from wooden planks and selling them; they were the root cause of all this and the Youth Revolution.
A sudden, soft knock sounded from inside the tiny shed the two soldiers guarded. My ears pricked up eagerly as my whole being trembled in excited anticipation.
Not long now. Sixteen years of waiting and I was so close!
One of the men grunted. “Right then. You’ll go in the order you arrived.”
I nearly choked. “What?”
Piper snickered in satisfaction. “You heard him, Joy.” She sneered my name like it was something to be ashamed of. “First come, first served.”
The guard who hadn’t spoken banged the end of his spear against the ground. He gave me and Piper a piercing look that shut us both up quick. His partner motioned for Weed to enter. Weed, who I didn’t know very well, approached the shack, elation radiating off his every pore so that I could feel it when he passed me and slipped inside.
I cursed silently. Last! How could I be last? The answer popped immediately into my mind: Fury. If he hadn’t been “just visiting” and hadn’t loitered around outside yabbering his stupid story about when he was sixteen, maybe I would’ve gotten here earlier. Why did Fury always have to mess up everything for me?
Fury, my twenty two year old brother, claims he’s back home because he misses “Mam and my little baby sister, of course.” But Mam and I both know very well that he’s hiding out from the knights of the Stone Kingdom that have been fanning out across the region in search of totem collectors. As soon as he’d arrived, Fury marched up to the loft and stuffed all his animal figures into my hay mattress, ignoring my complaints. He changed from his well groomed tunic and trousers and fine leather boots into scratchy peasant’s clothing. He hid his sack of silver coins along with his fine clothes in the cow shed. Miss Lou, despite my begging and pleading, only ate hay and not Fury’s prized attire.
This afternoon, when the Gifting was taking place, Fury left the house, claiming that he was going out to the field, but I knew better than to think he would be doing any work. Sure enough, after I pulled on my coat and boots and rushed outside to get to the Shaman’s shed, I found Fury in front of a gigantic gaggle of giggling girls. Almost every female, ranging from five to twenty five, was there staring up at Fury with wide doe eyes. I could hardly make my way out the door, it was so crowded. I tried to push my way forward, but all the women were so captivated by Fury that they hardly budged.
Fury had his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders even though it was bitingly cold out and even though he’s more lean than muscular. As I drew closer, I heard his voice boast, “… he stared straight at me and I stared straight back, directly into his eye, and I said to the old Shaman right in his face, ‘I won’t follow you and your bland, ancient ways. I’m going to be a collector!’”
Everyone around me gasped at his audacity, but I rolled my eyes. Fury was lying; collectors weren’t around when he was sixteen. They only just started popping up three years ago. And even if there were totem collectors when he was sixteen, he wouldn’t dare say such things to the Shaman. As reckless as he is, even Fury isn’t that stupid.
I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd, about to give Fury a piece of my mind. I opened my mouth to scold him, but he beat me to it. “Joy! On your way to the Gifting?” I glared in answer. What did the numbskull think I was doing? Drooling over him like the rest of the girls?
Fury, undaunted by my fierce gaze as always, boomed, “You don’t need a crazy old man to tell you what your spirit animal is. Why, I can tell you right on the spot! Remember when you were three and used to love to watch Farmer Sorrow’s pigs roll around in the mud? And do you remember when Mam turned away and you climbed under the fence into the pen?”
My heart sank to my stomach. I tried to tell him to stop, or to at least cut his story short, but my voice seemed to have left me mute. Fury continued on, saying, “By the time Mam and I got back, I couldn’t tell which one you were! You fit in perfectly, with your snorting and your whole little body coated in mud!” He threw back his head and laughed along with his hoard of followers.
Fury swung around to face me again, his scarred face suddenly dead serious. His dark brown, bottomless eyes looked into mine straight on, chilling me down to my bones. My soul felt like it was burning in his gaze. An icy smirk spread slowly across his face, chasing away any traces left of his pervious swagger. In a voice chillier than the far northern reaches of the Ice Kingdom, he murmured, “You are a pig, Joy. No amount of collecting will ever change that.”
I cringed despite myself. I told myself to turn away, to hurry on to the little shed at the edge of the village before I missed the Gifting entirely, but Fury’s steely eyes locked me in place. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of his stare.
At last, his eyes wandered boredly away as if I was some toy he lost interest in, and the spell was broken. I hurried away, face flushed red as hooting laughter erupted behind me.
I arrived at the Shaman’s shack with four people already there. Last.
Now, as I watched Weed exit with a wooden wolverine dangling around his neck and a broad grin on his face, Fury’s last words to me echoed over and over in my head. Buried deep in my thoughts, I hardly noticed Piper’s smug look as she disappeared behind the door.
Fury left to lead his own life outside of Mam and me when he turned eighteen. Mam made him promise five times that he would write to her frequently. He never did, until one winter morning fourteen months later, when a letter arrived from Fury, saying that he was coming back for a visit.
He arrived at our doorstep with twelve totems. Twelve. As our village was quite isolated from the rest of the Stone Kingdom, we were the last to hear the news that people were starting to wear more than one totem. The Shaman and the elders were horrified, so horrified in fact, that they held a private meeting that was rumored to last for three whole days.
A totem is an object of magic, a necklace of leather with a wooden carving of an animal hanging from it. Each year, the Shaman in every village across the ten kingdoms awards all the sixteen year olds a totem. Each person is given a totem that is said to mirror his or her personality. For example, someone with an aggressive behavior might be given a tiger totem. Once a totem is worn, the person can transform into the animal on the totem at any given time, simply by thinking it. Special markings or fur colored abnormally distinguish totem-changed humans from regular animals. It was said that Shamans were the only ones who could create the mystical carvings, but recent events proved this wrong.
Sorcerers began making and selling self-made totems to people, a horrible crime in the eyes of shamans. Everyone was only supposed to have possession of the one animal that matched them most. Each totem is specifically crafted for each person. Even if a hawk totem person met another hawk totem person, no two totems are the same. It’s like a person’s soul; each is unique and there’s only one per person. The shamans believe that the people who collect totems are forsaking their own true inner being for beings that don’t correspond with them. Totem collecting is dangerous too; now a harmless mouse can become a flesh-eating panther. Elders all across the kingdoms were thrown into a panic.
To others, however, totem collectors were viewed as radical new heroes. Even though it was the sorcerers who caused it all, not an iota of credit was given to them. People, especially the younger generation, showered praise upon collectors for giving them the liberty of changing into whatever animal they wished. Don’t like your original spirit animal? Go out and trade it with a collector or buy a new one! Soon, boys began to dream not of becoming knights, but of becoming collectors. Women spread gossip about which collector got what new totem.
The excitement spread like wildfire. Spurred by the new change against the traditional ways, people began to throw away old customs. No more worshipping ancestors. No more stiff dresses and uncomfortable suits at marriages. No more Death Dolls places in coffins at funerals. In response to the revolution—the Youth Revolution, it was dubbed, since almost all the changes were caused by the younger generation—businesses began remodeling. Traditional stews were no longer served at local inns. The doctor in our village took down the plank above his door that had a prayer of good health on it. The shoemaker stopped dying his leather a deep maroon, the color that elders claimed brought good fortune.
Naturally, Fury was treated with reverence when he came back, him being a collector and “battling against the ancient ways.” Everyone suddenly wanted to be him. Young boys followed him everywhere he went. Girls swayed and sighed adoringly in his presence. He had everyone in the village talking, for both good and bad.
I, as Fury’s younger sister, am living in his shadow. I am expected, to the dismay of some and the encouraging of others, to live up to Fury’s greatness as a successful collector. My entire life, I will be compared to him. Did I do this or that as well as Fury? Am I as strong and brave as Fury? Never will I be known as Joy Sparks. Never will my accomplishments be my own. I am merely Fury Sparks’ little sister. My accomplishments will be offered up to the society and to Fury to analyze and judge and compare. Always compare.
It would intensify after today. Everyone, especially Fury, would be waiting to see my totem.
I watched as Piper marched proudly out of the Shaman’s shack with a bobcat totem. Malice appeared at my side just as Ivy went in and just in time to see Piper making a gagging gesture at me and mouthing, “Ugly.”
I gnash my teeth together. Sure, I’m not that attractive with unbearably straight red-brown hair and a short yet slightly stocky stature, but at least my green eyes are okay… or at least, I think they’re okay…
“Don’t mind her, Joy,” Malice murmured. “She’s just a good-for-nothing jerk who picks on people to make herself feel superior.”
I throw Malice, my only friend, a surprised look. Malice doesn’t hide the fact that she doesn’t like Piper, but I’ve never heard her talk about anyone that way before. See, Malice is just about the complete opposite of her name. Why she was given such a name is a mystery, since both her parents are dead and she lives with her aunt and brother. Malice puts everyone’s wellness before her own. People say she’s an angel come down to keep order in our small town. She even looks like one too, with innocent blue eyes and a curtain of wavy blonde hair.
I grinned at her. “I know what your totem’s going to be.” A dove. Or a swan. Or maybe even a crane.
Malice smiled softly. “You never know… maybe I’ll get a surprise.”
I knew instantly what she was thinking about. Deceit, her seventeen year old brother whose name also suggests nothing of his character, received a scorpion from the Shaman last year. Everyone in support of the Youth Revolution took this as evidence that the Shaman really was crazy. Deceit has absolutely no venom flowing in his veins. He’s just like his sister; kind and selfless.
Ivy suddenly popped out of the shed, carrying a bat totem. Malice patted my shoulder before heading inside.
I let out a sigh and mustered up the last of my patience. Not long now. Just a few more minutes and I would finally get my totem.
My stomach growled loudly. I shaded my eyes and squinted at the sun. It was close to mealtime. As soon as I was done here, there would be a celebratory feast waiting at home. There wouldn’t be many people there, just me, Mam, Fury, and Shame, my godfather. Maybe Malice, too, if I could get her to come.
I contemplated what totem I would get. I always fancied wild cats; maybe I would get a snow leopard or something. Or maybe a bird of some sort… an eagle? Or a fox! I would definitely be happy with a fox, if I was crafty or playful enough to get one.
The minutes ticked sluggishly by. I glanced at the two guards. Their stony faces made it clear that they were not up for conversation. My feet started to itch furiously. If I didn’t get in that shed soon, I would surely explode. With all the willpower I could summon, I forced myself to remain still.
At last, after a thousand eternities, Malice came out with a slight frown on her face. Too occupied with the door that was finally wide open for me, I resolved to ask her about it later. I rushed in and snapped the door shut behind me.
There were no windows inside the wooden shack. Three walls were covered with traditional-style rugs. Pictures were woven into each, depicting a story of a hunt or something of the sort. There was another large, circular rug on the floor, on which the Shaman knelt. A musty smell filled the small, quite cramped space.
I lowered myself before the Shaman and bowed slowly three times, as was customary. The ancient man was made up entirely of fold upon fold of wrinkles. His beady eyes fixed me with their gaze as his boney hands clutched the staff that was laid across his lap. A small cap fit snugly over his bald head. He wore a heavy, multicolored robe that had no doubt been in his family for generations.
I finished my bowing and stared at the Shaman head on. He stared right back, unblinking. In truth, his gaze was more than a little unnerving, but I didn’t back down because I knew Fury wouldn’t have.
After a long stretch of uncomfortable silence, he said, “Joy Sparks.” His voice was surprisingly rich for his age.
Unsure of whether I was supposed to say something in return, I just nodded.
The Shaman closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly. “I remember your brother,” he rasped out.
Just like that, I almost snapped. I almost leaped to my feet and clawed his face out. Why did everyone talk about my brother when they saw me? Why couldn’t they acknowledge me for me?
I sat there, fuming silently as the Shaman continued, “He was like a blossoming fire then; vibrant and full of life, but if you got too close you’d feel his harsh bite. Somewhat like his name. Fury, is that right?” He opened his eyes and looked beadily at me.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
The Shaman didn’t seem to care about my silence. He plowed on, saying, “I could’ve given him something else. A cheetah, perhaps. But I saw… I saw what he would become.” He studied me carefully. “You of all people surely must think that a snake is not the most perfect match. Do you think a cheetah would’ve served him better?”
I shrugged one shoulder indifferently, not really caring about anything he was saying so far. What did any of this have to do with me?
The Shaman shook his head slowly and blew out a long sigh. “You’ll see for yourself, eventually. A Shaman is always right, which is why this collecting rubbish needs to be extinguished.”
I nodded absently with pursed lips as I stroked the soft carpet beneath me. This was turning out to be a waste of my time.
“I see that you are tired of living with the burden of people judging you against your brother,” the Shaman whispered in a soft voice. My head snapped up to find him looking at me with almost pitying eyes. “Very well. I cannot blame you, child, although I must say that you both have very much in common than either of you think. Of course, you have great differences as well… But I’ll stop the talk of Fury here.”
I watched greedily as the Shaman reached into the deep folds of his robe and pulled out a leather rope. He placed the totem into my cupped, slightly trembling hands. I fumbled with sudden clumsiness as I devoured the sight of the animal…
A… a butterfly?!
I stared up at the Shaman in disbelief. “Why… what… you…”
The Shaman was obviously displeased with my reaction. “Child, a totem, any totem, is a wondrous gift that you should treasure with all your being. It is your being, your soul in a small figurine.”
I struggled to form words, my mind still frozen with shock. Was this some kind of joke? “But… but I…” But I wanted a snow leopard! An eagle! A fox! I would’ve even taken a deer! Anything was better than a butterfly! I mean, maybe back before the Youth Revolution started, people were okay with insect totems, but now they’re symbols of weakness. They’re considered totems for only the lowly and the powerless.
The Shaman’s face hardened as if he’d read my thoughts. He gestured to the rugged wall on his right. “Do you know what the pictures on this tell?”
I hardly even spared it a glance. “A hunt.” Big deal.
“A hunt of?”
“A bear.”
The Shaman placed his hands on his knobby knees and leaned forward. “Not just any bear.” He pointed to a white swirl on the bear’s chest. “A totem bear.
“The story behind these pictures is of a man who was given a lizard totem. He had his heart set on getting a bear totem, and was enraged by what he called a blasphemous act. Being completely ungrateful of his gift, he threw his totem away and stole another man’s bear totem.
“Now, you must understand something about wearing another person’s totem, their original totem, mind you. Wearing a totem that some so-called sorcerer gave you is one thing. These cursed objects have no link whatsoever to anyone, and therefore, while it’s still wrong to do so, wearing one would be fairly harmless. Wearing someone else’s totem is a whole different story. The totem has a special connection to that specific person and is meant for only that person to wear and use it. If someone else were to use it… well, that’d be like using someone else’s soul. It upsets the natural balance between the original owner and the new one, which can cause Soul Sickness in both of them; another reason why this foolish collecting must be stopped.”
I was only half listening, waiting for when he would explain to me what logical reasoning made him give me a butterfly. Or maybe there was no reasoning. Maybe he really was insane, like half the village claimed.
“Anyway,” the Shaman babbled on, “the original owner of the bear totem quickly discovered that his precious item was missing. He alerted the village elders, who ordered a search. The man who threw away his lizard totem fled as soon as possible, but someone caught sight of him and led the other townsmen. The guilty man transformed into a bear, and it became a hunt. Can you imagine a once proud totem reduced to such a lowly act?” The Shaman shook his head with disgust. “The worst part is that hey never caught him. He and the original owner both died of Soul Sickness.”
My stomach grumbled a noisy complaint. I turned the totem—I refused to think of it as my totem—over and over in my hands, wondering what did I do to deserve this?
“Child.” The Shaman’s voice was softer now. “You may not realize it now, but what I’ve just handed to you is an object of extraordinary power. The fact that I’ve given it to you, of all people—“He broke off like he was choking and stared at his hands. “You have to trust in me, you must and I—“
“I don’t like it,” I interrupted coldly. He looked up at me with eyes more sorrowful than angry.
Then I did something that would make almost all elders faint with horror. I got up and walked out without the Shaman dismissing me.
“You are what you are,” the Shaman intoned darkly as I exited. “No amount of collecting will change that.”
I almost slammed the door then, because it was so close to what Fury had said.
*****
I kicked at the snow, unable to believe my bad luck. Piper would never let me live this down. She would taunt me every hour of every day. I could practically hear her voice now, sneering gleefully, “Oh wow, a butterfly. You must feel so accomplished.”
And Fury. I shuddered at the thought of what he would do. Laugh cruelly? Or give me that soul-sucking, bone-chilling stare? I hoped for the former; there was something about his stare that was just not normal… not human…
I lowered myself and sat on a snow-encased rock. I was at the base of the Heavenhope Mountains, high enough to get a view of the entire town. Two small shapes were scurrying away from the Shaman’s small shed, with a tiny, hunched figure hobbling slowly between them; the two guards were escorting the Shaman to his hut high in the mountains, where he would live undisturbed unless an urgent emergency came up. Farther off, smoke rose like a mournful spirit from the cluster of cozy houses. Eastward were the farmers’ fields, cold and barren now but beautiful hues of blue and violet in the spring.
Our village, being so close to the Ice Kingdom, is considerably colder than the rest of the Stone Kingdom, so farmers only grow crops that can sustain in the frigid temperatures. As a result, our diet is more like that of the Ice people; snow corn, ice berries, mint leaf, pine bark, and, of course, fish.
I vigorously rubbed my mittened hands together, wishing wistfully for spring and summer. Even though the snow never really vanishes, the sun stays out longer and the sky turns lighter during spring months.
I glanced up at the thought of the sky. Dark, gloomy clouds were moving in, bringing the promise of more snow. I sighed, pulled my hood up, and jumped to my feet… and lost my footing on a slanted sheet of ice. My hands immediately reached out in front of me to break my fall, only to find another layer of ice under the powdering of snow. My hands slipped and my body hit the ground. Before I could find anything to hold onto, I was sliding down the slippery slope toward the sharp, ice-hardened rocks waiting at the bottom.
My fingers frantically combed the snow for something to latch onto. Nothing, nothing, nothing… My palm suddenly hit something that felt wooden and I closed my fist around it, but the object just came away with me on my flight downward.
A long lump in the snow came into view ahead. I expected to plow right through it, but my feet got tangled in branches and something snagged my coat, causing me to come to an abrupt, painful halt. Some snow I disturbed slid down into my shirt. I shivered, but other than that kept perfectly still, afraid that if I moved even my pinkie finger, the bush that had caught me would let me fall one more. I noticed that I was trembling and forced myself to stop as I caught my breath.
I opened one fist and was surprised to find that I was still clutching with a death grip the piece of wood I felt earlier. I raised my arm to toss it, but something about it made me pause.
And that’s when I saw the leather rope.
I brought the wood close to my face for inspection, ignoring the sharp stinging in my legs of a dozen pointed branched digging into my skin. Two elegantly carved wings, outstretched as if in mid-flight. A beak curved and sanded to smooth perfection. A pair of piercing eyes that had obviously been chiseled with a skillful hand.
I’d stumbled across a hawk totem.
Without a second’s hesitation, without even considering the visit I’d just paid the Shaman, I yanked my hood back as far as it would go in the bushes and slipped the totem over my head with one hand clumsy with numbness. My other hand delved deep into my fur-lined pocket and pulled out the butterfly. I dangled it before my eyes, considering whether or not I should keep it to start off my collection. I decided against it, figuring that it would just arouse suspicion, and besides, what collector in their right mind would want a butterfly totem?
I hung the butterfly on a nearby branch and craned my neck to look down. No doubt the rest of the slope was covered with a layer of ice. It wasn’t too far from the bottom. If I just somehow slowed my speed, then crashing—or rather, bumping—into the rocks wouldn’t be a problem.
And then I realized what an idiot I was. Didn’t I just find a hawk totem? All I have to do is fly down!
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and, summoning up all of my being from deep within my body, willed myself to transform.
Instantly, I began to shrink to the height of about a foot while at the same time, my face felt like it was expanding out to form something like a cone that stuck out where my nose and mouth were. My eyesight sharpened everything into clear, defined shapes. Each breath I took became richly enhanced with distinct aromas, layer upon layer of different smells that were undetectable just a moment before. My ears were suddenly able to identify even the smallest scuffle of a passing rodent at the top of the slope, and my toenails felt like they were shooting outward. My whole body felt light and, I realized with a start as a soft, pleasantly cool breeze swept past, free. Wild, almost.
I ruffled my feathers that I saw, in my peripheral vision, to be dark purple, and took to the skies.
I was immediately infused with a feeling that none other can compare. All my worries vanished as if the wind has brushed them aside. My wings sliced smoothly through the frigid, never-ending sky as I soared effortlessly above the slope and higher up into mountains, every feather taking in every subtle detail from change of wind to speed to temperature. Even the smallest shifts of wing movement affected my flight; one twitch sent me sailing west while a change in balance made me execute a sharp turn. Not once did I have to pause and think about whether I should glide or flap; everything came naturally as if I was born a hawk, and with this came a perfect internal compass and an impeccable sense of direction.
I wheeled up toward the gray sky, letting myself gain altitude until the mounds of snow on the mountains blended together into a white blur. As I danced a graceful ballet through the sky, feeling the power of my own body with every wing flap, I knew that I had been meant for this, that my spirit had been made to fly in such a way that no butterfly could ever compare.
I wasn’t even aware of how high I’d gone until I looked down and saw that the village had shrunk to a small cluster of tiny brown squares. Knowing that if I didn’t get back soon Mam would start to tear her hair out, I immediately hurtled downward, breathless exhilaration shooting through me like an electric shock. The ground rushed up to meet me, and, heart pounding madly with adrenaline, I let out a sharp cry of wild happiness that echoed across the stony mountain range. I slowed my dive at the last moment and pulled myself into an impeccable landing, resting my talons on one of the
rocks that I had been so concerned about smashing into earlier.
I smiled to myself. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I arrived at town twenty minutes later, back in my human form and knowing Mam was going to create a huge fuss about me being late. The village was abuzz with activity; most people were celebrating the coming and going of another Gifting even if they weren’t blood related to any of the sixteen year olds. Smells of festive dishes being prepared poured out of numerous houses, filling the air with a mouth-watering aroma. I spotted Weed’s father slapping his son on the back, a huge, identical grin on both of their faces as a small crowd applauded Weed’s first totem. I dodged past a line of dancing women and men playing drums, lutes, and cymbals. The sound of chatter and laughter invaded everywhere like an omnipresent melody.
And in every direction, there was the clash of the old traditions and the Youth Revolution. At tables that had been set outside homes, housewives served customary bluefish with ice berries while their young daughters brought platters of tangerines imported from the Earth Kingdom, a nonverbal sign that young people are opened minded and welcome diversity. In a corner, a boy was being severely chastised by someone, his grandfather, perhaps, who was dressed in layers upon layers of cloaks and robes that had ancient runes carefully tailored into the heavy fabric. I took another look at the boy and realized with a start that he wasn’t a boy at all; it was a girl with daringly short hair and dressed in men’s trousers. I blinked once in surprised shock and swung around to look the other way, almost bumping into a table in the process. I muttered my apologizes as the elders who sat ramrod straight at the table shot me an irritated glare, while the younger kids slouched and hardly even looked up. Everywhere, kids slumped and spoke to the elderly with utter disregard of using a respectful tone.
“Joy!” a soft voice called over the din. “Joy, wait up!”
I whipped around to see Malice making her way as fast as she could toward me. I waited as she pushed her way past hustling bodies.
“Where were you?” she panted when she finally reached me. “I’ve been looking for you for almost an hour!” She pulled me closer and I became aware of how tense she was. “I have to tell you something.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked anxiously.
Malice bit her lip and looked up at me as if she were debating something in her head. He face suddenly set with determination, she pulled out her totem from her pocket and handed it to me. I expected to see a bird of some sort, an animal that evoked images of peace and unity.
Instead, I saw a snake.
. So please please PLEASE for all that is holy,