ABSTRACT
Perched on the village pole, I could hear a distant rhythm - ta ta ta DONK ta KUNK. The sound came from the mountain path, and I looked expectantly toward the forest. From my high perch I caught a glimpse of the returning bear hunters. Grandfather beat the drum, Red Uncle carried a parcel of deer meat wrapped in its own skin, and Clam came last, with a bear cub not much bigger than a human baby sitting serenely on his shoulder.
