permitted precisely an hour of reconnaissance in the morning. After that, Teacher Greenleaf, who was almost as old as Old Aunt Yetta but considerably less indulgent, would call her into class. Millie would scramble down her tree and go to her lessons in the dim little school-burrow, which, like most Yare dwellings, was half underground. When her school day was over, sheâd visit Old Aunt Yettaâs, where, as part of her Tribe Leader training, she was studying herb lore.
âGinger,â Old Aunt Yetta said, on a rainy afternoon in October. Millie picked up the gnarled beige-colored root.
âFor nausea, morning sickness, and . . .â Millie paused, thinking.
âYou should know this,â Old Aunt Yetta chided.
âDigestion?â
Aunt Yetta nodded, then named another herb. âBlack cohosh.â
Millie selected a thin branch covered with frilly white blossoms and tiny, round green pods. âCramps and bone-fret.â
âTincture or tea?â
âUmm . . .â
Old Aunt Yetta sighed. âNyeh. Smart as you are, you canât do better than this? What will you be doing when Iâm gone?â
Iâll be gone too, Millie thought. Sheâd find a way to shed her fur and keep it from coming back. She was sure it could be done. Sheâd leave the forest and find her real Tribe. She would . . .
âMillie.â After all these years, Old Aunt Yetta knew exactly what Millie was thinking. Shaking her head, she set out a small snackle; the crumbly, sweet whole-wheat biscuits that she knew were Millieâs favorites; a wheel of goat cheese made from the milk of her own goat, Esmerelda; and a jar of lavender honey. She piled onscones made with chives sheâd snipped from her garden; heavy clotted cream; small, sweet apples; dried cherries; and a fun-size Snickers bar as a treat. Like the rest of the Tribe, Old Aunt Yetta was forever trying to fatten Millie up, always keeping a cookie or a sweet in her pocket, putting extra sugar into Millieâs tea, extra butter on her bread, and cream on top of her morning oats.
That afternoon Aunt Yetta stuck a small candle into the middle of a seed cake. âHappy Name-Night to you, happy Name-Night to you,â she warbled in her off-key, scratchy voice. âI know it isnât until tonight, but I wanted to be wishing you the best.â Old Aunt Yetta set a wrapped rectangular box with a bow on top beside Millieâs plate. âFor when youâre done.â
The Yare didnât celebrate birthdays. Instead, they honored the seventh day after a baby was born, when the little one received a name. Millieâs real name was Millietta, but sheâd always been called Millieâor Little Bit or Smallfoot (which was a kind of joke about how the No-Furs called the Tribe Bigfoots), or Little Silver, because of her fur.
Millie smiled and clapped. âThank you.â
âNyebbeh,â said Aunt Yetta, which, in that instance, meant, âYouâre welcome, even though I am still a little upset with you.â
Millie tucked in, Old Aunt Yetta watching with approval. âDidnât you eat your snackle at school?â
Millie shrugged. The truth was, sheâd been thinking so much about the noise and bustle across the lake that sheâd barely remembered to nibble the cheese and crackers Teacher Greenleaf had served.
âWere you daydreaming?â asked Old Aunt Yetta, who was familiar with all of Millieâs bad habits.
Millie sighed. âIn a No-Fur book I am reading, I learned about elections. Do you know that the No-Furs pick their Leaders, and it doesnât even matter much what clan they are from?â
âWhat are they calling their Leaders?â
Millie crunched a bite of apple. âPresiment?â
âPresident,â Old Aunt Yetta corrected her.
âThe name is not mattering,â said Millie. âYou could be anyone, from any clan! As long
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