When next spring came a baby was born to Hanging-flower. It made no sound when it came, for it was dead. On the evening of that day, two forms, wrapped in blankets, slipped out of the bark house; one was carrying a small bundle in her arms. Quietly as shadows they glided along the road, until they reached the cemetery of the Bear clan. And there the two women buried the little, nameless thing that had come unasked for and unwelcome. No one had seen them, no one knew; and after a while, Hanging-flower herself forgot what had happened.