Monday:
As the group sits by their fire that evening, Jas examines one of Roman’s carvings—a small bird, its wings stretched in flight.
“What is it?” Jas asks.
“A raven,” Roman says. “It’s...important, I think. To the Haida. But I don’t know all the stories.”
Ivy Mae looks up from the journal she’s been reading. “Roman, you’ve been carving since I’ve known you. You’re creating your own stories, even if you don’t realize it.”
Roman shakes his head. “Stories aren’t just made up. They’re passed down. They’re shared. My birth family might have told me stories like this, but I was taken. All I know is what I feel when I carve.”
Jas holds the carving carefully. “Maybe you’re remembering in a different way. Through your hands, not your head.”
Roman is quiet for a long time before finally nodding.