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Summary
Where Goodsir came from there is no permafrost, and soft, deep soil, for all those trees, those forests from which they craft their umiat, to flourish in. They fashion wooden coffins, and tear into the earth so as to inter their deceased in far-down graves, where none might innocently pick up a sun-bleached bone while thinking it to be that of an animal's, and then be required to whistle kukkukiaq for having so intimately touched human death.
Silna gives her friend a burial.