The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is that my clan is not with me. The second, the smell of smoke and rubble, as if every rock I’ve ever seen pushed against each other to produce flames. I sneeze. I see blood. Then, I lift myself onto legs I no longer recognize and feel the bones trembling beneath me. My eyes dart from side to side: nobody else is here. Besides the crackling of the flames, I hear no sound. No mutterings from the children, no lessons from the elders … just me. The last of my tribe. A flash of blue strikes my eyes. I think of the nearby ocean, that large expanse of water that we’ve always kept so far away from. Now, it’s time to go there. There’s nothing left here; I see our caves and huts crumbling as I look on. Our homes are long gone, and the bodies charred. I walk in the direction of the water, wondering why my mother always told me that it wasn’t safe there. Surely I could wade right in, go under, and build a new life? Maybe other deer are already under there, too. Maybe I’ll be the first deer to live there. Maybe, like my uncle that mother always warned me about, I’ll “drown”. Shaking my head, wondering what that means, I continue my walk to the shores as the flames rage on behind me.