“Show Nana the drawing - the photo - is that the word? - show it to her,” Isobeau said, “she needs to know your connection to this woman.” We were walking toward the yurt. The sun was warming the pink tops and blue-purple bottoms of clouds on the horizon.

Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

“Good thing there’s no red sky this morning,” I mumbled.

“What?” Isobeau asked.

“So...