Ivory dancers from Atka

He crouches as he shakes a rattle in each hand outstretched. He’s an old man singing; he’s telling a story. He’s gathering seaweed and putting it in a pouch. He’s smoking fish. We know the story how his impatience ruined the fish. The smoke from his fire rises as the dust from his feet. * She stands with her hands, holding her rattles, on her hips. She’s not happy with the stupidity of old men who think they know everything but should know better.