Dashing through the village, Matica saw Mito in his potato field. Aware that the Indians didn’t like her, because of her small stature, she wasn’t sure if Mito would tell her father, but she asked him anyway if he had heard the shots. He had. He answered me, she thought. That’s a first. He might tell father then. ‘Please tell my father that I’m on the way to Ramah to see what’s going on. And please tell him that he should follow me as soon as possible.’
‘Tell Crayn, I will,’ he said and went towards the community hall.
He is telling him, Matica rejoiced and raced off, grinning. She loved the funny way Mito spoke.
Every day she walked for fifty minutes to meet Tamo at this place she had named ‘Ramah’. Beyond the village and the fields of the Indians, her path first went slightly up through bushes and shrubs then down through a little valley and up again. Next she would go through a little rainforest – not much to see in there; it was too small – then through open space again.
Her Ramah was a big, oval clearing and was enclosed by a few bushes and big conifer trees. In the middle lay a huge boulder where she would often sit and talk to her friend Tamo who would lay his head in her lap and listen to her.