What happened to the kid was not particularly surprising. Dawn Burnett had been too frequently close to real trouble, if not half-buried in it.
And, sad as it might be to say, she would not have been the first Lakota kid to die mysteriously, horribly, in the open spaces of blinding winter cold all around.
Nothing of that was shocking. Sad? —yes, unquestionably and terribly sad. After all, Dawn was a gorgeous young girl with so much going for her.
Whatever happened that night, whatever she did or didn’t do, opened stories never told but not forgotten, stories that emerge painfully in a world of swirling, naked cold, where forgiveness seems an endless horizon away.