71 Fire Huddled in this hollow tree I make the best of my frugal fire, a small lodge of flames and coals to keep the cold away as winter air cracks and breaks around me. The tree’s empty hull is blackened by lightning that lit it like a torch and brought it burning down, a ferocious flame that seems impossible in this frozen forest where I squat and hide. The image of poor Ben Hill huddled in his chains as the Shawnee tried to roast him has made me stingy with fire even in this wild wooden world lying in a jumble and rising up around me. I have seen the hunters’ tracks down by the tangled cedar thicket 72 and seen the bear’s blood upon the frozen ground. Fire beckons to fire. I sit here, a miser of flames. ...