She exhales, long and even through her nose as she sets aside the latest of her peeled tubers. He's being genial enough, gentle and firm in that way she knows to associate as the approach of someone who has lacked power in their life but has grown accustomed to wielding it just the same. Yet it still angers her, less that he's questioning her command — she encourages that, keeps her on her toes — and more that he's speaking as if she hasn't considered the autonomy of her people.

"We ask when we can. Not everyone agrees, even within families. I'm of the opinion that the rights and needs of the living trump the dead, even when it's painful." Her tone is less gentle than his, but equally firm. "We respect what we can, when we can. But we don't always have the luxury."