CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
One Fall too FarKane arrived with quiet reverence, carried by four strong undertakers. They lifted him from the hearse, revealing an intricate flax casket. Hana remained barefoot in the background, hiding on the porch of the dining hall. A woman’s voice wavered in the still air, the sound eerie and filled with the power of tradition. The lilting words of the karanga sounded haunting, delivered by Whaea. Hana stayed in the shadows, her emotions mixed and confusing. Her fingers gripped the rust red pillar Logan painted with Tama the year before and she grounded herself in the memory of his wide brush strokes. The photos had shown her a different view of Kane. A sunny child with the world at his feet, a succession of selfish adults robbed him of hope and security.
“Haere
