Her name was Missy, no last name - just Missy. As far as Dickie could remember, it's what she'd always been called. It was difficult to assess her age, she was anywhere between thirty and fifty. A few times Dickie had seen her, she looked young and almost attractive, and other times she looked old, frail and haggard. As with many Māori women, it was difficult to tell her age.
A young girl, perhaps around fifteen years old, crawled from the low opening of the hut. She spoke briefly to Missy in the Māori language and then returned back inside. Missy walked to a large log worn smooth from constant use that served as a seat near a fire pit. She sat down and turned her attention to Barrett.