Shaman - Kim Stanley Robinson

After a time the rain relented. The sky's cloudy dark gray seemed a bit lighter. No moon, no stars to tell him how close dawn was. But it felt close. It had to be close. It had been a long, long night.

He stood and swayed. It was utterly a lighter gray overhead. He sang, a hot song. He sang a song to the sun. He called for the sun, the great god of warmth and good cheer. He was tired and cold. But he wasn't so cold he would die. He would make it to dawn, he could feel it. This was his waddle, this was how a shaman was born. He howled till his throat was raw.