It was quiet there in the clearing. No wind was blowing, no birds were singing. There were no sounds of insects in the grass. All that could be heard was two things. The first was the heavy, slow breathing of the giant of a man who looked down his nose at them. The second thing they heard was the incessant hissing of the black snakes tied into Atatarho’s long, thick hair. He paid no attention to them, even though they were constantly trying to escape, thrusting their heads forward and then coiling back again and again and again.

The sight of those snakes alone was often enough to make anyone brought before the Great Chief tremble and fall to their knees. Yet Burnt Hair and Holds the Door Open knew Atatarho and stood before him with straight backs. Okwaho felt proud of the way they stood there. They were keeping their gaze on the ground below Atatarho’s feet—for that was always the polite thing to do. But they showed no sign of fear or weakness.

The silence stretched on for so long that Okwaho began to hear a third sound—that of his own heart beating—so loud, he was afraid it would give away his position where he was crouched down in the tall ferns that covered the hillside leading down to the lake.

“Speak,” Atatarho roared. His deep, angry voice echoed throughout the clearing so loudly that Okwaho almost jumped.

“Standing Stone men came and stole one of our boys,” Burnt Hair said. “They have found our little village. We now know that we are no longer safe in our new place.”

“Hah! You think I do not know this?” Atatarho replied, his voice filled with contempt. “I know all things that happen. The birds and the wind carry messages to me. Every animal in the forest brings me word of the things that come to pass.”

He looked for a moment toward the place where Okwaho was hiding and the ghost of a smile curled his lips.

“We do not doubt this,” Holds the Door Open said. “We did not come here to tell you that. We held a meeting and it was decided to send us as messengers to ask you a question.”

Atatarho said nothing at first. He just sat there on his judgment rock, staring at them so intently that it seemed to Okwaho he was staring inside them. The men who had brought them to the Great Chief waited on either side of the rock, war clubs held across their bodies. If Atatarho gave the signal, Okwaho did not doubt that those men would step forward and beat both the messengers to death. He remembered the story of what had happened to the envoys from the Swampy Land People two moons before he and his family and the others left the big village.