Most of those fish were small, no bigger than the width of two hands, so they kept going. Then, just past the place where the spring-fed stream widened, they both saw it. A brook trout near the surface. Facing upstream, watching for any food the stream might bring its way, it was almost as long as one of Okwaho’s arms. Big enough to provide a meal for both their families.

Sensing their presence, the trout dove, its square tail sending up a plume of spray.

“THERE!” Tawis had shouted. Then, realizing he needed to be quieter, he lowered his voice. “Under the stream bank on your side,” he said, pointing with his lips toward the other place where a big old birch tree grew, its feathery roots caressed by the current. “Go for him. I’ll keep watch.”

Okwaho nodded and slid carefully into the water. For the type of fishing they were doing, being slow and quiet was important. He put his feet down on the stream bottom, finding his balance. The cool water was up to his waist. A song came into his mind, one for the big fish. It was a song that would calm it, ask it to give itself to them, thank its spirit for the sacrifice of its flesh.

Singing that new song softly, Okwaho began to move forward, first one foot and then the other, like a stalking heron.

Okwaho looked up at Tawis on the other side, the stream wider here than an agile man could clear with a running jump.

Tawis nodded. “There,” he said. “You are in the right place.”

“Keep watch,” Okwaho said. He began taking deep breaths. One, two, three, four. When his lungs were full, he leaned forward, bending his knees until his head was underwater.

He could see the dark hole circled by a tangle of tree roots. It was deeper than he’d thought. He’d have to pull his whole body inside to reach the huge trout.

Okwaho had not worried about how long that would take. He was very good at holding his breath for a long time. Also, as he moved forward, he could see a shaft of light from overhead at the back of the hole. It was open there to the air between the thick roots on the back of the large bankside birch. If he ran out of breath, all he had to do was stand up to get his head and shoulders out of the water. That shaft of light reflected off the tail of the big trout. The rest of its body was hidden where it had nosed into a crevice at the back of the hole.

My friend, Okwaho thought, sending his thought to the fish, Swift Swimmer, I ask that you let me catch you. My family needs your help to provide food for us.