A smile on his face, Muskrat turned and ran toward the corn field, followed by the five other little ones who had held back respectfully when their leader came up to Okwaho, but now were shrieking in delight.

Shooing away birds was their favorite thing to do. It had once been that way for Okwaho back at the big village when he was their age.

Just as had been done at the big village, a small platform had been built in the middle of the corn field. It was a man’s height off the ground and just big enough to hold either one grown person or two or three small children sitting in the midst of the several piles of stones that were all just the right size for throwing. When flocks of crows came, looking to pull up the tender new shoots of corn, those stones were used to drive the birds away. That platform also provided a vantage point for whoever was up there to watch for any threat that might be approaching. Doing that work was not just fun, it also made the little ones feel important.

As Okwaho watched them disappear down the hill toward the corn field, he shook his head. It seemed so long ago when he was enjoying life and free of care like that.

I will never be happy again, he thought.

He went back into his family’s longhouse and climbed onto his sleeping rack. He felt tired, but was sure he would not sleep.

I will just stay here for a short while. Then I will go try to find something else to do.

Yet when he closed his eyes, the Sleepmaker found him.

He was not sure how long he slept, but when he woke, it was dark outside. He’d slept away the rest of the day. Something had wakened him. What was it? Then he heard it again. A clear, strong voice.

A stranger’s voice coming from somewhere outside. And that voice was being answered by the murmur of other voices in response. Okwaho slipped on his moccasins and walked to the door of the longhouse

“That cannot be,” a loud voice said. Burnt Hair.

“It is what was said,” the stranger’s voice replied.

“Then perhaps it is so,” a calm, very familiar voice replied. Okwaho’s father, Holds the Door Open.

Okwaho pushed the skin door covering aside and looked out. Some people were sitting in a circle around the council fire. Others stood gathered around to listen. It looked as if it was everyone in their village. He knew all of them except for the stranger they were all looking at who sat cross-legged by the fire.