Carries leaned forward and smoothed the soft earth around the fire. Then with a long index finger, he drew a rough circle. Then he made a mark below it. “This is the Beautiful Lake and this is our village, four days’ walk from here. It began there.”

Okwaho listened closely as Carries described what happened five moons ago. He and three other men of his nation had been fishing by the shore of the lake, which had finally become free of ice with the coming of spring. They were sitting by a fire they’d made, readying their fish traps. Suddenly, one of the men had dropped the fish trap he was holding and picked up his bow and arrows.

“Look!” he shouted. “Look!”

There was something far out on the water to the north. Was it a floating log or a strange water creature? Then they made out what it was. It was a man in a canoe coming from across the lake. They all picked up weapons. Those on the other side of the lake were of the Wendat Nation. Enemies. But as that canoe came closer, the man with the bow and arrows lowered his weapon because what they saw was so strange. That canoe looked to be made of white, glistening stone. The man in it was not holding a shield or dressed in the armor made of slats of wood fastened together that the Wendats sometimes wore into battle. All he had on was clothing made of white buckskin—almost the same color as his canoe. His arms were spread wide open, showing he held no weapons. And though he was not paddling, the wind blowing at his back was pushing him and his canoe that seemed made of marble toward the four men on the shore.

Carries laughed. “It was only when he got much closer that we saw his canoe—even though it was not like our dugouts—was not made of stone. It was pure white because it was made of birch bark. But, still, the way he came toward us, arms open, chest exposed, surprised us. You know how it is these days. The first thing when you see a stranger is to guess that he is an enemy. The second thing is to kill him before he can try to kill you.”

Carries turned to look at Burnt Hair and Holds the Door Open. “Again, I must thank you for allowing me into your village and not killing me when you saw me. I had heard your little village was one opposed to fighting. That is why I came here first.”

“Huh,” Burnt Hair snorted. “We can always kill you later.”

“He is joking,” Holds the Door Open said.

“A little,” Burnt Hair said, making a serious face. Then everyone laughed. Teasing was always a good thing—a way to lighten the atmosphere and sometimes remind someone they were not more important than anyone else.