Hooking one leg under a nearby root to keep himself from floating upward, he reached both hands forward slowly. He began to move his fingers as he touched the big fish, caressing its slippery side as he worked his way up toward its gills. Feeling the quiver of its life between his hands, he grasped it firmly, pulling it out of its hiding place. It didn’t struggle, as if it was showing its agreement to be their food, knowing that they would respect it. That when it was taken from the water and the quiver of life left it, Tawis and he would speak those ancient words: May your spirit continue to swim.

Thank you for giving yourself to me, Okwaho thought as he turned inside the hole, holding the big trout to his chest, his fingers inside its gill slits. He made ready to thrust himself out and up to the surface.

But then he’d heard a sound. Even underwater, the sound reached him. It was a shout.

“NO!”

And at that same moment he felt the thudding vibrations of heavy feet.

He let go of the trout. He’d almost run out of breath, but he didn’t dare leave the hole under the bank. That shout from Tawis had been meant as a warning. He pushed backward toward the place where the hole opened up between the tree roots. Then he stood up slowly so that his head broke the surface without making a sound.

He shook his head to clear the water from his ears. All that he could see to either side were the roots of the birch tree. It meant that he could not be seen. But he could hear. And what he heard made his heart pound.

“Where is your friend?” a harsh angry voice said.

“I was alone,” answered a voice Okwaho recognized immediately as that of Tawis. “I was looking for fish by myself.”

“Hah,” another voice answered, a voice that sounded as cold as a winter wind. Like the first one who spoke, his accent was not that of an Onondaga. It sounded like that of one of the Standing Stone Nation, the Oneidas. “Do not lie to us. We saw two of you.”

“No,” Tawis said, his voice stubborn. “I was alone.”

That word was followed by a sharp slapping sound. Though he could not see what had just happened with his eyes, Okwaho saw it all too clearly in his mind. His loyal friend was being hit for his defiance.

If only Clouds Forming had been with us, Okwaho thought. She would have kept watch while we fished. With her keen eyes and ears she would have sensed trouble.

Then another voice spoke, one that was calmer than the first two.

“Do not strike the boy again. He did not cry out when you hit him. I like that. I like his courage. Maybe my mother will adopt him.”

“I have a mother already,” Tawis replied.