Okwaho sat in his sleeping rack, thinking of what had happened.

“Da neho,” Carries had said. “That is all I have to say. I am done.” Then he had looked around at the people of their little village.

“What does everyone think?” Wolf Woman had asked.

And there had been no hesitation on the part of anyone in their little village. Everyone had agreed they should welcome the Peacemaker when he came at last to them. A desire for peace was the reason they had left Onondaga.

Okwaho thought of the look on the face of Carries as he told them about the Peacemaker. It was a look of calm, of belief. Of hope. A similar expression had come to the faces of his mother and father as they heard the Peacemaker’s message. His father had been so convinced that he had agreed to travel with Carries to other villages, helping them prepare for the coming of the man himself.

Okwaho lay back on his sleeping rack. But as soon as he closed his eyes, he began to think of something else. Those he’d lost. Peace could not bring them back. And with that thought the anger that had briefly left his mind came flowing back in like a black river.

Even if a new dawn of peace did come, it would be too late for those who had been killed or taken away as captives. His uncle, At the Edge of the Sky, would still be dead. His best friend would remain far away, being taught to forget his old life, his former friends, even his name.

All of Okwaho’s excitement faded away as those dark depressing thoughts, like clouds bringing cold rain, settled around his shoulders.

When the Sleepmaker finally came, sleep brought him little rest. Instead, it dropped him into a dream. He found himself reliving the events of that day when his friend was caught. He woke up again and again during the night, sitting up and shouting “No!” It was not until just before dawn when he finally fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep.

Okwaho looked up at the elm bark roof of their longhouse and sighed. His stomach felt as if a fist were clenched inside it. He swung his legs over the side and dropped down to the floor. A pot full of chestnut mush hung over the fire, left there by his mother so he would have food when he woke. But he did not want to eat. He did not know what he wanted. He pushed open the skin door and went outside. He walked past the men working on the wall.

Muskrat and the five other little children came running up to him.

“’Kwaho, what shall we do today?” Muskrat asked.

Okwaho paid no attention to him. He just kept walking until he passed through the open gate of the stockade.

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