Okwaho shook his head. He could not understand anything. Not only the bluebird’s song, but why his friend had been taken, why so many loved war. Why so many others seemed to accept that things could not be changed, that to hope for peace was a foolish wish.

Someone cleared his throat behind him. His leg muscles tensed. He almost jumped up to run. But just as quickly he realized that whoever it was behind him was trying not to startle him. That was why he—and it was surely a man from the deepness of his voice—had politely announced his presence. Plus, that bluebird was still singing on the branch. Perhaps it was telling him there was nothing to fear from whoever just arrived.

“Gwey-gwey,” the man said in a soft voice. “Hello.”

Okwaho turned. It was Carries, the one who had arrived with the message about the Peacemaker.

“I hope I did not startle you,” the tattooed man said. He smiled as he said those words. That small, gently teasing smile showed he knew he had almost made Okwaho jump out of his skin. “I have always had this habit of walking quietly. It is even more necessary these days as I go from village to village. Even though I carry a message of peace, I’m still traveling through a land of war.”

The way Carries spoke to him was good to hear. The man’s voice was soft but confident, and the light in his eyes showed he believed in what he was doing.

“Gwey-gwey,” Okwaho replied, though he did not smile back in return. The last time a smile had come to him had been that day when he and Tawis were fishing. Perhaps he would never smile again.

“This is a pleasant place. May I join you?” Carries looked up at the bluebird, still bobbing and trilling its song. “You and your small friend there?”

Okwaho reached out and touched the mossy ground next to him.

Carries sat down. He did not speak for a time. Neither did Okwaho. The two of them listened to the bluebird. Every now and then Carries would nod his head—as if understanding what the bird was saying. Perhaps he was one of those people his mother had told him about, a real listener.

Finally the bird finished its song, then bobbed its head up and down, as if saying farewell. Then it fluttered away.

Carries cleared his throat again. “You are Okwaho,” he said.

Okwaho looked at him.

“I have heard from your mother about what happened,” Carries said. “A hard thing.”