No one else seemed to be awake. He climbed down quietly from his sleeping rack and slipped outside. The first glow of light before dawn was enough for him to see his way. He went to the hill that looked out over their village, climbed to his favorite spot, the place where Carries had spoken to him the words of condolence. He sat down and placed his back against the giant cedar that grew there.

He looked around. No one was to be seen. That was good. He was not sure he wished anyone to hear this song yet. He began tapping his palm against one of the exposed roots of the old tree, making a sound almost like the beat of a water drum. Then he began to sing.

“Aee, aee, yai,” he sang. “Aee, aee, yai.”

As he sang, he felt as if the song was singing itself to him.

“Aee, aee, yai,” he sang.

He did it again and again, feeling more certain that this song was a good one, a song that called for what was most needed among all the people.

Then he stopped. Though he had not heard or seen anyone, he suddenly had the feeling that he was not alone. But for some reason he could not explain, he did not feel afraid about someone coming up on him unawares.

“Keep singing, little bird,” a gentle voice said from behind him. It was a deep teasing voice that called him a little bird. That voice was so gentle, so pleasant to hear, so full of kindness, that Okwaho was not startled.

He turned to look. A tall man dressed in white deerskin stood there, smiling down at him. The light of the rising sun was shining on him, so brightly that it seemed as if the light was also coming from him.

“May I join you?” the man in white deerskin asked.

Okwaho nodded, finding it hard to speak. He knew who this man had to be.

He touched the ground in front of him to indicate the man should have a seat. The tall man lowered himself gracefully to sit cross-legged across from Okwaho.

“Would you continue?” the man asked. He spoke with a Wendat accent, but his words were perfectly clear.

“Keep . . . keep singing?” Okwaho said.

“Yes,” the tall man said. “I like that song. Will you teach it to me?”

Okwaho found it hard to reply. This man was the one everyone had been talking about. The Peacemaker. But what could he, a boy of no importance, say to such a person? Despite what Carries had said, why would the Peacemaker come here to their little village? Was he not needed more in other places that were bigger and more important?

The Peacemaker smiled at him, as if hearing Okwaho’s thoughts.

“You wonder why I am here?”

Okwaho nodded.