After consuming a light morning meal, consisting of a wooden bowl containing corn meal mush sweetened with a little maple tree sap, a handful of spring berries, and some ample swigs of cool water, Ayenwatha walked about the outer vicinity of his clan’s longhouse.
It was well past the time to round up his new guests for a river excursion. The bright morning felt fresh and invigorating, despite the gathering storms of war on the horizon. Ayenwatha savored the moments at hand, looking forward to learning more about the foreigners and gliding down the sun-graced waterways of the Five Realms.
Three of the foreigners were lounging about inside the structure, talking together within their designated compartment. When Ayenwatha had entered the chamber to summon them, the young man named Antonio was laughing boisterously at some jest of the one called Kent. The latter, Ayenwatha could already sense, was very given to humor, and the war sachem found himself taking an early liking to the spirited man.
The last member of the trio was Mershad, who was politely listening to them nearby. He was definitely a quiet one, and a little harder to read.
The blue-eyed male with the medium length brown hair, named Janus, was found strolling idly about the grounds of the village. Ayenwatha grinned as he saw Janus being trailed at a distance by a few curious children.
The dark-haired, solemn one named Logan was discovered sitting by himself on the shaded side of the longhouse, with his back resting against the elm bark paneling.
The dark-skinned man called Derek and the tall female named Erika were found together in another part of the village. They had been speaking with a couple of the village warriors, standing close to the modest garden plot for ceremonial tobacco lying adjacent to the great longhouse where the Sacred Fire of the Five Realms was kept and tended.
The warriors were showing the guests their curved war clubs, and as Erika watched over his shoulder, Derek fingered one of the weapons with an unmistakable look of admiration. The sight was no surprise to Ayenwatha, as Derek carried the distinctive air of a warrior.
Once Ayenwatha had all seven of the foreigners gathered together, he walked at their head towards the village entrance. Several of the village warriors were already assembled and waiting there.
They joined the stalwart war sachem and the foreigners, as he led them all forth from the village. The party passed through the village’s narrow front entrance and headed down the slope of the great hill. A light spread of fog was slowly wafting through the trees below, and a vibrant chill yet lingered in the morning air.
Though the additional warriors took pains not to discomfort the foreigners, there was no denying the warriors’ escort function. They were all there at Ayenwatha’s behest. The seasoned war sachem was not about to discard reasonable precautions, even if he still sensed no threats present in the otherworlders.
Ayenwatha glanced towards the seven foreigners, and saw that most of them looked quite alert, well-rested for the day’s coming foray.
Two of the three that had remained inside the longhouse were still showing signs of being a little drowsy. Antonio and Kent yawned periodically, and stretched out stiffened shoulder and arm muscles as they headed down the hillside. Yet they already walked with a limber step, and it was clear that they were simply shedding the last vestiges of a long sleep’s grogginess.
Once they had reached the base of the village’s hill, Ayenwatha led the party forward through the trees. They soon passed through the primary areas used for the village’s cultivation, in which a number of women had just gotten underway in tending to their day’s work tasks.
Ayenwatha watched them idly as his group continued on past the crops. Two of the women had been dear friends to his own beloved wife. They had helped to bring his daughter into the world, one of the most precious, wonderful days in all his life.
The beautiful memories swiftly brought sharp pangs of pain and regret that he quickly pushed back down, before they could evolve into cavernous sorrows. Those shining days were past, and could never be regained. He lived with an abiding hope in the beneficence of the One Spirit, but the only thing that now mattered was what lay right ahead of him.
Laboring with their hoes made of wood and bone, the diligent women paid the group little attention as they passed by. They were far more concerned with the needs of the Three Sisters, the maize, beans, and squash that were so utterly vital to the village and tribe’s well-being.
The party left the fields behind and continued onward until they finally arrived at the Winding Stream. Too broad to jump, and moderate in depth, the substantial waterway displayed a robustly flowing current between its banks.
A few of the warriors with Ayenwatha broke away and headed off into the undergrowth. They shortly pulled a number of canoes out from where their elongated forms had been obscured by the dense foliage growing adjacent to the stream’s near bank. The light, narrow vessels of stitched bark were subsequently dragged down the bank, and maneuvered to the edge of the water.
The group was then divided up and assigned to the four canoes, separating the seven foreigners in the process. The next moments were spent getting situated in the vessels and pushing them off into the water.
The current quickly gripped the canoes and began to carry them downstream. Without delay, the Onan warriors picked up wooden oars that were lying within the interior of the boats.
With fluid motions, the warriors dipped the oars into the water and pulled vigorously as they began to propel the vessels down the Winding Steam. They traveled in a staggered line, with Ayenwatha’s canoe traveling in the lead.
Almost immediately after bringing the boats under control, the quartet was gliding into a curving bend towards the left. It was just one of the many twists and turns that gave the sinewy watercourse its name.
The rising sun’s rays glinted off the stream as they slanted through the flanking trees, dappling the water surface with a dynamic blend of sparkles and shadows. A lively chorus of insects along the banks and high among the trees joined their serenade with the bright songs of birds, providing a peaceful accompaniment to the passage of the four boats cruising smoothly along the water’s surface.
Before the sun had risen much higher, the Winding Stream merged in a confluence with a much larger river. Looking behind him, Ayenwatha watched the eyes of his guests widen in wonder as they passed into the channel of the considerably larger flow.
The greater river was called the Little Brother. The Little Brother was a substantial river in its own right, but undeniably a lesser sibling to the great Shimmering River that passed through the very heart of the Five Realms.
The Little Brother had cut deep into the tribal lands over the long ages, as it meandered around a number of large, forested hills. Rich green slopes towered high to either side of the river, rising away from the steep banks. The morning fog had dissipated by then, and Ayenwatha relished the brightness of the clear, unsullied day that now dominated the skies above them.
Ayenwatha heard the otherworlders within his vessel begin to speak quietly to each other, where they sat just a few places behind him. Discreetly, Ayenwatha listened intently to their conversation.
“I wonder where we are going today. It seems to be quite the surprise,” the one named Logan commented, with a somber tinge to his voice.
Antonio replied in a similarly low voice. “Do you think I know? You tried asking him?”
Ayenwatha knew that they were referring to him. His finely chiseled limbs continued to move with a steady, rhythmic grace, flowing smoothly through each dip, pull, and raising of his oar. The war sachem kept his eyes focused upon the broad river ahead, even if his mind was wholly occupied with his guests.
There was no need to interject with an answer. They would know where they were going, and who would be waiting there, soon enough.