Talks With Totems splashed through the shallows and up the bank to the longhouse. She knelt before the elders, gaze lowered.
"Did Raven speak?"
"Yes, Grandmother," the girl said.
"Did Raven accept our offering? Was it enough?"
"Yes, but--" She gulped. "He says he cannot do this alone. He says he must have the help of First Salmon, and she will ask a price of her own."
The elders fell silent.
Talks With Totems stared down, fingers clenched on knees. The village had given the bones of First Salmon to the waterway many days ago. By now the bones must have washed halfway to the sea.
The elders muttered among themselves. This matter could not wait another whole year for the next feast of First Salmon. "One must follow the waterway and call to First Salmon," one elder said at last. "As soon as the men return with the canoes."
"Can we wait even that long?" another asked. "Let us make a raft and send Talks With Totems while the sun is high."
"I will take her," came a voice.
Talks With Totems turned to stare at the young man with the twisted leg.
"You?" an elder asked.
Tries Hard stood tall. "A duck-hunting boat is better than a raft."
"It is finished?"
"Yes, Grandmother. Just this morning. The prow carved and painted to please the drakes and draw them near."
"Then let it ride the waterway like a drake and take you swiftly to find First Salmon."
Talks With Totems rose and followed Tries Hard's limping gait. As she helped drag the craft down to the water's edge, her fingers caressed the smooth-sanded carvings. She hoped First Salmon would find the fine work pleasing.
One of the elders tottered down to the riverside with a doeskin pouch, handing it to Talks With Totems. "Offer this to First Salmon, and sing her your sweetest praise."
"A boat?" a man's voice called.
Talks With Totems glanced over her shoulder. Here came that message runner from the Yakima tribe east of the mountains.
"You said you had no boats until your men returned!" he growled.
"No canoes worthy of carrying a warrior," an elder said. "This is just a duck-hunting boat."
"A boat is a boat. I need to take my message downriver to the Suquamish. Let me ride with these children."
Tries Hard's lips pressed thin as swallow's breath.
Talks With Totems turned to face the messenger. "You forget our tribe has not the tallness of the Yakima. We are not children."
He waved his hand in scorn. "You are young. Take me to the Suquamish."
Talks With Totems looked to the elders.
"They will take you to the river's mouth," an old woman said. "You must make your own way from there."
The Yakima climbed into the boat, clumsy as a dog. Talks With Totems helped Tries Hard shove the craft into the current. "This one knows not the way of water," she murmured to the youth before they climbed aboard. "I fear his dry heart will sour our quest."
Tries Hard clucked his tongue in agreement. He knelt in the rear of the boat, stroking the current with a leaf-shaped paddle, carved and painted like the body of a salmon.
