Now, as he sat there, all silent, came across the plains the shouts
and harangues of the Kâ´yemäshi as they called loudly to one another,
telling, like children, of the people who had but then forded the wide
river, and passed on to the eastward "with such great ado," said they.
For the children of the Twain knew not yet the people of their parents,
nor did their parents tell them aught, save to bid them hide in the
mountains; for they willed not that their shame be made known whilst
the hearts of their erstwhile people were so sore with anguish.
And as K‘yäk´lu, the wonderful hearer, lifted his head and signed
to the Duck, forthwith knowing from the talk of the Kâ´yemäshi who
they were and what had chanced to their parents, his own brother and
sister, and all the evils that had befallen his people by the sin and
change-makings of these two. Lo! the strength of his heart wasted as he
bowed him down again in the plain, alone, blinded of sight, wearied and
lamed, and now from very sadness blinded even of thought withal, now
that he learned of the woes which the two, his own brother and sister,
had wrought upon all of the people. The Duck, long waiting, at last
shook her shells and called to him. He heard not, or hearing gave no
heed, but sat, like one bereft of all thinking, lamenting the deeds of
his brother and sister and the woes of his people.