Beyond the first valley of the high plain to the southward, he set the
four plume-wands in this wise: First, the yellow, he planted upright,
and over it leaned, looking at it intently. And when it had ceased to
flutter, lo! the eagle down on it leaned northward, but moved not. Then
he thus set the blue wand and watched it, and the white wand; but the
eagle down on them leaned to right and left and still northward, yet
moved not thereafter.
Then farther on he planted the red wand, and breathing not, long
watched it closely, bending low. Soon the soft down-plumes began to
wave as though blown by the breath of some small creature; backward
and forward, northward and southward they swayed, as if in time to the
breath of one resting.
"Ha! 'tis the breath of my maidens in Summerland!" quoth Paíyatuma,
"for the plume of the southland sways, soft though, to their gentle
breathing. Lo! thus it is and thus shall it ever be when I set the
down of my mists on the plains, and scatter my bright beads in the
northland; summer shall go thither from afar, borne on the breaths
of the Seed maidens, and where they breathe, warmth, health, showers
and fertility shall follow with the birds of Summerland and the
butterflies, northward over the world." This he said as he uprose and
sped, by the magic of his knowledge how, all swiftly, far southward
into the countries of Summerland; yea, swiftly and all silently as
the soft breath he sought for, bearing his painted flute before him.
And when he paused as though to rest, he played on his painted flute,
and quickly butterflies and birds sought the dew of his breathings
therefrom.
Them he sent forth to seek the Maidens, following swiftly, and long ere
he found them he greeted them, with the music of his song-sound, as the
People of Seed now greet them in the song of their dances.