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dead.
    A man huddled on the ground by the body; head down, rocking back and forth, as if grief had made him senseless.
    A girl was kneeling over the body. She stood and spoke to the men in a voice of authority. Tsilka thought,
She can’t possibly be their leader.
But the men listened as if she were.
    The girl’s words made no sense, so Tsilka just watched her talk. She had bushy hair, a long, serious face, a lanky frame.
     She wore a lush fur dress tufted with feathers. Always thinking up clever words, Tsilka named her Many Feathers.
    Many Feathers finished speaking to her warriors.
    There was something about her words,
Tsilka thought.
    The warriors nodded, turned—
    Dawn snatched away the remnants of night, exposing everyone to everyone else.
    Startled, the strangers looked back and forth from one to another, to the Tlikit people hiding in shadows, to Many Feathers.
     Clattering rocks announced more strangers coming down the cliffside. Men, women, and little ones reached the riverbank, saw
     the others of their kind standing and staring. Stopped and stared themselves.
    Like two bison herds, head to head, waiting to see who will make the first move,
Tsilka thought.
But there are so many of them.
    The girl chief held her arms up, as if asking for help from the sky, then spoke to her people. Tsilka knew some of the words,
     though she couldn’t think how.
    The strangers walked off in different directions, leaving their chief alone with the grief-stricken man and the dead woman.
    How can they throw away vigilance like an old piece of meat?
Tsilka wondered.
    Without another glance at the Tlikit, the tribe of strangers went about their task—whatever it was. There was no Tlikit word
     for the way they moved—a slow, floating walk. Each one seemed alone with a spot of ground in front of him, but they also seemed
     together, since they were all doing exactly the same thing. They made low sounds, between humming and moaning. There was no
     Tlikit word for such a sound made by people together.
    Many Feathers tugged the body; she wanted to move it. She tried to get the huddled man to help, but he didn’t respond.
    Tsilka had a desire to go to the girl and help—a strange desire that she resisted.
    Many Feathers pushed and pulled, and finally the dead woman’s feet pointed to the river. Satisfied, the girl settledon the ground, picked up a limp hand, and stared into the face with concentration so strong Tsilka could feel it.
    Tsilka named the dead woman Longest Hair.
    The sun peeped over distant hills. An old woman picked up a stone and turned it over in her hands. Smiling, nodding like it
     was something special, the old woman touched it to her forehead, and placed it on the ground near the dead one’s feet. Other
     strangers found rocks and solemnly placed them to make a circle around Longest Hair, like the ring of light around the sun
     when the seasons are changing.
    What are the rocks for?
Tsilka wondered.
How do they know one from another?
    A child of the strangers found the stone she wanted—a large one, bigger than her head. She made a brave effort, but it was
     too heavy for such a little girl. She kept dropping it, gave up carrying—dragged, pushed, pulled—then sat down in frustration.
    The Tlikit boy named Klee went to the little girl, and together, the two children struggled the stone into place.
    These children loosed an invisible power that compelled Tlikit to help Shahala, without knowing what they were doing. As people
     of both tribes brought stones, the circle around Longest Hair grew to several rows.
    And so, at the beginning, the people were together.

CHAPTER 5
    A T THE EDGE OF THE G REAT R IVER C HIAWANA, THE Moonkeeper breathed, but she did not move, hear, or know anything that happened around her.
    In a dream, she was sitting on a high cliff, gazing at a forever view of grass and sky. She was alone, but not afraid, for
     she sensed an unseen watcher in the rocks behind her. She heard a distant noise.