The People of Twelve Thousand Winters Read Online Free PDF

eyes.
    Then Father speaks. “Walking Turtle, here in warrior school you will face many tests. You will learn the ways of a great hunter, a proud and brave warrior. It will not be easy.” Father crosses his arms in silence, a sign his words are finished.
    But I know what his unspoken words are saying. I must come to warrior school but Little Talk cannot. How can I come here without Little Talk?
    Inside, I do not like this, but I answer with respect, “ Ahikta nux . Yes, my Father. I know.”

    Father is Soaring Hawk. He is well respected in our village as a fair and honest trader. He has traveled as far west as Shamokin on the great Susquehanna River and as far south as Shackamaxon , the center of Lenapehoking . He trades our fine beaver pelts, deerskins, antler pipes, and seashell beads that Grandmother makes. Sometimes he brings back things from afar like a woodland buffalo robe.
    Someday, if I do well in warrior school, I will go with him. But I worry about Little Talk when I am gone.

    Tonight is our Giving Thanks Ceremony in the Big House. Everyone sits with their own clan. Little Talk, Heart Berry, and I sit behind our mothers and grandmother. We are of the Turtle Clan. Father sits with the Wolf Clan and Little Talk’s father sits with the Turkey Clan. But we are all Lenape. We the people have gathered to give thanks to Kishelemukong , our Creator.
    It is a chilly night. Mother makes us wear our leggings. She wears her turkey feather cape. Her long black hair is dressed with a shell comb and she has painted small red dots on her cheeks and eyelids. I think she looks beautiful.

    Like most of the hunters and warriors, Father’s face is painted part black and part red in honor of Mesingw , the Good Spirit Being of the forest who keeps watch over all the trees, plants, and animals. A special dancer wearing a bearskin and the mask of Mesingw appears to remind the people to be grateful to Mesingw , especially for the hunters’ safe return.
    Then, the Big House grows silent, waiting for White Antler. White Antler is our sakima .

    All at once, our drums begin to beat. Louder and louder they pound until they become the very heartbeat of the earth. My heart beats with the drums until it is pounding, too. Suddenly the drums go silent, and my heart seems to stop.
    There stands White Antler, dressed in the head, antlers, and hide of a huge white stag, with dried deer hooves tied above each knee. They jangle as he dances from one end of the Big House to the other, shaking a turtle shell rattle in his hand. Little Talk and I watch every move until White Antler stops in front of our carved center pole.
    â€œLenape, first people of the sunrise. Listen well to my words.”

    â€œ Kishelemukong , our Creator, has given our people a land that stretches far beyond our Great Salt Sea and Sky Blue Mountains. I have seen the valley of our Ohio brothers and the Big Waters of Michigane. I have heard of the long river of the Mississippi people that divides and washes wide places of grass. I have heard of high mountain peaks of purple that stand guard over other valleys crowded with giant trees and rivers that flow down to another Great Salt Sea where Brother Sun sleeps each night.
    â€œWe the people, first to welcome Brother Sun, must be ever grateful to Kishelemukong for this vast land beyond our mountains. We must show our thanks by being the caretakers of this bountiful land, in harmony with Kishelemukong .”
    Our drums start to beat. Our people begin to dance. Then Little Talk whispers, “Walking Turtle, carry me up to the thinking place.”

    Unnoticed, we slip out of the Big House into the night air. We climb the hill above our village and perch on a big overhanging rock. A cold wind blows from the north as gray clouds race across the starry sky. My mind races too, thinking about warrior school and Little Talk and White Antler’s words.
    Could there be two boys like us on top of those