Now you should know that the seven days of the Great Meeting lasted for many, many years, for in those distant times a day was as long as it needed to be, and thus many generations of the People were born, grew up, found mates, became old and feeble, and returned to enrich the earth while the Great Meeting was still going on. Late in the first day of the meeting-a day devoted to greetings and to exchanged hopes for the triple blessing of luck in mating, brave death in battle, and immortality in the songs of one's descendants— Turtle, who had been sent to keep watch on the distant shore of the Great Water, opened her sleepy eyelids and was startled to see a huge war canoe bearing down on the shore, its vast oar-cloths filled with wind. Now, Turtle's heart was not a bold one, for stones do not strengthen their spirits through battle, yet she resisted her impulse to flee until she had watched warriors wade ashore from the vast war canoe and thrust their spears into the sand, claiming the land as their own. Peeking out from beneath a bush, Turtle saw that these men had the pale eyes of bloodless ghosts. At the sight of them Turtle swallowed hard and was sore afraid, yet still she stood her ground while the pale-eyed ones celebrated by pointing their long firesticks into the air and making them roar and belch out smoke and flame. Then one of them pointed his firestick at a deer who was standing at the edge of the forest, frozen by curiosity. The firestick shouted its smoke and flame at the deer, and the deer fell, an invisible arrow through its heart. At this, Turtle turned and rushed back towards the meeting lodge, eager to tell She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name of the frightening wonders she had seen; but rushing for a turtle is not what rushing is for other creatures, so twice ten times ten summers would pass before Turtle came panting and gasping to the lodge of the Great Meeting...

...where, alas, nothing had yet been decided because the assembled animals were squabbling over matters of precedent and ancient privilege, and many used this occasion to air old disputes, rake up old wrongs, and exchange new insults, all the animals shouting at the top of their voices... voices very different from those they use today, as you will see. Old pleaded for calm, but he failed to quell the deafening babble.

"I have the right to sit closest to the fire," yapped haughty Frog, "for I am distantly related to Crayfish who made the land."

"I refuse to accept the pipe of reconciliation after vulgar Dog has soiled it with his spittle!" growled fastidious Snake.

"What compensation will I get if I surrender my rightful place to Beaver?" purred litigious Turkey.

"When do we eat?" gobbled vulgar Dog.

"I refuse to share anything with anybody!" croaked greedy Bobcat.

"Who said she would not share with anybody?" asked bewildered Mole, who was almost blind. "Who? Who?" And her neighbour whispered that greedy Bobcat had said that.

All the animals cried out either for preference, or against old wrongs, or for advantage, or in simple ill-temper, each louder than the others, until the din and confusion was more than Old could stand.

"Please be quiet," he begged. "I must have silence if I am to hear within me the soft voice of She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name and pass her message on to you!"

But the angry clamor increased until evening, and thus passed the first day of many, many years, and still Turtle was desperately rushing towards the meeting place at her slow pace.

When Old arrived at the meeting lodge on the morning of the second day, he found the animals already entangled in argument with Crow hissing at full voice, and Tree barking away, and greedy Bobcat croaking her head off, and Dog gobbling loudly into the ear of Frog, who yapped her annoyance to squeaking Bear and purring Turkey. Try though he did, Old was unable to bring order out of the chaos. And in like manner did the third day pass. And the fourth. And the fifth. And thus was the time for deliberation and preparation squandered in squabbles and petty pride.

On the night of the fifth day, Old began a fast to make himself calm in his deepest parts, so that he might hear the silent voice of She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name. He continued his fast through the night to weaken his body so that wisdom could slip past the barriers of knowledge and enter him, but he heard no voice. All the next day he chanted until his words lost all their common meanings and were free to take on universal meanings, but still no voice came. So he commanded the young men of his clan to prepare the sweat lodge with two fires, and he sat alone in the heat and smoke of the sweat lodge, fasting and chanting and sipping a wooden cup of the juice of the mushroom-that-pours-light-into-your-mind until he suddenly felt the presence of She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name growing within him. He asked her how he could hush the blustering delegates so that they might receive her warnings and her advice. And her silent voice whispered into his bones, telling him how to silence them with a woven basket, and he smiled at her crafty ruse.

And while all this was going on, Turtle continued to dash towards the meeting lodge, as she had for scores of years. But now her neck was stretched far out from her shell in an effort for speed, because Pale-eyes had followed her towards the setting sun and was gaining on her every day.

The animals were in full babble that morning of the seventh and last day of the Great Meeting when Old entered carrying a woven basket which he placed near the entrance. He then walked slowly to the center of the circle and sat on the ground, while all around him swirled snarls and banter and taunting and boasting. But the talk staggered and faltered, first here, then there, as one by one the delegates noticed the elsewhere stare in Old's eyes and his deathly pallor caused by long hours of fasting and by sipping the juice of the dangerous mushroom. They could all see that his spirit was with She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name.

Speaking through Old's hollow, eerie voice, She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name told the gathering of the menace of Pale-eyes, who would chop down the forest (Tree winced), and foul the swamps (Beaver blanched), and slay the game (many gasped), but who would do his greatest harm to the People, against whose arrows he would turn his firestick, and the People would fall in vast numbers. But his firestick was not Pale-eyes' most dreadful weapon. He would also cough upon the People and they would suffer fever and pain and whole families would die, whole clans, whole villages, and few would be left to chant of their ancestors' glorious deeds. But illness was not Pale-eyes' most dreadful weapon. He would also give the People dreamwater, which would daze them and make them believe they could hear the silence and see the invisible, and this was most alluring for from the moment they were wept upon the soil the People have yearned to hear the silence and see the invisible. They have sought it through taking strong tobacco water into themselves, through drinking the juice of magic plants, through fasting until the body is too weak to imprison the imagination, through dancing until the spirit is spun off from the body-anything to bring themselves to that dream place where silence speaks and the invisible reveals itself. Pale-eyes' dreamwater would steal the dignity of the People and make them fools and braggarts. But even his dreamwater was not the most dreadful of Pale-eyes' weapons. He would also give the People his Book, which would teach them to be meek, to accept insults, and to wait for justice after death. And the bringers of the Book would ridicule the teachings of She-Who-Creates-by-Speaking-Its-Name and mock the ancient truths and ways. Our fierce courage would be sapped, our inner voices would be silenced, and we would become pliant, obedient, and foolish.