Grandmother Ama stirred.
“Oh,” she grunted and rolled over on her side. “Is the young one gone?”
“I sent him to the river to fish,” Swift Deer replied. “Don’t move too quickly, Grandmother, you are still weak.”
“I will become like death itself it it will help the young one grow into manhood,” Grandmother spoke with a clear but still weakened voice. “I told you these days would show the difference in your sons.
“Timpoochee is the leader. He is the one whose spirit walks with the sky. Cornstalk is a coward, too easily led by others.”
“I wish I could be sure,” Swift Deer said, still watching Timpoochee scamper toward Long Man.
“You can be sure,” Grandmother’s voice lifted. “You will see. He will attend my wounds as long as he thinks I require it. He will not waiver.”
“It’s just that I see those bad sings in him as he grows older,” said Swift Deer. “His hair is the same black and his eyes are deep in his head, like the greatest leaders and warriors. But his skin is lighter and his nose is sharp, like the Yonega nose, not flat like Cornstalk’s.”
“You are grasping at straws, woman,” insisted Grandmother. “You will see that Cornstalk can not grow with the others. You will have to let him go on his own. Don’t be worried about Timpoochee’s birth. It will make him a great leader someday.”