Walking the Path to Peace

I had a fire going by the time my brother awoke.

I greeted him warmly and invited him to share my breakfast.

He looked at me with suspicion.

“Did you eat a bad plant?” he asked. “You’re acting strange.”

I shook my head and told him of my dream.

I then apologized for the things I had said the night before.

“So, you had a heartwarming dream,” he said sarcastically.

“And now you think everything is better?”

I was taken aback by his words. I thought the dream and

the apology would soften his heart, but they seemed to be

having the opposite effect. “I—I just thought that—”

Strong Wolf stood up. “Or maybe you’re just trying

to avoid war with my people.”

I looked at him in surprise.

I had not expected this kind of hostility.

“That’s right,” said Strong Wolf. “I overheard you

talking to the old man the other night. You’re worried

that my people are preparing for war. Well, they

probably are—and there’s nothing we can do about it.

Not while we’re trapped in this canyon.”

I took a deep breath and tried to remember

what I had seen in the dream, and the subsequent

peace I had felt toward my brother.

I resolved to keep my hands and heart open to him.

“Well, let’s get out of this canyon, then,” I offered.

“Together—as WE.”

Strong Wolf narrowed his eyes. “Then what?”

“Whatever you want,” I said. “You can stay with us

and rest, or you can walk back to your people.

Either way, I will honor your walking.”

Strong Wolf pressed his lips together. “You mean that?”

“I mean it. You can even pull on my bag

if you want to get there first,” I added wryly.

“That’s assuming I won’t have to carry you the rest

of the way,” said Strong Wolf, a slight smile tugging

at his lips. “What’s for breakfast?”

I let out a long, sad sigh. “More fish.”

Homecoming

A few hours later we descended the ledge and

reconnected to the path the Trailwalker had shown us.

We had not seen him since before the flood and we worried

for his safety. But knowing that he had gone ahead,

we thought we might find him if we traveled onward.

So we began the long, arduous walk up the canyon path.

The way was craggy, narrow, and steep, and filled

with obstacles and switchbacks. But as we helped each

other in our walking, we found that the way home

was difficult but not impossible.

Reaching the summit, we looked over the edge of the canyon

and marveled at how far we had come. We had survived the

Great and Terrible Canyon, and it was no small thing.

I looked at my brother. “What will you do now?” I asked.

At this point my brother had a choice. He could either

travel in the opposite direction, following the rim of the

canyon, and return to his people, or he could follow

me back to my people—and see our mother.

For a long while he said nothing

and merely stared out at the canyon.

“If you promise to protect me,” he said, “I will go with you

and see our mother. Then I will return to the other side.”

I agreed to protect him,

and we made our way back to my people.

As we walked through our village we were greeted by looks

of astonishment. “It’s Thunder Bear,” they whispered.

“Thunder Bear and his brother, Strong Wolf.

They’ve come home.”

But there was something else in their expression—

something I couldn’t quite understand. Was it sadness?

Crowding some distance behind us, my people followed

as we approached our dwelling place. Stopping at

the threshold, Strong Wolf reached out and touched the

entrance, a mixture of emotions swirling across his face.

Then he stepped inside, but I did not follow.

This moment belonged to him and our mother.

Breaking from the crowd, my wife and daughters ran

forward and embraced me. Despite the joy of our reunion,

I sensed a heavy sadness among them. I looked at my people

and noticed that all their heads were bowed low. I then

realized why—and my heart sank within me.

After a few minutes, Strong Wolf returned, his eyes shining

with tears. In his hands he held his old blanket.

“Our mother is dead,” he whispered.

Choosing Peace

Before either of us had any time to mourn, we heard three

distinct hoots in the distance. Immediately every muscle in

my body tensed. It was a warning cry. Danger was coming.

I ran forward as fast as my feet would carry me. My brother

ran beside me, for he too knew the meaning of that cry.

Soon we met with the man who had sounded the alarm.

In fear he pointed toward the woods. From the trees

emerged dozens—hundreds—of people.

It was Strong Wolf’s people.

They were armed and ready for war.

Instinctively I prepared myself for battle and told my

men to ready our defenses. But Strong Wolf put a hand

on my arm and shook his head.

“WE must end this war,” he said.

With that he walked forward toward his people.

He carried no weapon, just his tattered old blanket.

After a short distance he stopped and laid his blanket on

the ground. There he knelt, his hands outstretched.

Seeing their leader, his people came to a halt and lowered

their weapons.

“My people,” he said, loud enough for all to hear.

“Lay down your weapons—not only your knives, spears, and

swords, but also the invisible weapons of your hearts.”

His people hesitated.

“You see that I am alive,” continued Strong Wolf.

“But I am more than that. I now see that my life is

connected to others. For fifteen long years our two peoples—

indeed, our very hearts—have been divided.

It was not until today, when I saw the body of my mother,

that I saw—truly saw—the cost of our war.

“In my need to be right I have sacrificed fifteen years of

peace and harmony with our former people—our family.

We must end this war. I ask you—I invite you—let us turn

our hearts toward one another, begin anew, and walk in

harmony in the wilderness of the world.”

He stopped talking and, for a time, no one said or did

anything. Then, breaking from the line of warriors,

a young man stepped forward and dropped his bow and

arrow on the old blanket. It was Fire Fish—Strong Wolf’s

son. Leaping to his feet, my brother wrapped his arms

around his son and both of them cried tears of gratitude.

Then, one by one, many of Strong Wolf’s people

came forward and dropped their weapons on the old

blanket. But some did not. They merely shook their

heads and walked away, back into the wilderness—

back to their side of the canyon. My brother watched

them go and hung his head in shame.

“What have I done?” he asked.

“You have taken the first step toward a new beginning,”

said a familiar voice.

We looked in the direction of the voice and saw—

standing among our people—a man with a long staff.

It was the Trailwalker.

The Last Legend

Early the next morning, an hour before the sun would rise,

my brother and I sat near the edge of the Great and

Terrible Canyon, each of us wrapped in a blanket.

I was covered in the new blanket given to me by the

Trailwalker. Strong Wolf was covered in the old one

given to him by our mother. Those who had dropped

their weapons were sitting near us in silence.

The Trailwalker stood among us and explained where

he had been. He told us he had gone ahead to let us camp

alone, for in telling us the legends, he had given us all

the tools we needed to resolve our conflict.

“But you only told us four legends,” I said.

“Yes, only four,” agreed my brother.

“And you said there are five.”

“Indeed,” said the Trailwalker with a smile.

“That is because you are the fifth legend.”

My brother and I exchanged glances.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The Trailwalker extended both of his hands.

“May I see your blankets?”

We handed them over to him, more confused than cold.

The Trailwalker laid out the old blanket and knelt on it.

“I will now share the fifth and final legend.

It is called The Legend of the Two Blankets.”