K‘yäk´lu took of his plume-wands the lightest and choicest; and the Duck gave to him her two strong pinion-feathers that he might pendant them therewith, making them far reaching and far-seeing. And the Rainbow arched himself and stooped nigh to them whilst K‘yäk´lu, breathing on the plumes, approached him and fastened them to his heart side. And while with bent head, all white and glistening wet, K‘yäk´lu said the sacred words, not turning to one side nor to the other, behold! the Rainbow shadow gleamed full brightly on his forehead like a little rainbow, (even as the great sky itself gleams little in a tiny dew-drop) and became painted thereon, and í‘hlimna.
"Thanks this day!" said the Rainbow. "Mount, now, on my shoulders, grandson!"
The Rainbow unbent himself lower that K‘yäk´lu might mount; then he arched himself high amidst the clouds, bearing K‘yäk´lu upward as in the breath a mote is borne, and the Duck spread her wings in flight toward the south. Thitherward, like an arrow, the Rainbow-worm straightened himself forward and followed until his face looked into the Lake of the Ancients, the mists whereof were to him breath and substance.
And there in the plain to the north of Kâ´‘hluëlane, K‘yäk´lu descended even ere the sun was fully entered, and while yet it was light, the Rainbow betook himself swiftly back.
But alas! K‘yäk´lu was weary and lame. He could not journey farther, but sat himself down to rest and ponder the way.
THE TARRYING OF K‘YÄK´LU IN THE PLAIN, AND HIS DISMAY.
Now, as he sat there, all silent, came across the plains the shouts and harangues of the Kâ´yemäshi as they called loudly to one another, telling, like children, of the people who had but then forded the wide river, and passed on to the eastward "with such great ado," said they.
For the children of the Twain knew not yet the people of their parents, nor did their parents tell them aught, save to bid them hide in the mountains; for they willed not that their shame be made known whilst the hearts of their erstwhile people were so sore with anguish.
And as K‘yäk´lu, the wonderful hearer, lifted his head and signed to the Duck, forthwith knowing from the talk of the Kâ´yemäshi who they were and what had chanced to their parents, his own brother and sister, and all the evils that had befallen his people by the sin and change-makings of these two. Lo! the strength of his heart wasted as he bowed him down again in the plain, alone, blinded of sight, wearied and lamed, and now from very sadness blinded even of thought withal, now that he learned of the woes which the two, his own brother and sister, had wrought upon all of the people. The Duck, long waiting, at last shook her shells and called to him. He heard not, or hearing gave no heed, but sat, like one bereft of all thinking, lamenting the deeds of his brother and sister and the woes of his people.