Chemanitou now took no pleasure in his work that was done—it was not good in his sight.
He wished he had not given it hands; might it not, when trusted with life, might it not begin to create? might it not thwart the plans of the master of life himself!
He looked long at the image. He saw what it would do when life should be given it. He knew all things.
He now put fire in the image: but fire is not life.
He put fire within, and a red glow passed through and through it. The fire dried the clay of which it was made, and gave the image an exceedingly fierce aspect. It shone through the scales upon the breast, and the gills, and the bat-winged ears. The lobster eyes were like a living coal.
Chemanitou opened the side of the image, but he did not enter. He had given it hands and a chin.
It could smile like the manittoes themselves.
He made it walk all about the island of Metówac, that he might see how it would act. This he did by means of his will.
He now put a little life into it, but he did not take out the fire. Chemanitou saw the aspect of the creature would be very terrible, and yet that he could smile in such a manner that he ceased to be ugly. He thought much upon these things. He felt it would not be best to let such a creature live; a creature made up mostly from the beasts of the field, but with hands of power, a chin lifting the head upward, and lips holding all things within themselves.
While he thought upon these things, he took the image in his hands and cast it into the cave.