“The children talk low because they are weak; you are starving them to death.”
One morning old Lok asked: “Which way does the snow come?”
The boy looked out, and said: “It comes from the north.”
“That shows it will be good weather to-morrow.” She gave the children a few roots.
The next day the old woman said: “I wish I had some meat to eat.”
“Stop!” said her daughter. “Don’t talk like that.” She was afraid that her mother wanted to kill the children and eat them.
The next morning the grandmother asked: “How does the sky look?”
The little boy said: “There are clouds.”
“Where are the clouds?”
“They are around Omisna.”