Haiwai
Would you have a child at your breast, Chisera, here is mine, for my milk is dried with hunger.
(She holds up her swaddled child which Bright Water takes and holds toward the Chisera, who stands confused, for the first time acutely aware of their misery.)
Bright Water
(Measuring the effect of her words.) Chisera, my breast is as fruitless as yours—but you ... you have ... good medicine.
Tiawa
Lay hold on the gods, Chisera, these are ills from which man cannot save us!
(The Chisera throws out her hands to signify the loss of her power, her blanket slips to the ground and she covers her face with her hands.)
The Chisera
Gone—gone! It is gone from me!