The Sparrow Hawk, without doubt. Could you give me a curse for him?
The Chisera
(Rising.) Ah, you should not have asked me that. Never since my father died have I thought to regret that he did not teach me the making of evil medicine. Would I had all the curses in the world! (Turning piteously to him.) But you do not love me any the less because I have not one little, little curse to give you?
Simwa
No, it is nothing. No curse can reach me past your blessing. But I would not have thought the old man would leave you wholly unprotected. Why, even I could wrong you, and, without a curse (trying to speak lightly) you could not punish me for it.
The Chisera
If no one does me no more wrong than you, Simwa, I need no cursing. But, in truth, my father did give me—Ah, now I have thought of another gift for you, Arrow-Maker of Sagharawite! Before he died, the medicine man, my father—did I not tell you? (she rummages eagerly in her medicine bag)—gave me this magic arrow against my evil hour. (Drawing it out.) See how heavy it is, and how the blood drain is cut in a medicine writing round and round the shaft.
Simwa
What magic has it?
The Chisera