Turtle

[Robert Spiritwalker Murchison]

Darkness had lasted too long, and all the other forest animals knew it was
Turtle's fault. Long ago, before Turtle had her hard shell, in order to prove
her bravery to the others, Turtle had volunteered for one of the most
important and dangerous jobs of the forest.


Her duty was to bring the Sky Bowl, filled with yellow corn, up to the cliff
top each morning before Sun's first light turned the hillside red.


She would scatter the corn over the earth, and Sun, knowing he was needed,
would rise.


This morning, though, as Turtle discovered when she awoke, the Sky Bowl had
disappeared.


In its place lay a single feather, long curved, and smoky gray.
Vulture's feather.
Vulture lived in the crags far to the West where Sun set. He always
complained about how bright the days were and how short the nights. Vulture
had taken the bowl.


Since the Sky Bowl was her responsibility, Turtle set off through the forest
toward the West. She worried about how she would get the bowl back because
the crags were too high and steep for her to climb.


As she emerged into a shadowy clearing, Turtle saw Grizzly, grumbling and
rolling as she slept.


"Grizzly," she called to the bear, "I've seen how fast and strong you are and
how well you climb. Come help me get the Sky Bowl back from Vulture so Sun
can rise."


"No," Grizzly grumbled, her eyelids heavy. "I have to protect my cubs in the
dark." Turtle heard the little barks and pants of the cubs behind her.


Turtle left Grizzly and continued on. Finally, she broke through the trees.


At the edge of the wilderness, Moon's cool, hard light fell on Turtle and she
shivered. She saw the crags now, their chalky faces rising slowly off the
valley floor.


Just then Eagle glided down over the foothills above Turtle. "Eagle! Help
me!" Turtle yelled.


Eagle turned his hard, steel-gray eyes on Turtle. "What do you want?!"
Eagle's voice whistled down like an arrow shooting through the air.


"You can fly. Soar up to Vulture's nook and get the Sky Bowl back so Sun can
rise."


"I'm too hungry," said Eagle. "I've been flying for hours, trying to catch
something. I can't see well in the dark."


Turtle turned away, knowing the job was hers alone.


She went to the crag, looking up, up, up the chalky stone awash in Moon's
cold light. Vulture's nook sat up there, where the rock brushed against the
sky.


Turtle tried to climb the steep slope, but slipped back down.


Turtle felt thirsty and needed to think, so she went and sat by the cool
mountain stream flowing down out of the crags.


Moon's roundness floated above, reflected in the water, making the stream's
bubbles and waves gleam.


As Turtle sipped the water she stared at Moon, noticing how beautiful she
was. She'd never seen Moon for so long before, and she no longer feared her.
Suddenly, from deep within the darkness came Moon's voice, whispering
softly, "You have shown your bravery well, Turtle. Now go to Vulture and tell
him you want the sky bowl back."
And as Moon spoke, moonbeams fell to earth like night rain, and cascaded
silently across Turtle's back, forming a hard shell around her.


Turtle wasn't certain how her new shell could help her get the Sky Bowl back,
but she would try.


Turtle went to Vulture's crag, and called up to him.


"Hey, Vulture! Give back the Sky Bowl!"


"Or what?" Vulture asked, laughing. "Go home before I rip you apart with my
talons." He flew from the nook down toward Turtle, carrying the bowl in his
beak and teasing her with it.


Turtle stood firm.


Vulture descended suddenly, trying to claw Turtle with his sharp talons. He
hit the hard shell instead, barely making a scratch.


Angry, he pecked at Turtle, forgetting he held the bowl. His beak struck the
shell hard and bent at an angle, making him drop the bowl.


Turtle, still unhurt, grabbed it, and retreated back into her shell. Vulture
scratched at the shell for a while, then gave up and flew off.


That was how Turtle earned her shell and Vulture got his crooked beak.


Sun came back the next morning, but from then on he would shine only half
the day, leaving the night to Moon and darkness so that we might never again
forget him.