The season of visits, of long sojourns outside the great shelter and of wars, has arrived; it is the time of “low waters,” and it is possible to travel quickly on almost-dry ground. The streams have shed their excess waters, and the swamps are reduced to modest, greenish puddles teeming with prolific fauna. Fishing, whether with poison, with harpoon arrows, or with hook and line, gives good results. Hunting is easier; the birds are mating, or else, surrounded by their offspring, they are more easily deceived by imitations of their cries.

At Karohi, the gardens are still producing plentifully; there is great abundance of all sorts of bananas, papayas, various tubers, and especially the beautiful, shiny rasha fruits that hang down in profuse clusters. That is why Kaōmawe and Shimoreiwë have persuaded the guests to prolong their stay; they want to invite the people of Hōkanakawë to a feast; the ashes of Sɨsɨwë, a “son” killed by the warriors of Mahekoto, will be drunk. After the festivities, the ritual, and the funeral meal, all the able-bodied men will launch an expedition to avenge the dead man.

This war started several years ago, as often happens, because of a woman. Ohimi had just arrived at Wayabotorewë, accompanied by her husband and his elder brother. She had been living with her parents-in-law for a long time, and she wanted to see her mother and her brother again. The family reunion was a happy one. The visitors were well received; the hosts hunted for them and provided them with food and tobacco.