Winners Magazine.indd - World Literacy Canada

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A wr iting contest for Canadian students in Grades 5 to 8
In partnership with:
Jill Gaudett, 14 years old
Weymouth, Nova Scotia
It’s been a long, sleepless night of strange dreams.
Even once I wake up, I think I am still dreaming
because I’m not in my own bed. I’m not even myself!
It’s no dream. I’ve awakened in another part of the
world, as someone from another culture.
These are the steps:
From him, I learned his name (Quan
Hao Nguyen), his birthday (May 12th
2000, the same as mine), and his life
story (he was kidnapped to work at the
factory when he was three). I told him
about my old life, mostly about how to
behave around my family and friends. I
also had to explain video games to him,
because he had never seen one before.
The whole time we talked, I was jealous
of him. He had taken over my life and
I was stuck in his miserable one. It just
wasn’t fair. Why was I in this dull, difficult
life? I was even beaten a few times by
the floor manager for nothing more than
working a little slowly.
I hear soothing music, it sounds like meditation.
People are very softly saying “Allah Akbar”.
3. You pray at dawn, immediately after noon, midafternoon, sunset, and at night
It has been one year since my first
night here. Tonight is strange. I’m not
dreaming. Today I realized I shouldn’t
be jealous. I’m happy to have had the
13 awesome years I did. I have learned
more in my year here than most people
learn in their lifetime. The most inspiring
thing I learned was to be grateful for
what you have because it won’t last
forever. I should go. I think I’m finally
going to wake up.
He wants to help me. He asks me what I already
know. I think about it. I only know Muslims pray
five times daily. I decide I want to learn more about
prayers.
Alicia Myc, 13 years old
Toronto, Ontario
At first, I told myself it was just a
dream. That I would wake up safe
and sound in my bed back in Toronto.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
That first day was one of the worst.
People were speaking in a different
language, but somehow I could
understand them. There was a man
yelling at me to get to work and I
started to tell him that I wasn’t from
here, but he struck me and told me to
follow the rest of the children. Nobody
would listen to me when I tried to
explain who I was. So, not knowing
what else to do, I went to work. My
skilled hands moved in a blur, like a
hummingbird’s wings. When I was
attaching tags to the clothes I made,
I learned I was in a Nike clothing
factory in Vietnam.
The strangest part of my new life was
my recurring dream. I was in my old
Canadian body in a gray, rectangular
room. There were no doors or
windows. I couldn’t move, but I felt
safe. The third night I dreamt that I
met the boy I had switched lives with.
We could talk about anything and
everything during our lucid dreams. I’m in a mosque. I don’t have my shoes on. I get up
discreetly; I don’t want to disturb the others. I go
outside. I’m in a place I’ve never been in before, and
no one else speaks English. Hopefully someone is
going to come to help me.
The Imam comes out. He speaks English! I tell him
that I’ve recently arrived in Qatar with my parents
who are on an exchange here. I feel like I’m still in
a dream from last night, but instead of dreaming
that I was in a mosque, it just so happened that I
really was! I asked the Imam if he would help me
understand the Muslim culture.
The next day the Imam and I go to the madrasa
(‫ )ةسردملا‬so he can teach me how to perform the
prayers.
1. Make sure the area you are praying on is clean; if not
use a cloth or mat.
2. You have to face the Ka’bah (‫)ةبعكلا‬. That’s toward
the center of the mosque.
4. Raise your hands to your ears and say “Allah Akbar”.
That means, “God is the greatest”.
Then he shows me the position I have to be in and what
I have to say from The Qur’an (‫)نآرقلا‬.
It will be interesting fitting in with life in Qatar. Everyone
dresses differently than we do in Canada. They speak
Arabic. I’m already learning about Islam at the mosque,
where you don’t wear shoes, and sit on the carpets on
the floor, but in Nova Scotia we sit on pews or chairs
in church and we can wear shoes. I’d prayed that my
parents would bring me with them, and now that they
did, I’m going to learn more about the culture of Qatar.
Prayers do come true.
Noemie Marcoux, 12 years old
Otterburn Park, Quebec
,
(English Translation)
C’est le matin, sombre et bruyant, le soleil commence
à peine à réchauffer mes pieds poussiéreux, tout
me semble inconnu. Je ne comprends pas ce qui se
passe, mes souvenirs me hantent et me semblent
lointains.
J’observe de ma maison en ciment, la beauté de
l’architecture et la vue splendide des montagnes
lointaines. Je remarque, non loin du lit dur et sale
au quelle je me suis réveillée, des épices fraîches
suspendues dégageant un arôme extraordinaire. Je
ne suis plus la jolie blonde de mes souvenirs, mais
bien une femme brune aux longs cheveux noirs vêtue
d’une tunique de couleurs vives. Les gens me saluent
et me nomme Angelica, étrangement je comprends
ce qu’ils disent. À l’extérieur, je vois un insigne
indiquant Katmandou! Je réalise donc que je suis au
Népal.
Dans les ruelles boueuses, je constate plusieurs
temples ornés de statuettes animales divines, sans
savoir pourquoi je m’y arrête pour les honorer. Une
musique se fait entendre, un homme près de moi, qui
se nomme Piero, me regarde et me dit joyeusement
« Garuda », c’est la manifestation de Vishnu,
l’homme oiseau, protecteur des terres. Tout s’éclaircit
dans ma tête, les divinités animales sont reliées à
l’hindouisme. Piero semble m’apprécier, peut-être
qu’il connaissait la personne dans lequel je me
trouve, bref, il me sera d’une grande aide.
La manifestation se termine et Piero me dirige vers
des mobylettes. Je décide de me laisser guider par
Piero, soudain notre engin percute une vache qui
marchait. Ébranlée, je me relève du sol, Piero semble
inquiet, il prend ma main et m’embarque dans un
autobus. Il me rappelle que la vache est un symbole
sacré digne d’une arrestation des autorités. J’ai peur,
Piero est à mes côtés et on va vers les montagnes.
Tout à coup, un énorme bruit se fit entendre et l’autobus
fut anéanti par un glissement de terrain.
Tout est devenu noir. Lorsque je me suis réveillée,
tout était différent, j’étais dans un lit blanc d’hôpital
entouré de ma mère et d’un médecin, lui expliquant
les risques de mon coma. Lorsqu’ils ont réalisé que
j’étais réveillée, tout est devenu familier, ma mère, ma
mauvaise chute de ski, et mon chez moi le Canada.
Certains souvenirs refont surface tels que Piero et le
Népal.
Je ne saurai jamais la vérité, mais il est certain que je
vais apprécier davantage chacun des moments de ma
vie. Un jour, je visiterai le Népal.
It’s morning, gloomy and noisy. The sun is slowly
starting to warm my dusty feet. Everything seems
strange. I don’t understand what is happening; my
memories haunt me and seem distant.
I look around at my cement house, the beauty of
the architecture and the splendid view of the distant
mountains. I notice, not far from the hard, dirty bed on
which I awoke, fresh spices hanging from the ceiling
and giving off an extraordinary smell. I am no longer
the blonde girl of my memories, but am now a darker
girl with long brown hair wearing a brightly coloured
tunic. My family greets me and calls me Angelica, and
strangely, I understand what they say. Outside, I see
a sign reading “Katmandou” and I realise that I must
be in Nepal.
Out in the muddy streets, I notice many temples
decorated with statues of divine animals. Without
knowing why, I stop to honour them. There is music
playing, and a man next to me, named Piero, looks
over and says joyfully “It is Garuda, the celebration of
Vishnu, bird-man, protector of the earth.” Everything
becomes clear: the animal gods are part of the Hindu
religion. Peiro seems friendly, perhaps because he
recognises the girl whose life I find myself living. He
might be very helpful.
The celebration ends and Piero leads me towards his
moped. I decided to let Piero lead the way, but suddenly
our vehicle crashes into a cow walking the street.
Rattled, I pick myself off of the ground. Piero seems
worried, he takes my hand and we get on the bus
instead. I remember that the cow is a sacred symbol,
important enough to get us arrested! I’m frightened,
but Piero is by my side, and the bus heads into the
mountains. All of a sudden, we hear an enormous
noise, and the bus is annihilated by a landslide.
Everything goes black. When I finally wake, everything
is different. I’m in a white hospital bed, accompanied
by my mother, and a doctor who is explaining the side
effects of my coma. When they realize that I’m awake,
everything becomes clear: my terrible ski accident,
and my home here in Canada. Certain other memories
surface too, including Piero and Nepal.
I’ll never know the truth of what happened, but I’m
certain that I will live every moment of my life to the
fullest. One day, I’ll return to Nepal.
Tiana Roesler , 14 years old
Panoka, Alberta
,
Renee Wong , 13 years old
Richmond, British Columbia
Lying down flat on my bed, I kept my eyes shut. I was
fairly tired and exhausted, but I managed to force
myself to wake up. Slowly, I squinted and scanned
around the room I was in. I wasn’t in my room with
pale cream walls anymore. Instead, I was in a large
pale green coloured room with exotic brown wood
patterns. Suddenly, I realized that I wasn’t even on a
bed! I was sure that I was dreaming, but everything
seemed too real. If it was a dream I didn’t want it to
end.
A girl around my age walked up to me wearing these
strange wooden shoes. As I stared at her funky
shoes the girl said “geta.” I was confused by the
foreign language she spoke. The girl told me that her
name was Yuki and she explained that a geta is a
traditional Japanese wooden shoe. I was in Japan!
The streets were bright and colourful, and the clothing
people wore was very different than styles I saw
back at home.The people here were very outgoing
and expressed themselves through their wardrobe.
I felt like I was underdressed. I was amazed and
awestruck as we explored the many wonders of
Japan.
I was getting hungry so Yuki brought me to this amazing
ramen stand and it was delicious. We walked around
the streets and everywhere we went there were people
selling street food. Japanese citizens used currency
called Yen. Yuki treated me to shopping and food that
day, since I didn’t have any Yen. Yuki introduced me to
two of her friends Kyra and Ryki.
Next, they took me shopping, and although the styles
were a little bit too “bold” for me I decided to try
something new. We went to the photo booth at the mall
and took some memorable photos. Ryki explained that
in Japan girls liked the look of big eyes so they put on
this awesome big-eye effect!
That night when Yuki, Kyra, and Ryki and I were saying
good-bye to each other, we promised that we’d keep in
touch when I returned to Canada. I thanked the three
of them for an amazing journey to Japan. But most of
all, we all learned a very important lesson: just because
we’re culturally different it shouldn’t change anything
about our friendship, it’s the relationship in our hearts
that counts.
Sweat dampens my forehead. As I reach up to push
my long black hair from my eyes, I notice my once
pale hands are now brown. I realize I am not alone in
the room. It is crowded with people, none of whom I
know. None of them pay me any notice. I run to the
door and swing it open, hoping for a soft morning
breeze to cool me. Instead a musty heat fills the air,
although only a few rays of sunlight escape the dark
of night to reach my face. India stretches out before
my eyes, greater than I had ever imagined.
“Aahana! What are you doing? We must eat so we
can harvest the rice.”
I swing around to see a woman looking at me. She
is holding a bowl. Suddenly hungry, I take my spot at
the long table and devour my breakfast.
Harvesting rice is hard work. Standing ankle deep in
mud, I painstakingly cut the stalks. This will be our
main food supply for the next few months. We will eat
no meat because my family is afraid that the animals
we are eating are our ancestors, alive once more. I
am exhausted by lunch time, and it is a relief to go
inside and be sheltered from the sun.
My entire family lives in the same house. This includes
my uncles, aunts, grandparents and my brother’s
wives. I have only one sister, and she is to be married
soon to a man older than her, whom she has only met
once. My mother says soon it will be time for me, as
well, to be married.
After lunch I walk through the streets. I can sense
the unbreakable bonds between family, bonds I wish
existed in my part of the world. But these people also
have their struggles. A starving woman with a sickly
baby walks past, and I want to cry. For the first time I
am angry with North America. We have so much, we
share so little.
After supper is eaten, I sit alone, reflecting on my day. I
met courage and strength, but I also met a brokenness
I had not imagined. I do not want to change India, but
rather strengthen it, build on the love already in their
culture. I am filled with a desire to make the world a
better place, and I can start now.
Sama Al-Ani, 11 years old
Dundas, Ontario
Kassia Scotti, 13 years old
Laval, Quebec
It’s been a long, sleepless night of strange dreams. Even
once I wake up, I think I’m still dreaming, because I’m
not in my own bed. I’m not even myself! It’s no dream.
I’ve woken in another part of the world, as someone from
another culture.
“You are not from here are you?” she smiles at me.
“Where is here exactly?”
I snap out of my trance and wander out of bed. I’m not
dressed in pajamas anymore. Instead I am in a plain
pair of shorts and a light washed yellow t-shirt. I’m so
perplexed as I sit up and get out of the comfy bed. I
walk forward and set a hand on the knob of the door,
and wiggle it open. There’s not much to see, so I walk
forward through the small house. I get to the front door,
and push it open.
That’s the moment when I finally look at my
surroundings. I am standing right next to an arched
bridge, under it a gorgeous canal with the same seeds
floating delicately on the surface. In the streets, dozens
of people on bikes with old styled wheels and baskets
pass by.
The second I step out a huge gust of wind almost knocks
me over. Small seeds get stuck in my pale blonde
hair, and I pull one out and look at it. It’s a small white
feathery looking thing. As it flies out of my hand, I look
down and realize they’re all over the floor.
“Hallo,” I hear a light voice say, and I look up to see a
pale skinned girl about my height, standing there with the
same seeds stuck in her chocolate brown hair.
“Excuse me?” I say, not recognizing the language she
spoke to me in.
“Oh, you don’t speak dutch” she said in a thick
accent. She giggled. “I’m Danique… and
you are?”
“Tessa” I respond.
8.
“Amsterdam of course!” she exclaims
“Oh my,” I say wonderingly, forgetting the fact I have no
idea how I got here. “What are all these seeds!” I burst
out with the question on my mind since I’ve stepped out.
“This is what we call, Spring Snow,” I look behind her
at the empty trees, and the seeds blowing from the
branches, like birds taking flight. “Beautiful, isn’t it Tessa”
I nod and lean down, scooping up a small pile of the
seeds in my hand, and letting them fly away slowly, like
a hundred rose petals. “Would you like me to show you
more of our city?” Danique looks down at me, offering
me her hand. I take it and she lifts me up, leading me to
a rack of parked bikes. “Choose one!” she says, jumping
on one the colour of spring grass. I take the one painted
red.
We ride off down the street, and as I look back, all I see
are the seeds flying outwards from the motion of the
wheels, and frontwards, all I see is the hair of my new
friend flying backwards, and with the April winds in my
face, I feel free. Like one of the seeds flying free in the
wind.
The boat was swaying violently back and
forth and water splashed aboard. Only
thunder and lightning could be heard and
seen beyond the horizon. Almost as suddenly
as the storm came, the wind and rain stopped
and the clouds broke to let the sun shine
again. The boat was still intact and there was
no sign of struggle, but all the crew members
were gone except for a 12 year old girl named
Jane.
Jane was bobbing above the water, gasping
to take in some air, until she went under
again. She couldn’t take it anymore and fell
unconscious.
Jane woke up to find herself surrounded by
Palm trees that line the beach shore, swaying
in the slight breeze. The ocean was a sight
to see with its majestic waves splashing the
shore.
Where am I? How did I get here?
“Don’t worry, Jane.” A voice came from
behind her; Jane was startled and turned to
see a grinning boy, who was new to her. Jane
asked, “Oh, how do you know my name?”
He replied “My name is G.C.; and I know
that you’re an energetic girl who is eager to
discover her own dreams. You are here to
explore Casablanca! And I am honored to be
your guide”. Jane smiled and replied “Sure!”
“I will take you to Casablanca, the largest city
in Morocco. It lies near the Atlantic Ocean
and is an oriental city that has Africa’s largest
seaport. Casablanca is an exotic city, a very
lively paradise, and has pleasant weather
throughout the year. Most of the people here
are Muslims; the languages they use are
Arabic and French. ” G.C. explained, “I bet
you’re hungry, let’s try the delicious Moroccan
Cuisine.”
G.C invited Jane to eat lunch at a local
restaurant, and he said “Tagine is our famous
Moroccan casserole dish. It is beef and
vegetable stew in a two-piece cooking pot with
a cone-shaped lid.
After the pleasant meal, they continued the
tour of the city. They reached the Hassan
Mosque II. Jane was astonished by the
magnificence of the mosque; it was jutting into
the ocean and it seemed to float between the
earth and water.
“It took five years for 6 000 artisans to build
the mosque using mosaics, stone, and
marble. It’s the second largest Mosque in the
world.” G.C. explained.
Jane was delighted to visit this wonderful city.
Suddenly, she heard her mom’s voice, “Wake
up Jane! We’re almost landing.”
“Huh…we are? Where is G.C.?”
Her mom replied, “Dreaming again, darling?
“Never mind, Mom,” Jane replied “I think I
know who he is.” Jane glanced at the book in
her hand; The Guide to Casablanca.
Eliza Young , 12 years old
Saint Johns, Newfoundland and Labrador
I’m Afia Jitlal, a teenage girl, with a shack
for a home, hardly any food, clean water,
or education. I didn’t start off as Afia Jitlal,
I started off as Freya Dazell, I was still a
teenage girl, but my life was different. I had
famous parents, a mansion for a home, and
I was considered the most popular girl in
school. How did this happen? Well let’s take it
back two weeks earlier.
Evelyn Blakley, 10 years old
Sidney, British Columbia
It’s been a long, sleepless night of strange dreams.
My room, my bed, my cat, where are they? I look
into the mirror where my dresser used to be; I see no
reflection! I wake to…
….find myseIf in a small village of Vinnytsia in the
Ukraine! I am sitting at a table- but I am not alone!
As I listen to the many conversations, I realize that my
mother, sisters, aunts, female cousins have joined my
grandma to carry out a favourite tradition! And I am
going to be a part of it!
It is the Easter season. While all the male members
of the family are sleeping in their cozy warm beds,
the ladies of the house will be preparing the Pysanka,
Ukrainian eggs. My grandmother and my mother have
been teaching me how to paint Pysanka since I was ten
years old. Our family has a secret formula for dyeing
the eggs. The colours we use to dye and decorate the
eggs come from berries, bark and plants found in my
grandma’s garden. By the end of this week we will
have decorated 60 eggs.
On Easter Sunday, we take the eggs to church so they
can be blessed. After church, we share the eggs with
family and friends; this is a symbolic gift of life. If you
receive an Ukraine egg you must display it in your house
so everyone can see it. Everyone in our family will
receive a Pysanka for Easter. The children will receive
the brightly coloured eggs, while my older uncles and my
grandpa will receive the darker coloured eggs.
Even some of the animals will receive the Ukraine eggs
as a gift. Several eggs are placed in the barn with the
cows to help them keep healthy and produce lots of milk.
One egg is placed near my aunt’s beehive so the bees
will make lots of honey. Two eggs are placed in the
chicken coop to help the chickens lay many eggs.
My grandma tells a story of a girl that was given a very
special Pysanka; however, it broke into ten pieces. As
she picked up the pieces of shell, she accidently stepped
on them. Several days later, she was stricken with a
horrible disease and she fell asleep for three days.
When she awoke …
...I was back in my room, the mirror shattered at my feet!
It was a Friday morning in L.A., third period
in school. We were learning about different
cultures and today we learned about life in
Afghanistan. We were told about how most
kids don’t have as many privileges in life as
we do, and that the Taliban has taken over
the country. I look over at my friends and say
“Wow that sucks. I’m glad I live here.” Me and
my friends chuckle and then we all turn back
to look at the teacher. When I turn back I see
a figure of an old man, I quickly rub my eyes
and he’s gone. That night was full of strange
dreams; one included the figure of the old
man, another showed the life in Afghanistan.
(The next morning...)
I wake up to find I’m not myself and the
bedroom I’m in isn’t mine. I scream in terror
and a lady runs in saying “Afia, what’s
wrong?” I snap back “That’s not my name,
I’m Freya Dazell, teenage girl, famous, a
mansion for a home.”
The lady gives a little chuckle and says “If
only. Your Afia Jitlal, this is where you live,
and I’m your mother. Now quickly, it’s time to
get up for breakfast.”
I sit down, disgusted at what I see on
my plate. “What is this?” I ask.
“Rice,” my mother answers.
“Ok, where are my knife and fork?”
“There aren’t any, you eat with your hands.”
I start to eat with my hands, my mother slaps
my left hand. “What was that for!” I yell.
“You never eat with your left hand; you should
know that by now!” my mother says. Later
that day I was ordered to go for water.
I start to head out the door when
my mother screams for me to put
my burka on. I quickly do it. I now realize
how terrifying it is to live here, as I walked to
get the water a Taliban soldier was staring at
me the whole time!
Now it has been almost two weeks since I
woke up here. I’ve come to appreciate the
culture and the challenges here.
The next morning I’m transformed back to
Freya. I learned that you don’t need fancy
food, designer clothes, and a lot of money to
live. I will now appreciate what I have.
Maxime Boudreau, 11 years old
Dunlop, New Brunswick
Yan, un jeune garçon de 13 ans, loyal et fidèle, aux
yeux bleu et cheveux courts d’un noir foncé arrivait de
l’école. Une fois dans sa cour quelque chose capte
son attention. Il s’avance pour s’apercevoir que c’est
une petite statuette de loup, il la prend et part chez lui
pour l’examiner.
- C’est l’heure de te coucher Yan!, cria sa mère.
Donc Yan alla se coucher et dormi malgré ses
cauchemars. Mais un cauchemar le réveilla, pour
qu’il s’aperçoive qu’il n’est plus chez lui mais qu’il
est maintenant en pleine forêt. Il n’est plus dans son
corps et maintenant il à de longs cheveux noirs, il est
beaucoup plus fort, plus grand et habillé en vêtements
traditionnels iroquois.
Yan aperçu une grande maison de 25 à 30 mètres,
devant laquelle étaient installé un homme et une
femme mangeant de la sagamité, un plat traditionnel.
Il s’approcha alors d’eux pour se présenter.
-Mon nom est Amarok et vous? Mentit Yan bien qu’il
aimait mieux être fidèle et loyal.
- Nous avons choisi la voie et le nom de nos ancêtres
iroquois, moi c’est Jolan et elle s’est Aiyanna, lui
répondis l’homme pointent sa femme.
(English Translation)
-Viens donc prendre place pour le goûter, demande
alors Jolan.
-Bien sûr avec plaisir, mais ou somme nous? Demande
alors Yan.
-Oh! Nous somme à Buffalo, lui répondis alors Aiyanna.
Yan pris alors place autour du feu pétillant sous le
prénom d’Amarok.
Le soir après le souper Jolan proposa à Yan de lui
apprendre comment chasser à l’arc, content Yan
accepta cette offre. Les deux hommes partirent, pendant
qu’Aiyana partait à la cueillette. Une fois dans la zone
de chasse, les deux hommes entendirent le bruit des
branches craquer ils virent ensuite un bœuf s’approcher
d’eux. Jolan tira une flèche dans son flanc et la bête
tomba à la renverse dans le bruit des branches qui
craquent. Yan vue alors un loup qui approchait lentement,
il s’approcha du loup qui portait une statuette identique
à celle qu’il avait trouvé la veille, Yan prît la statuette et
soudainement tout vira au noir.
Yan se réveilla alors dans son propre corps et dans sa
chambre. Yan était bien content d’être enfin chez soi, il
se demandait s’il avait rêvé mais il était quand même
déçu, de ne pas avoir dit la vérité à ses amis iroquois à
propos de son nom.
Yan, a young 13 year-old boy, loyal and faithful
with blue eyes and short, dark, black hair arrived
home from school. In his yard, something caught his
attention. He walked towards it, and saw that it was
a small statue of a wolf. He picked it up and took it
home to inspect it.
“Time for bed, Yan!” called his mother.
Yan went to bed and slept, despite the nightmares.
One nightmare, however, woke him up, and he
realized he was no longer at home, but was now in
the middle of a forest. He was no longer in his own
body. Now he had long black hair, he was much
stronger, much bigger and was wearing traditional
Iroquois clothing.
Yan noticed a longhouse 25 or 30 metres away.
In front of it he saw a man and a woman eating
Sagamité, a traditional meal. He approached them to
introduce himself.
“My name is Amarok, what’s yours?” Yan lied, even
though he would have prefered to be faithful and
honest.
“We have chosen the names and the ways of our
Iroquois ancestors: my name is Jolan and hers is
Aiyanna,” responded the man, pointing at his wife.
“Come sit down and eat,” continued Jolan.
“Yes, with pleasure! But, where are we?” asked Yan.
“We’re in Buffalo,” responded Aiyanna.
Yan took his place at the glimmering fire, still using the
name Amarok.
That night after supper, Jolan suggested that he
teach Yan how to hunt, and Yan happily accepted the
offer. The two men left, while Aiyanna went to collect
the harvest. Out on the hunt, the two men heard the
noise of branches cracking and turned to see an ox
approaching. Jolan shot an arrow in its flank and the
creature fell on its back amid the sound of snapping
branches. It was then that Yan saw a wolf approaching
him, slowly. Yan walked towards the wolf, who was
carrying a statue identical to the one he had found
earlier. Yan took the statue in his hand, and suddenly
the world went black.
Yan woke up in his own body, in his own bedroom. Yan
was relieved to finally be home. He wondered whether
he had been dreaming, but he was nonetheless
disappointed that he had not even told his Iroquois
friends his real name.