Meso and the Length of Winter

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Having just recreated the world after the great flood, it was now time to send the animals back to their respective habitats. “Brothers and sisters! It is time for you all to go home,” said Meso, “but not before we decide how many months there will be in a winter!”

Caribou spoke up first saying, “Brother, there should be as many months in a winter as there are hairs between my hooves.”

“Little sister,” replied Meso, “Winter would last too long and the summer would never come. Man will never live to see the earth thaw.”

Loon then suggested, “Brother, there should be as many months in a winter as there are spots on my back.”

“Little brother,” replied Meso, “Winter would last too long and the summer would never come. Man will never live to see the earth thaw.”

Toad then spread her fingers and toes out and exclaimed, “I wish there were this many months in a winter!”

The animals just burst out laughing and in the commotion knocked Toad onto her back. “Have pity on our big sister!” says Meso, counting her digits. “Besides, she may be right! Our sister has six fingers and six toes, which would mean six months of winter and six months of summer!” As the animals counted her digits and pondered the suggestion, Meso continued, “With twelve months in a year, Man will never have to wait too long for the earth to thaw!”

In the end, the animals all agreed. With the number of months in a year set at twelve, Meso allowed the animals to return to their respective habitats. And so it was. The earth had been recreated, the year had been set to twelve months, and the animals all went home.

ᐌᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ

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ᐯᔭᒀᐤ ᒌ ᐃᐦᑖᐗᒡ ᓂᔥᑐ ᒪᔅᑯᒡ ᑳ ᐯᔭᑰᑌᐎᓰᑣᐤ᙮ ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐎᑦ ᒌ ᒥᔑᒋᑎᐤ᙮ ᐊᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐅᑳᐐᒫᐎᑦ ᓇᐗᒡ ᒌ ᒥᔑᒋᑎᔑᐤ᙮ ᐊᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᐎᑦ ᒌ ᐊᐱᔒᔑᔑᐤ᙮ ᐊᓂᒌ ᒪᔅᑯᒡ ᒌ ᐊᔮᐗᒡ ᑳ ᐊᐱᔖᔑᔨᒡ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᔑᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ᙮ ᒣᔕᑯᒥ ᒌᔑᑳᐤ ᑳ ᐗᓂᔥᑳᑣᐤ ᒨᔥ ᐯᔭᑾᓐ ᒌ ᐊᔨᐦᑎᐗᒡ, ᑳ ᐗᐌᔭᐱᑣᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᒦᒋᐗᒡ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᔨᐤ᙮

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ᐯᔭᒀᐤ ᐁ ᓃᐱᓂᔨᒡ ᐁ ᒉᒋᔐᐹᔮᔨᒡ, ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᑳᐐᒫᐎᑦ ᒌ ᓰᑲᐦᐊᒻ ᐅᑦ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᒥᐙᐤ᙮ ᐌᓵ ᒋᔑᑌᐤ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᐊᓐ ᒪᔥᑯᔑᔥ ᐁ ᑯᒋᔥᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᒻ᙮ ᑕᐦᑲᔥᑖᑖᐤ ᐱᑕᒫ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐎᑦ ᐁ ᑯᒋᔥᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᒻ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᒋᔖᔥᑌᔨᒡ ᒌ ᐗᔦᔨᐦᑕᒧᒡ ᐊᓂᒌ ᒪᔅᑯᒡ ᒉ ᓇᑕᐎ ᐸᐹᒧᐦᑌᑣᐤ ᐁ ᐊᑎ ᑕᐦᑲᔥᑌᔨᒡ ᐅᒦᒋᒥᐙᐤ᙮

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ᒣᒀᒡ ᐁ ᐸᐹᒧᐦᑌᔨᑣᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᔅᑾ, ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ ᑳ ᐃᔑᓂᐦᑳᓱᑦ ᒌ ᐸᐹ ᐯᔭᑯᐦᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ᙮ ᐋᑕ ᒫᒃ ᐋᔥ ᑳ ᒉᒋᔐᐹᓀᐦᑴᑦ ᐊᓐ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ, ᔮᐱᒡ ᒌ ᔒᐗᑌᐤ᙮ ᑳ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᒸᑦ ᐅᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᔅᑾ, ᒌ ᐃᑌᔨᐦᑕᒻ ᒉᒌ ᒥᔅᑲᐦᒃ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ ᒉᒌ ᒦᒋᑦ᙮ ᒌ ᓈᑌᐤ ᐃᔥᒀᐦᑌᒻᐦ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐹᐦᐹᐗᐦᐙᑦ᙮ ᔮᐱᒡ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᐤ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ ᐋᑕ ᐁᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐯᒋ ᐋᐸᐦᐙᑲᓂᐎᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔥᒀᐦᑌᒻᐦ᙮

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ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᑦ ᒌ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᒻ ᓂᔥᑐ ᐅᔮᑲᓐᐦ ᐁ ᐊᔥᑌᔨᒀᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒦᒋᓱᓈᐦᑎᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᑖᐺ ᒌ ᔒᐗᑌᐤ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒌ ᐗᔦᔨᐦᑕᒻ ᒉ ᑯᒋᔥᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᑳ ᐊᔥᑌᔨᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᔮᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔨᒡ᙮ ᐌᓵ ᒋᔑᑌᐤ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒦᒋᓱᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᔮᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᓇᐗᒡ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔑᔨᒡ᙮ ᐆ ᒫᒃ ᐌᓵ ᑕᐦᑳᐤ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒫᐦᒋᑌᔾ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒦᒋᓱᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᔮᑲᓂᔑᔨᐤ ᑳ ᐊᐱᔖᔑᔨᒡ᙮ ᐁᐗᑰ ᒫᒃ ᓀᐦᐃᔥᑕᒫᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᒣᒀᒡ ᐁ ᒦᒋᓱᑦ᙮

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ᑳ ᐃᔥᒀ ᒦᒋᓱᑦ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ, ᒌ ᐐ ᐊᔯᐱᐤ᙮ ᓂᔥᑐ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᐎᓐᐦ ᒌ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᒻ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᑦ ᐊᓂᑕ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔨᒡ᙮ ᐌᓵ ᒪᔥᑲᐙᐤ ᐆ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒦᓐ ᐊᓂᑕ ᓇᐗᒡ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔑᔨᒡ ᑳ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᑦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ, ᐆ ᒫᒃ ᐌᓵ ᒪᔫᑳᐤ! ᐁᒄ ᒫᐦᒋᑌᔾ ᐊᓂᑕ ᑳ ᐊᐱᔖᔑᔨᒡ ᑳ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᑦ᙮ ᐁᐗᑰ ᒫᒃ ᓀᐦᐊᐱᔮᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐲᑯᔥᑲᒻ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᐎᓂᔑᔨᐤ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᑯᓯᑯᑎᑦ᙮

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ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᔅᒀᐦᑕᐐᑦ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ ᐁ ᐊᑎ ᐊᔦᔅᑯᓰᑦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐃᔥᐱᒥᐦᒡ ᑳ ᒥᔅᑲᐦᒃ ᓂᔥᑐ ᓂᐯᐎᓐᐦ᙮ ᓃᔥᑕᒻ ᐊᓂᑕ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔨᒡ ᒌ ᐗᐌᔨᔑᓄ᙮ ᐌᓵ ᓂ ᒑᐦᑳᔅᑴᔑᓂᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒦᓐ ᐊᓂᑕ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔑᔨᒡ ᓂᐯᐎᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᐗᐌᔨᔑᐦᒃ᙮ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ, ᐌᓵ ᓂᑦ ᐊᒋᑎᔑᓂᓐ! ᐁᒄ ᒫᐦᒋᑌᔾ ᐊᓂᑕ ᑳ ᐊᐱᔖᔑᔨᒡ ᓂᐯᐎᓂᔑᔨᐤ ᑳ ᐗᐌᔨᔑᐦᒃ᙮ ᐁᐗᑰ ᒫᒃ ᓀᐦᐃᔑᓂᔮᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑲᐎᐦᑯᔑᑦ᙮

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ᑳ ᑕᑯᔑᐦᒀᐤ ᐊᓂᒌ ᓂᔥᑐ ᒪᔅᑯᒡ, ᒌ ᐱᓯᔅᑳᐸᐦᑕᒧᒡ ᐁ ᐲᑐᔑᓈᑾᓂᔨᒡ ᐅᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᐙᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐎᑦ, ᒌ ᑯᒋᔥᑕᒨᑐᒉ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂᑦ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᒥᔨᐤ! ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᑳᐐᒫᐎᑦ, ᒌ ᑯᒋᔥᑕᒨᑐᒉ ᓀᔥᑕᓃᔾ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂᑦ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᒥᔨᐤ! ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓐ ᒪᔥᑯᔑᔥ, ᒌ ᒦᒌᑐᒉ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂᑦ ᐊᔫᒥᓈᐴᒥᔨᐤ ᓃᔾ! ᒌ ᒋᑖᑲᓂᐎᐤ ᒫᒃ!

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ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᑳ ᒥᔖᔨᒡ ᐅᑌᐦᑕᐱᐎᓐ ᐊᓐ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐤ ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ, ᒌ ᑌᐦᑕᐲᑐᒉ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᐎᓂᐦᒡ! ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓐ ᐅᑳᐐᒫᐤ, ᒌ ᑌᐦᑕᐲᑐᒉ ᓀᔥᑕᓃᔾ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᐎᓂᐦᒡ! ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓐ ᒪᔥᑯᔑᔥ, ᓀᔥᑕᓃᔾ ᒌ ᑌᐦᑕᐲᑐᒉ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂ ᑌᐦᑕᐱᐎᓂᐦᒡ! ᒌ ᐲᑯᔥᑭᑳᑌᐤ ᒫᒃ! ᐁᒄ ᐯᐦᑳᒡ ᑳ ᐃᔅᒀᐦᑕᐐᑣᐤ ᐊᓂᒌ ᒪᔅᑯᒡ᙮

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ᒌ ᓃᐹᑐᒉ ᐊᐌᓐ ᓂ ᓂᐯᐎᓂᐦᒡ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐎᑦ᙮ ᒌ ᓂᐹᑐᒉ ᓀᔥᑕᓃᔾ ᓂ ᓂᐯᐎᓂᐦᒡ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑳ ᐅᑳᐐᒫᐎᑦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓐ ᒪᔥᑯᔑᔥ, ᓀᔥᑕᓃᔾ, ᐁᔥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᓂᐹᐤ!

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ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐅᔅᐹᐌᒫᑲᓂᐎᑦ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᑦ᙮ ᑳ ᐙᐸᒫᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᔅᑾ, ᒌ ᐗᔭᐐ ᒀᔥᑯᐦᑎᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐸᔅᐹᐱᐎᓂᐦᒡ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐅᔑᒧᑦ᙮ ᐊᓂᒌ ᒫᒃ ᒪᔅᑯᒡ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒦᓐ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐙᐸᒣᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᓵᐙᔨᐦᑴᔨᒡᐦ᙮

The above is a Southern East Cree translation of Goldilocks, a fairytale of English origin that was recorded by Robert Southey and first published in 1837. 

ᑳ ᓲᐦᒋᑌᐦᐁᑦ ᐱᔦᔒᔥ

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ᒌ ᐅᐗᒋᔥᑐᓂᐗᒡ ᐱᔦᔒᔕᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᑖᐹᓂᑲᒥᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᐯᔭᒀᐤ, ᒌ ᐗᔭᐐᐦᔮᐗᒡ ᐅᓃᒋᐦᐃᑯᒫᐗᒡ ᐁ ᐐ ᓈᒋᒦᒋᒣᐙᑣᐤ ᒉᒌ ᐊᔕᒫᑣᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᒥᔑᐙᐤᐦ᙮ ᐌᔭᐱᔥᒌᔥ ᒥᒄ ᒌ ᓇᑲᑖᑲᓂᐎᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᒌ ᐸᔭᒑᓂᔕᒡ᙮

ᓈᒉᔒᔥ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐯᒋ ᒌᐌᐦᔮᐤ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐤ᙮ ᑖᓐ ᐁᐦᒡ? ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ, ᐊᐌᓐ ᑳ ᐋᐦᑯᐦᐃᑖᒄ? ᒬᐦᒡ ᐁ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᔦᒄ ᒋᑦ ᐃᔑᓈᑯᓯᓈᐙᐤ᙮

ᓅᐦᑖ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐗᒡ, ᐊᐌᓰᔅ ᑳ ᒥᔥᑕ ᑯᔥᑖᓯᓈᑯᓯᑦ ᒌ ᑕᑯᔑᓄ᙮ ᓈᔥᒡ ᒌ ᐯᒋ ᒫᒪᐦᑲᒑᐱᐤ ᐁ ᐯᒋ ᑲᓇᐙᐸᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᒋ ᐗᒋᔥᑐᓂᓈᐦᒡ᙮ ᓈᔥᒡ ᓂᒌ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᐦᐃᑯᓈᓐ!

ᐁᒄ ᐌᓵ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᐊᓐ ᐱᔦᔒᔥ ᑳ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐎᑦ, ᑖᓂᑌ ᑳ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᑦ?

ᓀᑌ ᒌ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᐤ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐗᒡ ᐸᔭᒑᓂᔕᒡ᙮

ᐁᔥᒄ ᐱᑕᒫ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᐊᓐ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐤ, ᓂᑲ ᓈᓇᑕᐙᐸᒫᐤ᙮ ᐁᑳᐐᔾ ᐋᔨᒣᔨᐦᑕᒧᒄ, ᓂᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᒥᔑᑎᒄ! ᓂᑲ ᐊᑎᒪᐦᐙᐤ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒋᐦᒋᐦᔮᑦ᙮

ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᓵᒉᐌᐦᔮᑦ, ᒌ ᐙᐸᒣᐤ ᑳ ᐱᒧᐦᑌᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒥᔑᐱᔑᐤᐦ᙮ ᓇᒪᐙᒡ ᒫᒃ ᐅᐦᒋ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᐤ ᐊᓐ ᐱᔦᔒᔥ᙮ ᒌ ᑗᐦᐅᑐᑕᐌᐤ ᐊᓂᑕ ᐅᔅᐱᔅᑾᓈᔩᐦᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒥᔑᐱᔑᐤᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐊᑎ ᒋᑕᐦᐊᒪᐙᑦ ᐁ ᐃᑗᑦ, ᒉᒀᓐ ᐌᐦᒋ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔭᓐ ᓃᒋᓈᓂᐦᒡ ᐁ ᐯᒋ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᐦᐊᑣᐤ ᓂᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᒥᔕᒡ? ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐱᓯᔅᑳᑎᑯᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒥᔑᐱᔑᐤᐦ᙮

ᐊᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒋᔗᐌᑦ ᐱᔦᔒᔥ ᐋᐦᒋᑯᒡ ᒌ ᒋᑕᐦᐊᒪᐌᐤ ᐁ ᐃᑗᑦ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐃᑌᔨᐦᑖᑾᓐ ᒉᒌ ᐊᔨᐦᑖᔭᓐ ᐆᑕ! ᒦᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔭᓀ, ᒋᑲ ᐙᐸᐦᑌᓐ! ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᑖᐺ ᒋᐐ ᐃᐦᑑᑖᑎᓐ, ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ ᒣᒀᒡ ᐁ ᐅᐦᐱᑳᑌᐸᔨᐦᐅᑦ, ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒋᑲ ᓈᑣᔮᐎᑲᓀᔥᑳᑎᓐ!

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒌᐌᐦᔮᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᐗᒋᔥᑐᓂᐦᒡ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ, ᐁᑯᑌ ᓂᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᒥᔑᑎᒄ! ᓂᒌ ᒋᔅᒋᓄᐦᐊᒪᐙᐤ ᐊᓐ ᐊᐌᓰᔅ ᐁᑳ ᒦᓐ ᒉ ᐅᐦᒋ ᑕᑯᔑᐦᒃ!

The above is a Southern East Cree translation of The Wren, a traditional Low Saxon folk tale collected by Wilhelm Wisser (1843–1935) and published in 1913 in his Plattdeutsche Volksmärchen.

ᑳ ᓂᔥᑎᐧᑖᐤ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕᒡ

Three_little_pigs_and_mother_sow_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_15661
ᒌ ᐃᐦᑖᐤ ᐯᔭᐧᑳᐤ ᓅᔐ ᑰᐦᑰᔥ ᑳ ᒋᔐᔨᓃᐧᐃᑦ ᐁᑳ ᑳ ᐃᔅᐸᔨᐧᐋᑦ ᒉᒌ ᐊᔕᒫᑦ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐧᐋᔑᔒᒻᐦ ᑳ ᓂᔥᑎᔨᐧᑖᐤᐦ᙮ ᒌ ᒋᐦᒋᑎᔕᐦᐧᐁᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐸᐦᑳᓐ ᒉᒌ ᐱᒫᒋᐦᐅᔨᐧᑖᐤᐦ᙮ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒫᒃ ᓃᔥᑕᒻ ᑳ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᑦ ᒌ ᓇᒋᔥᑲᐧᐁᐤ ᐃᔨᓂᐤᐦ ᑳ ᐊᔮᔨᒡᐦ ᒪᔥᑯᔒᐦᑳᓂᔨᐤ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑌᐤ ᒫᒃ, ᐯᒋ ᒦᔨᐦ ᒫ ᒋ ᒪᔥᑯᔒᐦᑳᓐ ᒉᒌ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᐦᑳᒉᔮᓐ᙮

ᐁᐧᐊᒄ ᑖᐧᐯ ᑳ ᐃᐦᑑᑕᒥᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᓈᐯᐤᐦ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᐦᑳᒉᑦ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐅᑎᐦᑕᐧᒫᑦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐅᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔩᐦᒡ᙮ ᑳ ᐹᐦᐹᐧᐊᐦᐃᒉᑦ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ, ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ! ᐯᒋ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐤᐦ ᒫ ᐃᔥᐧᑳᐦᑌᒻ ᒉᒌ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᔮᓐ!

ᓇᒪᐧᐄᔾ ᐧᐄᔅᑳᑦ! ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ᙮

ᒌ ᓇᔥᐧᑫᐧᐊᔑᐦᐁᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ, ᐁᑳ ᐧᐄ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐧᐃᔭᓀ, ᓲᐦᒃ ᓂᑲ ᐴᑖᑌᓐ ᒋ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒻ ᒉᒌ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᔮᓐ!

ᒉᒃ ᒥᔥᑕᐦᐃ ᑳ ᐃᔅᑯᑖᒧᐧᐋᑦ, ᑳ ᐴᑖᑕᒸᑦ, ᓀᔥᑦ ᑳ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᐧᐋᑦ ᐅᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔨᐤ᙮ ᑖᐧᐯ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒧᐧᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ᙮

Three_little_pigs_1904_straw_house
ᐊᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑯᑕᒃ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᑳ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᑦ ᒌ ᓇᒋᔥᑲᐧᐁᐤ ᐃᔨᓂᐤᐦ ᑳ ᐊᔮᔨᒡᐦ ᒥᐦᒉᑦ ᓃᐱᓯᔮᐦᑎᐧᑲ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑌᐤ ᒫᒃ, ᐯᒌ ᒦᔨᐦ ᒫ ᒋ ᓃᐱᓯᔮᐦᑎᑯᒻᐦ ᒉᒌ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᐦᑳᒉᔮᓐ᙮

ᐁᐧᐊᒄ ᑖᐧᐯ ᑳ ᐃᐦᑑᑕᒥᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᓈᐯᐤᐦ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᐦᑳᒉᑦ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᑳ ᑕᑯᔑᐦᒃ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ, ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ! ᐯᒋ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐤᐦ ᒫ ᐃᔥᐧᑳᐦᑌᒻ ᒉᒌ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᔮᓐ!

ᓇᒪᐧᐄᔾ ᐧᐄᔅᑳᑦ! ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ᙮

ᐁᑳ ᐧᐄ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐧᐃᔭᓀ, ᓲᐦᒃ ᓂᑲ ᐴᑖᑌᓐ ᒋ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒻ ᒉᒌ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᔮᓐ!

ᒉᒃ ᒥᔥᑕᐦᐃ ᑳ ᐃᔅᑯᑖᒧᐧᐋᑦ, ᑳ ᐴᑖᑕᒸᑦ, ᓀᔥᑦ ᑳ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᐧᐋᑦ ᐅᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔨᐤ᙮ ᑖᐧᐯ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒧᐧᐋᑲᓂᐧᐃᑦ ᐧᐁᔥᑕᐧᐄᔾ᙮

ᐊᓐ ᒫᒃ ᒫᐦᒋᑌᔾ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᒌ ᓇᒋᔥᑲᐧᐁᐤ ᐃᔨᓂᐤᐦ ᑳ ᐊᔮᔨᒡᐦ ᒥᐦᒉᑦ ᐊᓯᓃᐦᑳᓐᐦ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑌᐤ, ᐯᒋ ᒦᔨᐦ ᒫ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓯᓃᐦᑳᓐᐦ ᒉᒌ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᐦᑳᒉᔮᓐ᙮

Three_little_pigs_-_third_pig_builds_a_house_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_15661
ᒌ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᐦᑳᒉᐤ ᑲᔭᐹ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒦᔨᑯᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓯᓃᐦᑳᓐᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔨᓂᐤᐦ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒌ ᑕᑯᔑᓄ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ ᐧᒣᐦᒡ ᑳ ᐃᑖᑦ ᑯᑕᒃᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ, ᐯᒋ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐤᐦ ᒫ ᐃᔥᐧᑳᐦᑌᒻ ᒉᒌ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᔮᓐ!

ᓇᒪᐧᐄᔾ ᐧᐄᔅᑳᑦ!

ᐁᑳ ᐧᐄ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐧᐃᔭᓀ, ᓲᐦᒃ ᓂᑲ ᐴᑖᑌᓐ ᒋ ᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒻ ᒉᒌ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᔮᓐ!

ᒉᒃ ᒥᔥᑕᐦᐃ ᑳ ᐃᔅᑯᑖᒧᐧᐋᑦ ᓀᔥᑦ ᒥᐦᒉᐧᑖᐤ ᑳ ᐴᑖᒋᒉᐧᐋᑦ᙮ ᓲᐦᒃ, ᓲᐦᒃ, ᓲᐦᒃ ᒌ ᐴᑖᑕᐧᒣᐤ᙮ ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᓇᒪᐧᐄᔾ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒌ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᐧᐁᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔨᐤ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᐁᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒌ ᑲᐧᐋᔥᑎᑖᐧᐋᑦ, ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ, ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ! ᓂ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᐦᑌᓐ ᑖᓂᑕ ᐧᐁᑎᓰᐦᑳᓂᔅᑳᒡ᙮

ᑖᓂᑌ? ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ᙮

ᐯᔓᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓂᐦᑖᐧᐃᒋᐦᒋᑲᓂᐦᒡ᙮ ᐊᔦᔅᑲᐧᐄᔭᓀ ᐧᐋᐸᐦᒉ ᐁ ᒉᒋᔐᐹᔮᒡ, ᒋᑲ ᐯᒋ ᑌᐧᐹᑎᑎᓐ ᒫᒪᐤ ᒉᒌ ᓇᑕᐧᐃ ᒫᒨᔥᒋᓇᒪᐦᒄ ᒉᒌ ᒦᒋᓱᔭᐦᒄ

ᐁᑯᑌ, ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ, ᐧᐄᐸᒡ ᓂᑲ ᓂᓵᐧᐄᓐ᙮ ᑖᓂᔅᐱᔥ ᐧᐋ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᔭᓐ?

ᐊᔨᐦᐁ, ᓂᑯᐧᑖᔅ ᐃᔅᐸᔨᐦᒉ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ᙮

ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒫᒃ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᒌ ᐧᐊᓂᔥᑳᐤ ᓂᔮᔭᓐ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑᐸᔨᓂᔨᒡ ᐁᒄ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᓈᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐅᑎᓰᐦᑳᓐᐦ ᐧᐹᒧᔥ ᑳ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮ ᐁᑯ ᑳ ᐃᑎᑯᑦ,

ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ! ᐋᔥ ᐋ ᒋᑦ ᐃᔥᐧᑳ ᐊᔦᔅᑲᐧᐄᓐ?

ᐋᔥ! ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ, ᐧᐄᐸᒡ ᓂᒌ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ᙮ ᓂᒌ ᐯᒋ ᒌᐧᐁᐦᑌᓐ ᑳ ᐃᔥᐧᑳ  ᓵᑲᔥᒋᓇᐦᐊᒃ ᓂᑦ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᒄ᙮

ᒌ ᒋᔑᐧᐋᐦᐃᑯᐧᐁᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒫᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐁ ᐯᐦᑕᐧᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ, ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᒉᔥᑎᓈᐦᐅᐤ ᒉᒌ ᐱᔑᐎᔮᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᐧᑌᑦ,

ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ! ᓂ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᒫᐤ ᑖᓂᑕ ᐁᐦᑖᑦ ᐧᐋᐱᒥᓈᐦᑎᒄ ᐁ ᒥᐧᔮᔅᑯᓯᑦ᙮

ᑖᓂᑌ? ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ᙮

ᐯᔓᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓂᐦᑖᐧᐃᒋᐦᒋᑲᓂᐦᒡ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ, ᐁᑳ ᒫᒃ ᒋᐧᔮᐦᐃᔭᓀ, ᒋᑲ ᐯᒋ ᓇᑕᐧᐋᐸᒥᑎᓐ ᐧᐋᐸᐦᒉ, ᓂᔮᔭᓐ ᐃᔅᐱᔑᐸᔨᐦᒉ, ᒉᒌ ᒥᓈᐦᐅᔭᐦᒄ ᐧᐋᐱᒥᓇᒡ᙮

ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒫᒃ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᒌ ᐹᐦᐹᔒᐤ ᒉ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᑦ ᓀᐤ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑᐸᔨᓂᔨᒡ ᑳᐤ ᒉᒌ ᑕᑯᔑᐦᒃ ᐁᔥᒄ ᐁᑳ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔨᒡᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮ ᒌ ᓇᑕᐧᐁᔨᐦᑖᐧᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐊᐧᐊᔥᑌᔒᔥ ᒉ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᑦ ᓀᔥᑦ ᒉ ᐊᑯᓰᑦ ᒥᔥᑎᑯᐦᒡ᙮

ᓀᐧᐃᔥ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐃᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒥᔥᑎᑯᐦᒡ, ᒌ ᐃᑌᔨᐦᑕᒻ ᐋᔥ ᑳ ᐅᑎᐦᒋᐸᔨᓂᔨᒡ ᒉ ᒌᐧᐁᑦ᙮ ᑳ ᓃᔖᐦᑕᐧᐄᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒥᔥᑎᐧᑲ, ᒌ ᓴᔅᒋᐧᑳᐸᒣᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ ᐁ ᐹᐸᐦᑖᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᒉᒫᓂᒻ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᐤ ᐁ ᐧᐋᐸᒫᑦ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑯᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ ᑳ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔨᒡᐦ,

ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ! ᒉᐧᑳᓐ ᐧᐁᐦᒋ ᐁᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐯᐦᐃᔭᓐ? ᒥᔪᒥᓇᒋᓯᐧᐊᒡ ᐋ ᐧᐋᐱᒥᓇᒡ?

ᐁᐦᐁ! ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ, ᐯᔭᒄ ᒋᑲ ᓃᐦᒋᐧᐁᐱᓇᒫᑎᓐ᙮

ᐁᒄ ᐧᐋᐦᔭᐤ ᑳ ᐃᔑᐧᐁᐱᓇᒪᐧᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ᙮ ᒣᐧᑳᒡ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᑳ ᓈᒋᐸᐦᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐧᐋᐸᒥᓐᐦ, ᒌ ᐋᒥ ᐧᑳᔥᑯᐦᑎᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ ᒉ ᒋᐧᐁᐸᐦᑖᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᒌᔑᑳᔨᒡ, ᒌ ᑕᑯᔑᓄ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ,

ᑰᐦᑯᔑᔥ! ᑲᑕ ᒪᑯᔖᓂᐧᐃᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᑌᓈᐦᒡ ᐧᐋᐸᐦᒉ᙮ ᒋᐧᐄ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᓐ ᐋ?

ᐁᐦᐁ! ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ, ᑖᓐ ᒉ ᐃᔅᐱᔑᐸᔨᐦᒡ ᒉ ᐃᔥᐧᑳ ᐊᔦᔅᑲᐧᐄᔭᓐ?

ᓂᔥᑐ ᐃᔅᐸᔨᐦᒉ! ᒌ ᐃᐧᑌᐤ ᐊᓐ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ᙮ ᒦᓐ ᒫᒃ ᐧᐄᐸᒡ ᑳ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᑦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᐁ ᐧᐄ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐁ ᒪᑯᔖᓂᐧᐃᔨᒡ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒌᔑ ᒥᒋᓱᑦ, ᒌ ᒌᐧᐁᐦᑕᑖᐤ ᐃᔥᑯᐦᒋᑲᓐᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᒦᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᓴᔅᒋᐧᑳᐸᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ ᐁ ᐹᐸᐦᑖᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᑳ ᐧᑮᑕᐤ ᐊᔨᐦᑎᑦ ᒫᒃ, ᒌ ᐴᐦᒋ ᐧᑳᔥᑯᐦᑎᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᑯᐦᒡ ᒉᒌ ᑳᓱᑦ, ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐅᐦᐱᒣᐸᔨᐤ᙮ ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐱᓇᐧᓭᐸᔨᐤ ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᒣᐧᑳᒡ ᑳ ᐴᐦᑕᐱᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᑯᐦᒡ! ᒌ ᒌᐧᐁᐸᐦᑖᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᐦᐃᑯᑦ ᑳ ᐧᐋᐸᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᐧᑲ ᐁ ᐯᒋ ᐱᓇᐧᓭᐸᔨᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᐧᐋᑦ ᐅᐧᐋᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔩᐦᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ ᒉ ᐧᐄᐦᑕᒪᐧᐋᑦ ᑖᓐ ᑳ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᑦ ᐁ ᒌ ᐧᐋᐸᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᐧᑲ ᑳ ᐱᓇᐧᓭᐸᔨᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑎᑯᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ,

ᐊᐦᐋ! ᒋᒌ ᓭᒋᐦᐃᑎᓐ, ᓇ! ᐋᔥ ᓂᒌ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ ᑳ ᒪᑯᔖᓂᐧᐃᒡ᙮ ᑳ ᒌᐧᐁᐦᑕᐦᐊᒃ ᒫᒃ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᒄ, ᒋᒌ ᐧᐋᐸᒥᑎᓐ᙮ ᐁᑯᑕ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐴᐦᒋ ᐧᑳᔥᑯᐦᑎᔮᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᑯᐦᒡ ᒉᒌ ᐱᓇᐧᓭᐸᔨᔮᓐ!

ᐁᑯ ᑳ ᓲᐦᒋᔭᐧᐁᓯᐧᐋᑦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᐁ ᐯᐦᑕᐧᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ᙮ ᐋᔨᑌ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᐤ ᒉ ᓃᔖᐦᑕᐧᐄᐧᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᑯᐦᑖᑲᓂᒥᔩᐦᒡ ᒉ ᓇᑕᐧᐃ ᒧᐧᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔕ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᐧᐋᐸᒫᑦ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᑖᓐ ᐁᔨᑎᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ, ᒌ ᐊᑯᑌᐤ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᐧᑲ ᑳ ᓵᑲᔥᒋᓀᐯᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐃᔥᑯᑌᐦᒡ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑯᑕᐧᐁᑦ᙮ ᐧᒣᐦᒡ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐯᒋ ᓃᔖᐦᑕᐧᐄᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ, ᐊᓐ ᑰᐦᑰᔑᔥ ᒌ ᐋᐸᐦᐧᐁᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᐧᑲ ᒉᒌ ᐴᐦᒋᐸᔨᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᑳᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐊᑯᓈᐧᐯᐦᐧᐁᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᔅᒋᐦᐧᑲ ᒉᒌ ᐸᑳᔑᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮ ᑳ ᓃᐯᐦᐧᑫᑦ ᒫᒃ, ᐁᐧᐊᐧᑲᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᑳ ᒧᐧᐋᑦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒥᐧᔦᔨᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᑰᐦᑯᔑᔥ, ᑳᒋᒉ ᓀᔥᑦ ᑳᒋᒉ᙮

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The above is a Southern East Cree translation of The Three Little Pigs, a traditional English fairytale first published by James Orchard Halliwell-Phillipps around 1886. However, it was Joseph Jacobs’ version, first published in 1890, that would go on to become the most popular. His version, published in his English Fairy Tales, credits Halliwell-Phillips as the source and is the version translated here. This translation stays faithful to the original except for the episode of the fair where the pig heads home with a churn. To avoid an awkward translation, the fair and churn were translated instead as a feast and pot.

Kâ Sôhkitehet Pilešîš

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Kî owacištoniwak pilešîšak anite otâpânikamikohk. Peyakwâw, kî walawîlâwak onîkihikomâwak e wî nâcimîcimewâcik kici ašamâcik oc awâšimišiwâwa. Nakiskaw mâka kî nakatâkaniwiwak aniki awâšišak.

Nâkešîš mâka kî peci-kîwelâw ohtâwîmâw. “Tâni kâ ihkihk?” Kî itwew. “Awena kâ âhkohikoyekw? Mwehci e koštâciyekw kit išinâkosinâwâw.”

“Nôhtâ!” kî itwewak, “Awesîs kâ mišta-koštâsinâkosit kî takošin. Nâšic kî peci-mâmahkacâpiw e peci-kanawâpahtahk ki wacištoninâhk. Nâšic nikî koštâcihikonân!

“Kišâštaw!” kî itwew ana ohtâwîmâw, “Tânte kâ itohtet?”

“Nete kî itohtew!” kî itewak

“Eškwa pitamâ!” kî itwew ana ohtâwîmâw, “Nika nânatawâpamâw. Ekâwîla âlimelihtamokw, nit awâšimišitikw! Nika atimahwâw,” kî itwew. Eko kâ kihcilât.

Ispi mâka kâ sâkewelât, kî wâpamew kâ pimohtelici anihi mišâpišiwa. Môla mâka ohci-koštâciw ana pilešîš. Kî twehototamwew anta ospiskwanilîhk anihi mišâpišiwa. Eko kâ ati-kitahamawât e itwet, “Kekwân wehci takošiniyan nîkinânihk e koštâcihacik nic awâšimišak?” Piko mâka môla pisiskâtikow anihi mišâpišiwa.

Ana mâka kâ kišwewet pilešîš âhcipiko kî kitahamawew ohci e itwet, “Môla itelihtâkwan kici ayihtâyan ôta! Mîn mâka takošiniyane kika wâpahten! Môla tâpwe kiwî ihtôtâtin,” kî itwew e ohpikâtepalihot, “piko mâka kika nâtwâyâwikaneškâtin!

Eko kâ kîwelât ante o wacištonihk. Keka kî itwew, “Ekote nic awâšimišitikw! Nikî kiskinohamawâw ana awesîs ekâ mîna ke ohci-takošihk.”

The Snowman

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Once upon a time, there was a young man who lived alone out in the woods. He hadn’t always been alone – his family had been with him until recently, but an unforgiving winter had gotten the best of them and they had all frozen to death. Fortunately, winter had soon drawn to an end and the white blanket that had covered the earth had withdrawn from the heat of the sun until there remained nothing but a few lonely patches of coarse, wet snow.

The young man, still grieving from the loss of his family, felt vindicated by the melt. As he approached a lonely patch he said, “Ha! What a miserable sight you are!” and kicked it. “You think you can just freeze everyone to death?” He added, tauntingly, “Well, here I am!” Suddenly, a chilling voice was heard that sent shivers down his spine as it replied, “Just wait till I return!” The young man stood aghast at the thought of the snow’s return and took a moment to collect his thoughts. To survive, he soon realized, he would have to be prepared. And so, he went straight to work, determined to withstand what would certainly be the coldest winter of his life.

Throughout the summer, the young man worked. He checked his net every day and harvested many fish, most of which he smoke-dried over a fire. The fish oil he collected into pails made of birch bark, which he stored in a cache with the dried fish. He then gathered firewood, especially dry wood that burns easily, and piled it up near his home. As the winter approached, he went to work on his winter lodge, a wigwam which he insulated with thick layers of moss. As the temperature dropped, he was troubled by the thought of seeing the snow return.

Finally, the winter was upon the young man. On the coldest of winter days, he sat by the fire and listened to the north wind blow. One evening as the night approached, the wind started howling. The young man, anticipating the worst, felt chills as he heard footsteps approach in the distance. Suddenly, the door flap blew open. With his eyes on the door, the young man watched in horror as a stranger whose body resembled snow entered his lodge. As the visitor seated himself on the opposite side of the fire, the lodge grew increasingly colder – frost covered the ground and climbed the walls as icicles formed from the ceiling. As the fire flickered, the young man was spurred into action.

Outside the lodge sat piles of firewood and pails of fish oil. The young man quickly retrieved his stash while his guest focused on freezing him to death. As the temperature dropped, he worked at rekindling the dying flames as they flickered in and out existence. Constantly adding firewood and oil, the flames gradually intensified to the point where the lodge had warmed back up.

The frost retreated and the icicles dripped. The young man looked over at his guest and noticed that he too was dripping. “That’s it!” Said the melting stranger. “I can’t stay here any longer, it’s way too hot!” As he rose to his feet in a hurry to leave, he added “You’ve bested me, so I’ll never bother you again.” Having met his match, never again would the snowman visit the young man who lived alone in the woods. Nonetheless, the young man learned there were consequences to being disrespectful, but he also learned that nothing beats being prepared.