ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐎ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ

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ᒌ ᐃᐦᑖᐗᒡ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ ᓀᔥᑦ ᒋᔐᐃᔨᓂᐤ ᑳ ᐐᒋᑣᐤ ᐁ ᐊᐱᔖᔑᔨᒡ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒌᑳᔅᒄ᙮ ᒋᐸ ᒌ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᒧᒡ, ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋᐦᐃᑯᐗᒡ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ – ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒌ ᐊᔮᐌᐗᒡ ᐊᐙᔑᔕ ᐋᑕ ᓈᔥᒡ ᐁ ᒌ ᓇᑕᐌᔨᒫᑣᐤ᙮ ᐯᔭᒀᐤ, ᑳ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐦᒉᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ, ᒌ ᐃᑎᔗᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᒻᐦ ᒬᐦᒡ ᓈᐯᔑᔑᐦᒡ ᒉᒌ ᐃᔑᓈᑯᓯᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐲᐦᑖᐱᔅᑲᐦᐙᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐅᑦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᒻᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᔖᐱᔅᒋᓵᐙᓂᐦᒡ᙮ ᒦᓐ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐋᐸᐦᐙᑦ ᒋᔖᐱᔅᒋᓵᐙᓐᐦ ᐁ ᓇᑕᐙᐦᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐎ ᓈᐯᔑᔕ, ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐗᔭᐐ ᒀᔥᑯᐦᑎᔨᐤᐦ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐊᑎ ᒋᐦᒋᐸᐦᑖᔨᒡᐦ᙮

ᒌ ᑌᑆᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐅᓈᐯᒻᐦ ᒉ ᓅᓱᓀᐦᐙᑣᐤ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐊᑎᒥᓀᐦᐌᐗᒡ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐅᑎᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐎ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᒥᐦᒉᑦ ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᓯᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᐎᑲᒥᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑌᑆᑖᑦ ᒣᒀᒡ ᐁ ᒪᔮᐎᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ,

ᓂᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐋᐗᒡ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ ᓀᔥᑦ ᒋᔐᐃᔨᓂᐤ᙮ ᒉᔥᑕᒌᔭᐙᐤ ᒋᑲ ᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐃᑎᓈᐙᐤ!

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐊᑎ ᓅᓱᓀᐦᐙᑣᐤ ᑳ ᒥᐦᒉᑎᑣᐤ ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᓯᐗᒡ᙮ ᐋᑕ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒋᔒᐸᐦᑖᑣᐤ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐊᑎᒥᓀᐦᐌᐗᒡ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐅᑎᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᒥᐦᒉᑦ ᓅᑕᔥᑯᔑᐌᓯᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓂᐦᑕᐎᒋᐦᒋᑲᓂᐦᒡ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑌᑆᑖᑦ ᒣᒀᒡ ᐁ ᒪᔮᐎᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ,

ᓂᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐋᐗᒡ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ, ᒋᔐᐃᔨᓂᐤ, ᓀᔥᑦ ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᓯᐗᒡ᙮ ᒉᔥᑕᒌᔭᐙᐤ ᒋᑲ ᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐃᑎᓈᐙᐤ!

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐊᑎ ᓅᓱᓀᐦᐙᑣᐤ ᑳ ᒥᐦᒉᑎᑣᐤ ᓅᑕᔥᑯᔑᐌᓯᐗᒡ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐊᑎᒥᓀᐦᐌᐗᒡ᙮ ᐁᔥᒄ ᐁ ᐱᒥᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᒌ ᐅᑎᐦᑌᐤ ᒥᔥᑐᔀ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑌᑆᑖᑦ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ,

ᓂᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐋᐗᒡ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ, ᒋᔐᐃᔨᓂᐤ, ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᓯᐗᒡ, ᓀᔥᑦ ᓅᑕᔥᑯᔑᐌᓯᐗᒡ᙮ ᒉᔥᑕᒌᔾ ᒋᑲ ᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐃᑎᓐ!

ᐋᑕ ᒫᒃ ᑏᐌᐦᒡ ᑳ ᒋᐦᒋᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒥᔥᑐᔅ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐊᑎᒥᓀᐦᐌᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐅᑎᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᑰᐦᑰᔕ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑌᑆᑖᑦ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ,

ᓂᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐋᐗᒡ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ, ᒋᔐᐃᔨᓂᐤ, ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᓯᐗᒡ, ᓅᑕᔥᑯᔑᐌᓯᐗᒡ, ᓀᔥᑦ ᒥᔥᑐᔅ᙮ ᒉᔥᑕᒌᔾ ᒋᑲ ᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐃᑎᓐ!

ᐋᑕ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒋᔒᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᑰᐦᑰᔥ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐊᑎᒥᓀᐦᐌᐤ᙮ ᐁᔥᒄ ᐁ ᐱᒥᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᒌ ᐅᑎᐦᑌᐤ ᒪᐦᒉᔑᐤᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑌᑆᑖᑦ ᐁ ᐃᑖᑦ,

ᓂᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐋᐗᒡ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ, ᒋᔐᐃᔨᓂᐤ, ᐸᐗᐦᐃᒉᓯᐗᒡ, ᓅᑕᔥᑯᔑᐌᓯᐗᒡ, ᒥᔥᑐᔅ, ᓀᔥᑦ ᑰᐦᑰᔥ᙮ ᒉᔥᑕᒌᔾ ᒋᑲ ᒌ ᓇᑲᒋᐸᐦᐃᑎᓐ!

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒋᐦᒋᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᒉᔑᐤ᙮ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᐦᑖᑯᓯᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᒋᔒᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᒪᐦᒉᔑᐤ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐅᑎᐦᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᒉᔑᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐎ ᓈᐯᔑᔕ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐊᑎ ᒧᐙᑦ᙮

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐎ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ, ᐌᓵ! ᐋᐱᐦᑕᐎᑳᑦ ᓂᑦ ᐃᔅᑯᒥᑲᐎᓐ! ᐁᒄ ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ, ᐌᓵ! ᐋᐱᐦᑕᐎᔭᐤ ᓂᑦ ᐃᔅᑯᒥᑲᐎᓐ! ᐁᒄ ᐐᐸᒡ ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᐃᑗᑦ, ᐁᒄ ᐌᓵ! ᐊᓂᑕ ᓂᑾᔮᐦᒡ ᓂᑦ ᐃᔅᑯᒥᑲᐎᓐ! ᒉᒃ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ, ᐁᒄ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᒋᑕᒧᑲᐎᔮᓐ!

ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᒦᓐ ᐐᔅᑳᑦ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐯᐦᑖᑯᓯᐤ᙮

The above is a Southern East Cree translation of The Gingerbread Boy, a fairytale first published in 1875 in the St. Nicholas Magazine by an anonymous author. Although it appears to have its origins in what is now the United States, tales of the runaway food type are common throughout much of Europe. Many retellings of the tale exist, including a Plains Cree version by the late Ida MacLeod where the characters have been reimagined in roles more relevant to Cree culture.

The Fatherless Child

Willow Ptarmigan_3914

Wâpihyeskwew is said to have been exceedingly beautiful, so much so that the men of her village vied to become her husband. Before being betrothed, however, Wâpihyeskwew mysteriously became pregnant and in time gave birth to a child whose father remained unnamed.

Naturally, the village became determined to identify the one responsible, so the men gathered in a lodge and sat around the firepit to resolve the issue. The baby, they decided, was to be passed around the circle until it felt the need to relieve itself. Whoever the baby peed on, it was declared, would be considered its father.

Infatuated by Wâpihyeskwew’s undying beauty, Ohômisiw was determined to have her as a wife. As the baby was passed from one to another, he started gathering his saliva in anticipation. When the infant finally reached him, he slavered himself and exclaimed, “The baby peed on me!” The man sitting next to him, however, would not be fooled. “Ohômisiw is a liar!” He  declared, “He gathered his saliva and slavered himself to try to fool us!”

Wâpihyeskwew translates as ‘ptarmigan woman’ and ohômisiw as ‘Great horned owl.’ Note that predator/prey relationships are traditionally expressed symbolically as romantic or even sexual relationships, including the relationships that exist between us humans and the animals we depend on.

ᑳ ᐐᒋᔖᓂᑐᑣ

Hänsel_und_Gretel

ᐌᔥᑲᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒌᑳᔅᒄ ᐁ ᒋᑎᒫᒋᓰᑦ ᓅᑖᐦᑎᑴᓯᐤ ᒌ ᐐᒋᒣᐤ ᐐᒋᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᒻᐦ ᐁ ᓃᔑᔨᑣᐤᐦ᙮ ᐯᔭᒀᐤ ᐁ ᑕᒀᒋᐦᒡ ᒌ ᓅᐦᑌᐦᑲᑖᓂᐎᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐊᔅᒌᐦᒡ᙮ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒫᒃ ᓈᐯᐤ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒌ ᐊᔕᒣᐤ ᐅᑑᑌᒻᐦ᙮ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᒋᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᒌ ᐊᔮᒀᒥᒥᑯᐤ ᒉ ᑲᐗᐦᑲᑌᔨᑣᐤᐦ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᒥᐙᐤᐦ᙮ ᐯᔭᒀᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᑎᐱᔅᑳᔨᒡ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑯᐤ ᐐᒋᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᒉ ᐃᔑᐎᔮᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᐙᔑᔕ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ ᒉᒋ ᓇᑲᑖᑲᓂᐎᔨᑣᐤᐦ᙮

ᐅᑯᓯᓯᒫᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᒌ ᒉᔥᑎᓇᐎᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐁ ᐃᑣᓂᐎᔨᒡ ᑳ ᐐᐦᑕᒪᐙᑦ ᐅᒥᓴ᙮ ᐋᑕ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᑯᔥᑖᒋᑣᐤ ᑖᐱᔥᑰᒡ ᑳ ᐐᒋᔖᓂᑐᑣᐤ, ᔮᐱᒡ ᒌ ᐊᔦᔅᑲᐐᐗᒡ᙮ ᑳ ᐋᐱᐦᑖ ᑎᐱᔅᑳᔨᒡ ᐁ ᐃᔥᐸᑯᒋᓂᔨᒡᐦ ᑎᐱᔅᒋ ᐲᓯᒶ, ᒋᔮᒻ ᒌ ᓂᐦᒋᓈᑰᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᒉᒋ ᐗᔭᐐᑦ ᐁ ᐐ ᓇᑕᐎ ᒫᒨᔥᒋᓈᑦ ᐊᓯᓂᔾᐦ ᑳ ᐙᐹᐱᔅᒋᓯᔨᑣᐤᐦ᙮ ᒌ ᓵᑲᔥᒋᓇᐦᑖᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐅᑆᑭᑎᒻ᙮

ᑳ ᒉᒋᔐᐹᔮᔨᒡ, ᐊᓂᒌ ᐊᐙᔑᔕᒡ ᒌ ᒋᐦᒋᐎᔨᑯᐗᒡ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᐙᐤᐦ ᐁ ᐐ ᓈᒋᐦᑕᑴᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᒣᒀᒡ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᐱᒧᐦᑌᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ, ᒌᒨᒡ ᒌ ᐹᐦᐸᒋᑎᓀᐤ ᐊᓯᓂᔾᐦ ᒉᒌ ᒋᔅᒋᓇᐙᒋᐦᑖᑦ ᐅᒣᔅᑲᓇᐤ᙮

ᐙᐦᔭᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐁ ᒥᔥᑎᑯᔅᑳᔨᒡ, ᒌ ᑯᑕᐗᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐅᐦᑖᐐᒫᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᒻᐦ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑲᐎᔑᒧᓇᐦᐋᑦ᙮ ᒣᒀᒡ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᓂᐹᔨᑣᐤᐦ, ᒌ ᓇᑲᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᐙᔑᔕ᙮ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐤᐦ ᒥᒄ ᒌ ᓇᑲᑕᒪᐌᐤ ᒉᒌ ᒦᒋᓱᔨᑣᐤᐦ᙮ ᐋᔥ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒌ ᐊᔦᔅᑲᐐᑣᐤ ᐊᓂᒌ ᐊᐙᔑᔕᒡ, ᐌᔭᐱᔥᒌᔥ ᒥᒄ ᒌ ᓂᐹᔑᐗᒡ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒌᔑᑳᔥᑌᔨᒡ, ᒌ ᓅᓱᓀᐦᐌᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓯᓂᔾᐦ ᑳ ᐙᓯᐦᒀᐱᔅᒋᓯᔨᑣᐤᐦ ᒉᒌ ᒥᑎᒣᑣᐤ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᑳ ᑕᑯᔑᐦᒀᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐐᒋᐙᐦᒡ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᐙᐸᒫᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐃᔅᑴᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᐙᔑᔕ ᐁ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔨᑣᐤᐦ ᒌ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᒨᐦᑳᓱᐤ, ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᑖᐺ ᒌ ᒋᔑᐌᔨᒣᐤ ᑳᐤ ᐁ ᒌ ᑕᑯᔑᓂᔨᑣᐤᐦ᙮

ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᐙᐸᓂᔨᒡ ᒌ ᐃᑕᔕᐙᑌᐤ ᐅᓈᐯᒻᐦ ᒦᓐ ᒉ ᐃᑐᐦᑕᐦᐋᔨᒡᐦ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᒥᐙᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ᙮ ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᐙᐦᔭᐤ ᒌ ᐃᑐᐦᑕᐦᐁᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᒻᐦ ᐊᓐ ᓈᐯᐤ᙮ ᐁᑳ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐊᔮᐙᑦ ᐊᓯᓂᔾᐦ ᐊᓐ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ, ᒌ ᐱᒋᔥᒋᐱᑌᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᒻᐦ ᒉᒌ ᒋᔅᒋᓇᐙᒋᐦᑖᑦ ᐅᒣᔅᑲᓇᐤ᙮ ᒥᒄ ᒫᒃ ᐱᔦᔒᔕ ᒌ ᒧᐌᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐤᐦ ᑳ ᐹᐦᐸᒋᑎᓈᑦ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒌ ᒥᔅᑲᒻ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᒣᔅᑲᓈᔨᐤ ᐊᓐ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᒉᒌ ᒌᐌᑣᐤ᙮

ᑳ ᐙᐸᓂᔨᒡ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓐ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ ᒌ ᐱᓯᔅᑳᐸᒣᐤ ᐱᔦᔒᔥ ᐁ ᐙᐱᓯᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᒌ ᓄᓱᓀᐦᐌᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᒌ ᐊᐙᔑᔕᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐱᔦᔒᔕ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᒥᔪᐦᑕᐙᑣᐤ᙮ ᐁ ᐸᐹᒧᐦᑌᑣᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᒥᔅᑲᒧᒡ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᐁ ᒫᒪᔅᑳᓯᓈᑾᓂᔨᒡ᙮ ᒬᐦᒡ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐦᒡ ᒌ ᐃᔑᓈᑾᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᒥᔅᑲᐦᒀᐤ᙮ ᐊᐸᐦᒀᓂᔨᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒬᐦᒡ ᓰᐎᑏᓯᐦᒡ ᒌ ᐃᔑᓈᑾᓂᔨᐤ᙮ ᐊᓂᒌ ᒫᒃ ᐊᐙᔑᔕᒡ ᒌ ᐸᐦᑴᐦᑕᒧᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᔒᐗᑌᑣᐤ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᓴᔅᑲᒧᑣᐤ, ᒌ ᐯᐦᑕᐌᐗᒡ ᐊᐌᔨᐤᐦ ᐁ ᐃᑎᑯᑣᐤ,

ᐋᐱᐦᑯᔒᔑᐦᒡ ᐃᑎᐦᑖᑯᓯᐤ!

ᐊᐌᓐ ᒫᒋᑦ ᓂ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔨᐤ?

ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᑳ ᐋᐸᐦᐃᐸᔨᑦ ᐃᔥᒀᐦᑌᒻ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᓅᑯᓯᑦ ᐁ ᐗᔭᐐᑳᐸᐎᑦ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ ᐁ ᒪᒋᓈᑯᓯᑦ᙮ ᒌ ᐹᐦᐱᐦᑴᔩᔥᑕᐌᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᐙᔑᔕ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐲᐦᑐᑲᐦᐋᑦ᙮ ᑳ ᐙᐸᒫᑦ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᔑᐗᑌᔨᑣᐤᐦ, ᒌ ᐊᔕᒣᐤ ᐴᑎᓐᐦ ᓀᔥᑦ ᒦᓂᔕ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑲᐎᔑᒧᓇᐦᐋᑦ᙮

ᐊᓂᒌ ᑳ ᐐᒋᔖᓂᑐᑣᐤ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᒣᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᑳ ᒥᔪ ᑑᑖᑯᑣᐤ ᒋᐦᒋᐌ ᑳ ᐋᐎᔨᒡᐦ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤᐦ! ᒣᒀᒡ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒥᔪᐦᒀᒥᑦ ᐊᓐ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ, ᒌ ᒋᐦᒋᐎᔨᑯᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᒉᒌ ᓇᑕᐎ ᒋᐸᐦᐅᑯᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᐸᐦᐅᑑᐎᑲᒥᑯᐦᒡ᙮

ᐁᑯᑌ! ᒌ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᒋ ᐃᔅᑴᐤ, ᓂᑲ ᑖᐦᒋᐳᐦᐋᐤ ᒉᒌ ᒧᐗᒃ!

ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤ ᒌ ᐃᑕᔕᐙᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔕ ᒉ ᐱᒥᓇᐌᔨᒡᐦ ᒉᒌ ᑖᐦᒋᐳᐦᐋᒪᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᒋᔖᓂᔨᐤᐦ᙮ ᐊᓂᒌ ᒫᒃ ᐊᐙᔑᔕᒡ ᒌ ᓇᑐᑕᒪᐌᐗᒡ ᒉ ᐸᒋᑎᓂᑯᑣᐤ, ᐱᔑᔑᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐅᔑᓈᑯᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤᐦ᙮

ᐁᑳ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᓇᐦᐋᐱᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔥ ᒣᔕᑯᒻ ᒌᔑᑳᐤ ᒌ ᑲᑴᑎᓇᒬᐤ ᐅᑎᐦᒌᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᓈᐯᔑᔕ ᐁ ᓇᑕᐙᐦᐋᑦ ᑌᐱ ᑖᐦᒋᐳᔨᑴᓐᐦ᙮ ᐯᔭᑾᐤ, ᒌ ᒥᔅᑲᒻ ᐅᔥᑲᓂᔥᒌᔑᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᐸᐦᐅᑑᐎᑲᒥᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᑳ ᐯᒋ ᓇᑕᐙᐦᐃᑯᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤᐦ, ᐁᐗᑾᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᓃᒥᓇᒪᐙᑦ᙮ ᑳ ᑲᑴᑎᓇᐦᒃ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᔅᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ, ᒌ ᐃᑌᔨᒣᐤ ᐁᔥᒄ ᐁ ᐅᓵᒥ ᐸᔅᒉᐌᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᓈᐯᔑᔕ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᑦ, ᐋᑕ ᑳ ᐊᔕᒫᑲᓂᐎᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᔑᔥ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐐ ᑖᐦᒋᐳᐤ! ᑖᐺ ᒌ ᐴᒣᐦᐁᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤ᙮

ᑳ ᒉᒋᔐᐹᔮᔨᒡ ᒌ ᐃᑕᔕᐙᑌᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔕ ᒉ ᐲᐦᑎᑌᔮᐦᑕᐐᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᔖᐱᔅᒋᓵᐙᓂᐦᒡ ᒉᒌ ᓇᑕᐙᐦᑖᔨᒡᐦ ᑌᐱᐦᑯᔦᔨᑴ ᐃᔥᑯᑌᔨᐤ᙮ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᑲᑴᒋᒣᐤ, ᑖᓐ ᐹᐦᑎᑌᔮᐦᑕᐐᔮᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᔖᐱᔅᒋᓵᐙᓂᐦᒡ?

ᑳ ᒋᔑᐙᐦᐃᑯᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤ, ᒌ ᐃᔅᒀᐦᑕᐐᐤ ᒉᒌ ᐙᐸᐦᑎᔮᑦ ᑖᓂᑌ ᒉ ᐃᔑ ᓇᑕᐙᐦᑖᔨᒡᐦ ᐃᔥᑯᑌᔨᐤ᙮ ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ ᒌ ᑯᐦᑯᐌᐱᓀᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᒋ ᐃᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᒉᒌ ᐴᐦᒋᐸᔨᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᔖᐱᔅᒋᓵᐙᓂᐦᒡ᙮

ᐊᓂᒌ ᒫᒃ ᐊᐙᔑᔕᒡ ᒌ ᓵᑲᔥᒋᓇᐦᑖᐗᒡ ᐅᑆᑭᑎᒥᐙᐤᐦ ᑳ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒫᒨᔥᒋᓇᒸᑣᐤ ᐅᒦᔕᒋᓰᐎᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒌᐌᑣᐤ᙮ ᐯᔓᒡ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᒪᑖᐯᐗᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐁ ᐊᔭᑲᔥᑳᑲᒫᔨᒡ᙮ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒫᒃ ᓈᓯᐯᑎᒥᐦᒡ ᒌ ᐃᐦᑖᔨᐤᐦ ᐙᐱᓯᐤᐦ ᑳ ᒥᔑᒋᑎᔨᒡᐦ ᑳ ᓇᔅᑯᒧᔨᒡᐦ ᒉ ᐋᔕᐗᐦᐅᔨᑯᑣᐤ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒌ ᒫᑖᒣᐗᒡ ᑳ ᓃᔑᑣᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒣᔅᑲᓈᔨᐤ ᑳ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᐦᑕᐦᒀᐤ᙮

ᒌ ᐅᐦᒋᑲᐙᐱᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓅᑖᐦᑎᑴᓯᐤ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᑳᐤ ᐁ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐙᐸᒫᑦ ᐅᑦ ᐊᐙᔑᔒᒻᐦ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐃᐦᑖᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᒋᔅᑴᐤᐦ ᐁ ᒌ ᐌᐱᓈᑦ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᒫᑦ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᒪᒋᐦᑣᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᑳ ᓂᔥᑎᑣᐤ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᒧᒡ ᐁ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᐱᒫᑎᓰᑣᐤ ᐁ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐱᒫᒋᐦᐅᐙᒉᐙᑣᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᒦᔕᒋᓰᐎᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐐᐦᑎᑰᔅᑴᐤᐦ᙮

The above is a Southern East Cree translation of Hansel & Gretel, a fairytale of German origin that was recorded by the Brothers Grimm and first published in 1812.

ᒣᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ

Little_Red_Riding_Hood_pg_8
ᐌᔥᑲᒡ ᒌ ᐃᐦᑖᐤ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ ᑳ ᓵᒋᐦᐃᑯᑦ ᒥᓯᐌ ᐊᐌᔨᐤᐦ ᑳ ᑲᓇᐙᐸᒥᑯᑦ᙮ ᐅᐦᑰᒻᐦ ᒫᒃ ᒫᐗᒡ ᒌ ᓵᒋᐦᐃᑯᐤ ᓀᔥᑦ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒌ ᐃᐦᑕᑾᓂᔨᐤ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ ᐁᑳ ᒉ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒦᔨᑯᑦ᙮ ᐯᔭᒀᐤ ᒌ ᒦᔨᑯᐤ ᑳ ᒥᐦᒀᔑᔨᒡ ᐊᔥᑐᑎᓂᔑᔨᐤ᙮ ᐁᐗᑾᓂᔨᐤ ᒨᔥ ᑳ ᒋᒋᔥᑲᐦᒃ ᐁ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒥᔪᓇᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐅᑦ ᐊᔥᑐᑎᓐ᙮ ᐁᐗᒄ ᐌᐦᒋ ᒌ ᐃᔑᓂᐦᑳᑎᑯᓰᑦ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ᙮

ᐯᔭᒀᐤ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑯᐤ ᐅᑳᐎᔾᐦ, ᐋᔥᑕᒻ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔭᓐ! ᒫᐤ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐤ ᓀᔥᑦ ᔔᒥᓈᐳᐤ᙮ ᐃᑐᐦᑕᑕᒪᐤ ᐆᔨᐤᐦ ᑰᐦᑯᒻ᙮ ᐋᐦᑯᓯᐤ ᓀᔥᑕ ᓃᔭᒥᓰᐤ ᑰᐦᑯᒻ᙮ ᑲᑕ ᒥᔪᔥᑳᑯᐤ ᐆᔨᐤ ᒦᒋᒥᔨᐤ᙮ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᐦ ᐁᔥᒄ ᐁᑳ ᐁ ᒋᔖᔥᑌᒡ᙮ ᐌᐌᔭᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐱᒧᐦᑌᐦ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐁᑳᐐᔾ ᐸᑐᑌᔅᑲᓇᐌᐦᑌᐦ ᐁᑳ ᒉ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐲᑯᐦᑎᑖᔭᓐ ᐆᐦᐁ ᐴᑕᔾ᙮ ᐲᑯᐦᑎᓂᔨᒉ ᒫᒃ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᑲᑕ ᐊᔮᐤ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ ᑰᐦᑯᒻ᙮ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᔭᓀ ᒫᒃ, ᐁᑳᐐᔾ ᐗᓂ ᒋᔅᒋᓯᐦ ᒉ ᐴᔔᐦᑲᐗᑦ ᑰᐦᑯᒻ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐁᑳᐐᔾ ᐱᓯᔅᒉᔨᐦᑕᐦ ᒉᒀᓐ ᑆᒧᔥ ᐴᔔᐦᑲᐗᑌ᙮

ᓂᑲ ᔮᒀᒥᓰᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑌᐤ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ ᐁ ᐊᔓᑕᒪᐙᑦ ᐅᑳᐎᔾᐦ᙮ ᐅᐦᑯᒻᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ ᒌ ᐐᒋᔨᐤᐦ, ᐗᔦᔥ ᓂᑯᑣᓱ ᑎᐸᐦᐃᑲᓐ ᐅᑌᓈᐦᒡ ᐅᐦᒋ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐊᑎ ᑯᑖᐙᔅᑯᐦᐊᐦᒃ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ ᒌ ᓇᒋᔥᑲᐌᐤ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᒣᐤ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ ᑖᓐ ᐁᔅᐱᔑ ᒫᔮᑎᓰᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮

ᒥᔪ ᒌᔑᑳᐤ, ᓇᒪ, ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔭᓐ? ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ

ᑖᐺ ᒥᔪ ᒌᔑᑳᐤ, ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ᙮

ᑖᓂᑌ ᐁᑐᐦᑌᔭᓐ ᐐᐸᒡ ᒉᒋᔐᑉ, ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔭᓐ?

ᓅᐦᑯᒻ ᐐᒋᐦᒡ᙮

ᒉᒀᓐ ᐁᔮᔭᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒌᐗᑎᐦᒡ?

ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐤ ᓀᔥᑦ ᔔᒥᓈᐳᐤ᙮ ᒌ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐦᑳᓂᐎᐤ ᐅᑖᑯᔒᐦᒡ᙮ ᑳ ᒋᑎᒫᒋᓰᑦ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ ᑲᑕ ᐊᔮᐤ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ ᐁ ᒥᔻᔨᒡ ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᒉ ᒥᔻᒋᐦᐃᑯᑦ᙮

ᑖᓂᑌ ᐙᒋᑦ ᑰᐦᑯᒻ, ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔭᓐ?

ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ, ᐋᐱᐦᑕᐎ ᑎᐸᐦᐃᑲᓐ ᐗᔦᔥ᙮ ᔒᐹ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒥᔥᑎᑯᒥᓈᐦᑎᑯᐦᒡ ᐃᐦᑕᑾᓂᔨᐤ ᐐᒡ, ᐯᔓᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᑳ ᐃᐦᑖᑣᐤ ᐊᓂᒌ ᐸᑳᓈᐦᑎᑾᒡ᙮ ᒉᒫᓂᒻ ᒋ ᒋᔅᒉᔨᐦᑕᒸᓐ ᑖᓂᑕ ᐙᒋᑦ᙮ ᒌ ᓇᔥᑴᐗᔑᐦᐁᐤ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ᙮

ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᐤ, ᐙ ᒪᔫᒉᐗᒋᓈᑯᓯᑦ ᐆ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ! ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᐐᐦᒋᑏᑐᒉ ᐃᔅᐱᔖᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔑᔕ᙮ ᒌᒨᒡ ᓂᐸ ᐊᔨᐦᑎᓐ ᑖᐱᔅᑰᒡ ᐐ ᒧᐗᒀᐌᓂᒡ᙮ ᐱᑕᒫ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐐᒉᐌᐤ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐃᑖᑦ, ᒋ ᐙᐸᐦᑌᓐ ᐋ, ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔭᓐ, ᑖᓐ ᐁᔅᐱᔑ ᒥᔻᔑᒀᐤᐦ ᐙᐱᑾᓂᔾᐦ? ᒉᒀᓐ ᐌᐦᒋ ᐁᑳ ᐊᔨᑖᐱᔭᓐ? ᓂᑦ ᐃᑌᔨᐦᑌᓐ ᓀᔥᑦ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒋ ᐯᐦᑕᐙᑐᒉᓂᒡ ᐱᔦᔒᔕᒡ ᐁ ᓂᑲᒧᑣᐤ᙮ ᒋ ᒪᒉᔨᐦᑕᒨᓈᑯᓯᓐ ᐁ ᐱᒧᐦᑌᔭᓐ ᒬᐦᒡ ᐁ ᐃᑐᐦᑌᔭᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒋᔅᒋᓄᐦᐊᒫᑑᐎᑲᒥᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᒨᒋᑫᔨᐦᑕᒶᒡ ᒫᒃ ᑯᑕᑲᒡ ᐊᐌᓂᒌ ᐆᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ ᐁ ᐃᐦᑖᑣᐤ᙮

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑕᔥᑕᓵᐱᑦ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐲᓯᒬᔮᐲᔨᐤ ᐁ ᓃᒦᒪᑲᓂᔨᒡ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐙᐱᑯᓂᔾᐦ ᑳ ᓂᐦᑖᐎᒋᓂᔨᒀᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒥᓯᐌᔅᑲᒥᒡ, ᒌ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᐤ, ᒫᒨᔥᒋᓇᒪᐗᑫ ᐙᐱᑯᓂᔾᐦ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ, ᑖᐺ ᒋᐸ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᒻ᙮ ᔮᐱᒡ ᓂᑲ ᒉᓯᔅᑲᐙᐤ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ ᐌᔅ ᐐᐸᒡ ᓂᒌ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᓐ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐸᑐᑌᔅᑲᓇᐌᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐁ ᓈᓇᑕᐙᐱᑾᓀᑦ᙮ ᑕᐦᑣᐤ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᒪᓂᐱᑕᐦᒃ ᐙᐱᑾᓃᔨᐤ ᒦᓐ ᑯᑕᒋᔨᐤ ᒌ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᒻ ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᐁ ᒧᔥᑌᓇᐦᒃ᙮ ᒉᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᔮᐎᓈᑯᓯᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᐦᒋ ᒣᔅᑲᓈᐦᒡ᙮

ᐁᒄ ᒫᒃ ᐐᔾ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᑳ ᐃᔅᐸᐦᑖᐙᑦ ᐐᒋᔩᐦᒡ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐅᐦᑯᒥᒫᐤᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐹᐦᐹᐗᐦᐃᒉᑦ᙮

ᐊᐌᓐ ᒌᔾ?

ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔮᓐ, ᒌ ᓇᔥᑴᐗᔑᐦᐁᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓐ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ᙮ ᒋ ᐯᑕᒫᑎᓐ ᔔᒥᓈᐳᐤ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐤ᙮ ᐯᒋ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᒪᐤᐦ ᐃᔥᒀᐦᑌᒻ᙮

ᐅᐦᐹᐱᔅᒋᓇᐦ ᐋᑖᐱᔅᑲᐦᐃᑲᓐ! ᒌ ᑌᐺᐤ ᐁ ᒋᔗᐌᑦ ᐊᓐ ᐅᐦᑯᒥᒫᐤ, ᐌᓵ ᓂ ᓃᔭᒥᓰᓐ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᓂᒌ ᐸᓯᑰᓐ᙮

ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᑳ ᐅᐦᐹᐱᔅᒋᓇᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐋᑖᐱᔅᑲᐦᐃᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓐ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ, ᒌ ᐋᐸᐦᐃᐸᔨᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔥᒀᐦᑌᒻᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑏᐌᐦᒡ ᑳ ᓈᑕᒸᑦ ᐅᓂᐯᐎᓂᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐅᐦᑯᒥᒫᐤᐦ ᒉ ᒧᐙᑦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐳᔥᑎᔥᑲᒸᑦ ᐅᓂᐯᐗᔮᓂᔨᐤ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐅᑦ ᐊᔥᑐᑎᓂᔨᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐗᐌᔨᔑᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓂᐯᐎᓂᐦᒡ ᓀᔥᑦ ᑳ ᐋᑲᐌᔦᒋᐱᒋᒉᑦ᙮

ᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ ᐁᔥᒄ ᒌ ᐸᐹᒥᐸᐦᑖᐤ ᐁ ᒫᒨᔥᒋᓇᐦᒃ ᐙᐱᑾᓂᔾᐦ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᒫᒃ ᐁᑳ ᑳ ᑌᐱᓇᐦᒃ ᐌᔅ ᒥᐦᒉᑦ ᐁ ᒌ ᒫᒨᔥᒋᓇᐦᒃ, ᒌ ᒋᔅᒋᓯᑐᑕᐌᐤ ᐅᐦᑯᒻᐦ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒫᒃ ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᒋᐦᑐᐦᑌᐙᑦ᙮

ᒌ ᑯᔥᑴᔨᐦᑕᒻ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᐙᐸᒫᑦ ᐃᔥᒀᐦᑌᒻᐦ ᐁ ᐋᐸᐦᐊᑯᒋᓂᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᑳ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᑦ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᐤ ᐁ ᐊᒪᑎᓱᑦ, ᐁᒄ ᐌᓵ! ᒨᔥ ᓂ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᒸᓐ ᐁ ᐙᐸᒪᒃ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ᙮ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐌᐦᒋ ᐁᑳ ᔖᐯᔨᒪᒃ ᐊᓄᐦᒌᔥ? ᒌ ᑌᐺᐤ ᐁ ᒋᔗᐌᑦ, ᑴᔾ ᑴᔾ! ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᐅᐦᒋ ᓇᔥᑴᐗᔑᐦᐋᑲᓂᐎᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓂᐯᐎᑲᒥᑯᐦᒡ ᓀᔥᑦ ᑳ ᐹᔅᒉᒋᐱᒋᒉᑦ᙮

ᐁᑯᑕ ᑳ ᐱᒫᔅᑯᔑᓂᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ ᐁ ᐊᑯᓈᐦᑴᔑᓂᔨᒡᐦ, ᓇᐗᒡ ᐁ ᒫᒪᔅᑳᓯᓈᑯᓯᔨᒡᐦ᙮

ᐌᓵ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ! ᒌ ᐃᑌᐤ, ᑖᐺ ᒋ ᒫᒪᐦᒋᐦᑕᐗᒉᓐ!

ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᒉ ᓇᐦᐃᐦᑖᑖᓐ ᓅᓯᓯᒻ! ᒌ ᓇᔥᑴᐗᔑᐦᐃᑯᐤ᙮

ᒫᒃ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ, ᑖᐺ ᒋ ᒫᒪᐦᑲᒑᐱᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑌᐤ᙮

ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᒉ ᓇᐦᐋᐸᒥᑖᓐ ᓅᓯᓯᒻ!

ᒫᒃ ᓅᐦᑯᒻ, ᑖᐺ ᒋ ᒫᒪᐦᒋᑎᐦᒉᓐ!

ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᒉ ᒥᔪ ᐌᐗᒋᑴᓂᑖᓐ!

ᐌᓵ! ᓅᐦᑯᒻ, ᑖᐺ ᒋ ᒫᒪᐦᑳᐱᑌᓐ!

ᐊᐗᓯᑌ ᒉ ᒥᔪ ᒨᑖᓐ!

ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐗᓂᔥᑳᐸᐦᑖᑦ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᒉ ᒧᐙᑦ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔨᒡᐦ᙮

ᑳ ᒌᔥᐳᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ, ᒌ ᑲᐎᔑᒧᐤ᙮ ᑳ ᑲᐎᐦᑯᔑᑦ ᒫᒃ, ᒌ ᐊᑎ ᒪᑗᐦᒀᒥᐤ᙮ ᒣᒀᒡ ᑳ ᓂᐹᔨᒡᐦ, ᒌ ᒥᔮᔥᑲᒻ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᔨᐤ ᐃᔨᓂᐤ ᑳ ᓇᑕᐗᐦᐅᑦ᙮ ᒌ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᓈᐯᐤ, ᐁᒄ ᐌᓵ ᒋᔗᐌ ᒪᑗᐦᒀᒥᐤ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒋᔐᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ᙮ ᓂᐸ ᑲᑴᒋᒫᐤ ᓇᑕᐌᔨᐦᑕᒧᑴ ᒉᒀᔨᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐲᐦᑐᒉᐙᑦ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐅᐙᔅᑳᐦᐃᑲᓂᒥᔩᐦᒡ, ᑳ ᓈᑕᒸᑦ ᐅᓂᐯᐎᓂᔨᐤ, ᒉᒃ ᒌ ᐙᐸᒣᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ ᑳ ᐱᒥᔑᓂᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᐆᑌ ᐋ ᒋ ᒥᔅᑳᑎᓐ ᒌᔾ ᑳ ᒪᒋᐦᑣᔭᓐ! ᒌ ᐃᑗᐤ, ᐋᔥ ᐌᔥᑲᒡ ᒋ ᓈᓇᑕᐙᐸᒥᑎᓐ! ᐁᒄ ᒬᐦᒡ ᑳ ᐐ ᐹᔅᒋᔂᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ, ᒌ ᐃᑌᔨᐦᑕᒻ ᒫᔥᑯᒡ ᐁᔥᒄ ᐁ ᐃᔨᓃᐎᑴᓐᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐅᐦᑯᒥᒫᐤᐦ᙮ ᑳ ᐐ ᐱᒫᒋᐦᐋᑦ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐹᔅᒋᓯᒉᐤ᙮ ᒌ ᑕᐦᑯᓇᒻ ᒫᒃ ᑕᑯᐦᑯᒫᓂᔨᐤ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᑖᑐᔕᒸᑦ ᐗᑖᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮ ᐊᐱᔒᔥ ᒥᒄ ᑳ ᒫᑎᔑᒉᑦ, ᒌ ᐙᐸᐦᑕᒻ ᑳ ᒥᐦᒀᔨᒡ ᐊᔥᑐᑎᓂᔨᐤ᙮ ᐊᐱᔒᔥ ᒦᓐ ᑳ ᒫᑎᔑᒉᑦ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᐗᔭᐐ ᒀᔥᑯᐦᑎᔨᒡᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔕ ᐁ ᒫᑐᔨᒡᐦ ᐁ ᐃᑗᔨᒡᐦ, ᐌᓵ ᓂᒌ ᓭᒋᓯᓐ ᐁ ᐗᓂ ᑎᐱᔅᑳᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐲᐦᒋᔭᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᓈᒉᔒᔥ ᐊᓐ ᐅᐦᑯᒥᒫᐤ ᐌᔥᑕᐐᔾ ᑳ ᐯᒋ ᐗᔭᐐᑦ ᐁ ᓅᐦᑌᑖᒧᑦ᙮ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᑦ ᒫᒃ ᒌ ᓈᑌᐤ ᐊᓯᓂᔾᐦ ᐁ ᑯᓯᒀᐱᔅᒋᓯᔨᑣᐤᐦ ᒉ ᐋᐸᒋᐦᐋᑦ ᒉᒌ ᓵᑲᔥᒋᓇᐦᑖᐙᑦ ᐗᑖᔨᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ᙮ ᐃᔥᑯᑕᒃ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᐗᓂᔥᑳᑦ ᐊᓐ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐ ᒌ ᓂᐸᐦᐃᔑᓄ ᐁ ᑯᑴ ᒋᐦᒋᐸᐦᑖᑦ᙮

ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᐦᒀᐤ ᑳ ᓂᔥᑎᑣᐤ᙮ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐃᔨᓂᐤ ᑳ ᓇᑕᐗᐦᐅᑦ ᒌ ᐸᐦᑯᓀᐤ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓐᐦ, ᐁᒄ ᑳ ᒌᐌᐦᑕᐦᐋᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᒪᐦᐄᐦᑲᓂᐗᔮᓐᐦ᙮ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒫᒃ ᐅᐦᑯᒥᒫᐤ ᒌ ᒥᔻᒋᐦᐃᑯᐤ ᐁ ᒧᐙᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐋᔭᐦᑯᓈᐤᐦ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐁ ᒥᓂᐦᑴᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᔔᒥᓈᐴᔨᐤ ᑳ ᐯᑕᒫᑯᑦ ᐦᑯᔥᑐᑎᓀᔑᔨᒡᐦ᙮ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒫᒃ ᐃᔥᑴᔑᔥ ᑳ ᐃᑎᑎᓱᑦ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒦᓐ ᐐᔅᑳᑦ ᓂᑲ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐸᑐᑌᔅᑲᓇᐌᐦᑌᓐ ᐁ ᐯᔭᑯᔮᓐ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓅᐦᒋᒦᐦᒡ᙮

The above is a Southern East Cree translation of Little Red Riding Hood, also known as Little Red Cap, a fairytale that was known in many European countries before first being published in French by Charles Perrault in 1697. This is a translation of the first part of the Brothers Grimm version published in 1812. Their version contains two parts, only the first of which agrees in large parts with Charles Perreault’s version.

ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐁ ᐧᐄᒋ ᓇᑕᐧᐃᐦᔦᐧᐁᒥᑦ

Spruce_Grouse_(Falcipennis_canadenis)_RWD
ᑕᐧᑳᒋᓐ᙮ ᓈᔥᒡ ᒫᒃ ᓂᒥᐧᔦᔨᐦᑕᒸᓐ ᐊᓄᐦᒌᔥ ᐁ ᐧᐄᒉᐧᐃᑦ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐁ ᓈᓇᑕᐧᐃᐦᔦᐧᐁᐸᔨᔮᓐ᙮ ᓂᔮᓈᓀᐧᐃᐱᐳᐧᓀᓯᐤ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ, ᓂᓃᔥᑕᒨᔖᓐ ᑲᔭᐹ᙮ ᓂᑦᐊᔭᒥᐦᐃᑐᓈᓐ ᒣᐧᑳᒡ ᐁ ᐸᐹᒥᐸᔨᔮᐦᒡ, ᐁ ᒥᐧᔦᔨᐦᑕᒫᐦᒡ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐁ ᐧᐋᓭᔅᐧᑲᓂᔑᔮᐦᒡ᙮

ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᒉᐱᐦᑕᐧᐁᔮᓐ ᐁ ᐧᐋᐸᒪᐧᑳᐤ ᒥᔥᑎᑯᐦᔦᐧᐊᒡ ᐁ ᓈᓃᐸᐧᐃᐧᑖᐤ ᐊᓐᑌ ᐅᐦᐱᒣᔅᑲᓇᐤ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᒉᐱᐦᒋᐸᔨᐦᑖᔮᓐ ᓅᑖᐹᓐ ᐯᐦᑳᒡ ᒉᒌ ᑲᐹᔮᐦᒡ ᐁ ᐧᐄ ᑲᐧᑫ ᓂᐸᐦᐊᐧᑳᐤ᙮ ᐹᐦᒋᐱᐦᐧᑫᔮᓐ ᐅᑖᐹᓂᐦᒡ ᐁ ᐅᐦᐱᒣ ᓃᐸᔅᑯᔮᐦᒡ᙮ ᐁᒄ ᐧᐁᔮᔅᑯᓂᒉᔮᓐ ᐯᔭᒄ ᐱᔦᐤ ᐁ ᐧᐄ ᐹᔅᒋᓱᒃ᙮ ᒫᔅᑯᐦᐅᒃ! ᐧᐁᐦᐸᐦᐅᐧᑖᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐊᓂᒌ ᑯᑕᑲᒡ᙮ ᓂᓈᑖᔨᐤᐦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐱᔦᐤᐦ ᑳ ᐹᔅᒋᐧᓵᒪᒃ ᒉ ᒦᔭᒃ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᒉᒌ ᑕᐦᑯᓈᑦ᙮

ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᒫᒃ ᓂᑌᐧᐹᑎᒄ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐁ ᐃᐧᑌᑦ, ᓅᐦᑖ! ᐁᔥᒄ ᐃᔨᓃᐧᐃᐤ ᐆᐦᐁ ᐱᔦᐤ!

ᐊᓄᐦᒌᔥ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᒫᒥᑐᓀᔨᐦᑕᒧᒃ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ, ᓂᐧᐊᐧᐃᔭᑌᔨᐦᑕᐧᒫᓐ᙮ ᒣᐧᑳᒡ ᒫᒃ ᑳ ᑌᑆᔑᑦ, ᒥᒄ ᓂᒌ ᒫᒥᑐᓀᔨᒫᐧᐊᒡ ᑯᑕᑲᒡ ᐱᔦᐧᐊᒡ ᑳ ᑯᑖᐧᐋᔅᑯᐦᔮᐧᑖᐤ᙮ ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᓅᐦᒋ ᐃᔅᐱᔒᐙᓐ ᒉᒌ ᐱᓯᔅᑳᑕᒃ᙮

ᒫᒫᐦᒋᑯᓐ ᒥᒃ ᐁᑳ ᒉ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐅᐦᐸᐦᐅᑦ! ᓂᑦᐃᑖᐤ ᐁ ᑯᑖᐧᐋᔅᑯᐦᐊᒫᓐ ᒉᒌ ᓅᓱᓀᐦᐅᐧᑳᐤ ᐊᓂᒌ ᑯᑕᑲᒡ ᐱᔦᐧᐊᒡ᙮ ᐯᐦᑳᒌᐤ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᐯᒋ ᓅᓱᓀᐦᐅᑦ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ᙮

ᒉᒃ ᐧᐃᔮᐸᒪᒃ ᐁ ᐊᑯᓰᑦ ᐯᔭᒄ ᒥᔥᑎᑯᐦᔦᐤ ᐊᓂᑌ ᓭᓭᑳᐦᑎᑯᐦᒡ᙮ ᐁᑳᐧᐄᔾ ᐋᐦᒌ! ᓂᑦᐃᑖᐤ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐁ ᐧᐄ ᐹᔅᒋᐧᓵᒪᒃ᙮ ᐯᐦᒋᔑᐦᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᐱᔦᐤ ᐁ ᐹᔅᒋᓱᒃ, ᓇᒪᐐᔾ ᒫᒃ ᓅᐦᒋ ᓂᐸᐦᐋᐤ᙮ ᐋᑕ ᒫᒃ ᐁ ᒥᔣᑲᓂᐦᑳᑕᒃ, ᒋᐦᒋᐸᐦᑖᐤ ᔮᐱᒡ᙮ ᓂᔮᒋᐸᐦᐊᒃ ᐊᓂᐦᐁ ᒥᔣᑲᓐ ᐁᒄ ᐹᒥᐧᑫᓇᒃ ᐁ ᑳᐦᒋᑎᓇᒃ᙮ ᐧᐁᑎᓈᑦ ᐊᓂᔨᐤᐦ ᐱᔦᐤᐦ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐁ ᒥᔯᔨᐦᑕᐦᒃ ᓀᔥᑦ ᐋᔥ ᐁᑳ ᐊᔮᐦᒌᔨᒡᐦ ᓀᔨᐤᐦ ᐱᔦᐤᐦ ᓃᔥᑕᒻ ᑳ ᑕᐦᑯᓈᑦ᙮ ᓂᔮᓇᑕᐧᐋᐸᒪᒋᐦᐧᑖᐤ ᒫᒃ ᑯᑕᑲᒡ ᐱᔦᐧᐊᒡ ᐊᓂᑌ ᐁ ᐊᔭᐱᐧᑖᐤ᙮ ᐁᔥᐧᑳ ᐹᐦᐹᔅᒋᓱᐧᑳᐤ, ᓂᐧᐄᑕᐱᒥᑐᓈᓐ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐊᓂᑌ ᒧᔥᑕᔅᑲᒥᒡ ᐁ ᐹᐦᐸᔥᑯᐱᒋᒉᔮᐦᒡ᙮ ᓴᔅᒋᑯᒡ ᔑᔮᐧᐹᔅᐧᑫᔮᔥᑕᐧᐁᑦ ᐲᓯᒽ᙮ ᓈᔥᑖᐺ ᒋᔮᒣᔨᐦᑖᐧᑲᓐ᙮

ᒨᔥ ᓂᑲ ᑲᓄ ᒋᔅᒋᓯᓐ ᑳ ᐃᔅᐱᔑ ᒥᐧᔮᔑᒡ ᓀ ᒌᔑᑳᐤ᙮ ᐊᓄᐦᒌᔥ ᒫᒃ, ᐁᔥᒄ ᓵᑲᔥᒋᓀᐤ ᓂᑌᐦᐄ ᓵᒋᐦᐃᐧᐁᐧᐃᓐ ᐅᐦᒋ ᐁ ᒫᒥᑐᓀᔨᐦᑕᒧᒃ ᑳ ᐧᐄᒋ ᓇᑕᐧᐃᐦᔦᐧᐁᒥᑦ ᓂᑖᓂᔅ ᐊᓂᔨᐤ ᑳ ᑕᐧᑳᒋᓂᔨᒡ᙮

Meso and the Length of Winter

Bufo_americanus_PJC1
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.

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.