Wohali and the Little People by Winona Rasheed

"The great one!" shouted Wohali. He leaped from the white, plastic pail he was sitting on and began to struggle with the long, bamboo stick. "You will not get away this time," he screeched when he saw the size of the enormous catfish at the end of his fishing line. He waded barefoot out into the murky lake. The water rose higher and higher, and his feet sank deeper and deeper into the cool, mucky mud. The catfish flipped, flopped and wiggled, trying to free itself of the nylon string that was hooked into his mouth.

Wohali pulled and yanked on the fishing pole, using all the strength he had. The pole bowed with the weight of the fish as Wohali pulled back, arm muscles bulging. Moments later, the excited Cherokee Indian boy stood by the side of the lake grinning, feeling proud of his accomplishment. The catfish looked as though it weighed a good twenty-five or thirty pounds; it was magnificent to look at. The bright-eyed ten-year-old had been trying for the last month to hook the catfish as a surprise for his grandfather, who had taught him well the skills of fishing and hunting.

"This is O-sa-da," he said with glee as he dropped the fish into the pail he had been sitting on. "This is very good. Grandfather will be so proud." He gathered up his moccasins and ran sopping wet, swift like an eagle in flight, through the woods towards home, a place he shared with his grandfather, Grey Wolf.

As soon as the log cabin was in sight, Wohali began to shout in his native language, "Grandfather, grandfather! Come, come quick!"  The cabin was tucked away, at the bottom of a hill, almost hidden by an over population of wild trees and shrubs; it lay secluded by winding footpaths that went in all directions. Wohali loved it here because it was like he was camping out, roughing it all the time. He and his grandfather lived off the land, in the spring, summer and fall; and when it wasn't raining, they would always eat by campfire, cooking food over an open pit.

"Wohali, what is all the commotion?" his grandfather asked, appearing in the doorway of the old, rustic cabin. His grey hair was parted down the center of his head, and two long braids hung over his shoulders. Even though he was not a young man, he had a strong muscular body. He was a tall, brave and proud man. A smile appeared on his broad face when he saw his grandson.

"It's the special catfish," said Wohali grinning. "I finally caught him!"

Grey Wolf peered into the bucket; his dark eyes glowed with happiness and pride. "This is very good," he said. "You have done well."

"I am a great fisherman," Wohali said.

"That you are," said his grandfather. "And a great hunter. With your bow and arrow, you can bring down a jack rabbit with just one single shot."

"Fishing is fun," said Wohali as he stared wide-eyed at the catfish. "I could fish every day, all day long." He glowed with happiness and pride.

"You clean. I cook," said Grey Wolf. "Tonight, we will eat well. Beans and your special catch of the day."