The Legend of the Singing River
The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on their faces. The elders leaned forward slightly, as if to better savor the words, and someone began to speak:
"A long time ago, well before roads cut through the forest, there was a river whose song guided travelers. It was called the singing river."
The storyteller's voice vibrated in the night, mingling with the sound of embers and the breath of the wind.
This river, they said, was like no other. When the moon rose high in the sky, the water began to murmur a song that only calm hearts could hear. The animals stopped to listen: the loon ceased its cry, the wolf held its breath, and even the branches seemed to prick up their ears.
Among those who had heard this song was a young man named Mahikan. One winter, he went hunting alone, confident and full of pride. The storm caught him like a wolf catches a hare: without warning. For three days, he wandered, his stomach empty, his feet freezing, until he fell near an unknown river.
Exhausted, Mahikan knelt and struck the water in anger.
But the water did not become cloudy.
She responded with a sound — a soft, almost human tone that made her heart tremble.
"Listen," the river told him, "before you try to understand."
Then Mahikan stopped struggling. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of the world envelop him: the falling snow, the wind in the pines, the roar of the stream. Little by little, the fear faded. In the returning silence, he felt the presence of those who had gone before him—the hunters, the women, the children, the ancestors.
The river sang for them all.
When he opened his eyes again, a path lay before him.
The branches bent in a clear direction, and the sky seemed lighter. Mahikan followed this invisible thread back to his people's camp. No one really knew how he returned, but it is said that he never spoke of the river again. Each evening, he simply left a little tobacco on the ground as a token of gratitude.
Since then, the elders say that the river still sings, but only for those who walk with respect. Its song is not a voice heard with the ears, but a vibration recognized in the heart.
Around the fire, the storyteller looked up at the moon and added:
"When you hear the current, don't try to understand the words. Let it remind you that Mother Earth still speaks, to those who are willing to listen."
The embers began to crackle more loudly, as if in approval. And in the silence that followed, everyone thought they could hear, very far away, the murmur of living water.
This Native legend finds new life in art shaped by tradition.Creations inspired by the spirit of legends
Each piece is handcrafted on Nitassinan by Ilnu artisan Dave Verreault-Thisselmagan, carrying the energy of tradition and nature.
