One day, a wyf was swimming in a stream near her tribe’s encampment. They had arrived a few days ago and the clever man had said this would be their home for the cooling seasons.

She fell in love with this area and secretly decided not to leave. While she was swimming, she planned how to stop the tribe from moving on. She wanted this to be her permanent home even though this was not their custom.

She stayed a long time in the brook, long enough for the sun to sink and the stars to appear. She realised that if the sun stayed and the seasons did not cool, then the tribe would not have to move on.

The sun sank down, down, down and then disappeared, its last rays pointing to its place of rest. The wyf decided to steal the sun and show it whenever she wanted.

She dove into the brook and swam deep, swam toward the ends of the rays, down along the bottom of the stream until it became a river, until it became an ocean. Down to the bottom of the ocean, she found the sun asleep.

Needing her hands to swim, she ate the sun to bring back home. It was hot! It burned her mouth terribly! But she swam back home, back up the river, up the stream, and back into the brook near the encampment.

But there was no one there.

The tribe had moved on, no trace left. Too much time had passed while she was away. The sun in her mouth was about to wake up and she could not hold it any longer. Opening her mouth, the sun roared away to the east with a terrible shaking of the ground. The wyf sank to her knees and cried.

She sat there for so long that she became a rock, then a pit, a pit which water flows from, salty, like her tears.