“Kamohoali’i, please help.” Tears ran down Wikolia’s face as she spoke quietly.
The entire village stared at Sartin. His own stomach churned at the sight and the pressure to heal the chief.
Sartin snapped out of his own daze. “Right. Akela, do you remember the ferns we used to heal your daughter? Please go to the beach and get them. They grow there. Bring as many as you can carry!” Akela grabbed her daughter’s hand and ran into the forest toward the beach.
“I need sinew fiber—”
The chief coughed and sputtered.
“You must remove the spear as soon as possible,” Wikolia wailed.
Maru put his hands on her shoulders. “Let Kamohoali’i work, mother. He won’t let father die.”
“The cord, I need the thread and a large needle.” A couple of the village women disappeared from the crowd.
“What can we do to help?” Kekoa asked.