Pametum stood and signaled to Kautonbe and Yespilou, huddled in their winter furs at the foot of a nearby hill. Raising a single hand and gesturing to the sea behind him, Pametum indicated that he was taking the canoe out to the ship anchored in the distance. Kautonbe barely nodded – he too was anxious to know what the white men were doing in their waters. Yespilou remained still; being the youngest, his opinions mattered not and he rightfully knew his place, but his darting eyes betrayed his sudden excitement.
The ice on the water had broken in the days previous, some of which had started to drift out into open sea. Random rivers of water cut between the remaining boulders of ice, wide enough to navigate through with the narrow canoe. Pametum pushed the boat off of the muddy bank and nimbly jumped aboard, oar in hand. First nudging several smaller chunks of ice out of the way with the oar, he gently glided the canoe out to the large wooden ship that still sat eerily still in the middle of the bay.