The peoples were a collected sea, and dwelt among the great forests of eucalyptus. They were blessed by the golden Sun through the tall trunks year by year – hairs of the land – the high
mountains by the colder desert lands northeastwards, and the beckoning, endless sea to the southwest. The Bird which had guided them thus far circled the earth and soared high above the sky, its
oily feathers shimmering in day and its eyes blinking at night.
After a twain generations came the time of the lack sun. All creatures cried, raced, hid before objects as the Bird headed for the Sun, fearing it might be eaten by that golden orb. As it flew
into the sunline, all creatures went silent, however: the Bird was not eaten, but it seemed as if the Sun were bleeding from the body in all directions, quiet wisps of [orange and red] licking
slowly about the dark Bird and Sky. In this moment, the world was black, and there was a Great Disturbance yet Sleep, a united dichotomy which would spell the future for the peoples below this
rare event.
In this moment of mental awakening the northeastern and southwestern peoples made a choice: the former would venture their direction to the colder deserts, grasslands, and mountains by the Bowl
of the Spine, and the latter would trek for many years to the sea they found so alluring, overall westward, until they would find a new [continent (great land)] beyond an ocean.
Sun was still leaking from the Bird, though, and soon it was too much for the soul: a great flash of light burst from the creature, and it was torn in twain by the brilliance of the Sun, ripped
apart to form two new birds – an Golden Eagle born of Sun to the higher lands, and a Raven born of Blackness to the ocean. These twins led the peoples their separate ways, and since then these
distant cousins still remember when they were born of the Black Sun.