It is dawn.
Mist shrouds the trees which tower around the village clearing and the air feels damp and chilly.
A few birds are calling. An old woman, slight but strong and upright, emerges from one of the igloo-shaped leaf huts scattered around the clearing. She begins to talk, almost to declaim, to the still sleeping village. People are listening, and murmurs of agreement are heard. Two women come out of their huts with large pots and set off down the hill to collect water.