Muliwai

Muliwai. River, river mouth; pool near mouth of a stream, as behind a sand bar, enlarged by ocean water left there by high tide; estuary - Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui & Elbert

The Old Man felt the old pains that only lurked when he was at his best. The effort of peddling woke the aches, and for a moment maybe two he moaned.

"Are you okay?" Lei'ohu watched the lines in her grandfather's forehead. They pulled together, tightening like pages in her story books. The small girl reached for them, the lines, and stuck her fingers between each. Widening them so she could see the face, but especially, she sought her grand father's eyes.

"I am an old man 'Ohu. Sometimes I hurt. Pain is part of being. Mostly, I don't pay the pain much attention." The Old Man helped unbuckle the girl's helmet, and hung it off the handle bars.

"You don't cry about it?"

"Not very often, no."

"Is it because you are a man, Tutu?"

"Maybe so. My brothers were all older than me. I watched them, saw they didn't cry when they hurt." The Old Man thought of his Brother Will, born with legs that didn't match. One longer than the other. How cruel he became after all the torment others dished at him. He compensated for his difference. Grew strong. Never cried, at least so The Old Man could see. Would that have made a difference?

Shadows overhead switched their attention. Long wings, and long legs tucked under sleek bodies. Blue Heron. "Look Tutu!" A pair of the large needle-nosed birds flew above the dismounted riders.

"They're headed for the Muliwai 'Kepa. Come."

Rather than walk toward the ocean, The Old Man reached for his granddaughter's hand and crossed the narrow road to a short wooden wharf.  With the high tide nearly at peak, the wharf floated from the edge of the narrow bank into the estuary about six feet. At its beginning, The Old Man still holding Lei'ohu's hand crouched with some effort to be eye to eye and face to face with the young girl.

"We need to ask permission. This place is their place, we are at the portal, the doorway to their place."

The girl knew what her grandmother had taught her about asking permission. "Do we chant, Tutu?"
The Old Man nodded, and then cocked his head and repeated what he had said earlier. "How did I get so lucky?" This time Lei'ohu heard him. "We locked eyes on you from the stars Tutu. We were meant to be with you."

"Obviously, that is the truth. Do you remember the words?" The Old Man asked.

"I know the beginning."

"Remember you chant for you, and I will chant for me. What you need, you get. What I need, I get." Kikepa smiled, took in a deep breath and began,

"E ho mai."

The Old Man joined her voice, the two chanted, asking for wisdom from above. Asking for wisdom and permission to know what needed to be known. In the chanting and asking, there was an ancient and respectful pause before moving from one side of the border to the other.

There is more here.