James watched us from a chair at the table. “Perhaps Otter and Matthew can teach you.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I’ve got my moccasins with me.” John retrieved them from his pack and slipped them over his feet. “Now I’m War Eagle. That is who I’ll be while I’m here. But I guess you can just call me Eagle.”
“Eagle, you are,” James said.
“I’m going to go find Little Bear. He might like company.”
“Yes, he might find the company of his friend, Eagle, especially comforting right now.” I clasped his shoulder.
“But not John Strobaw?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, then I’ll be Eagle for him.”
James and I stood at the edge of the porch and watched the lithe, nearly naked form climb the hill behind the house. The boy’s slender frame held the promise of good shoulders and sturdy legs, provoking a sudden
