“About your age, isn’t he?”
I did not see Lone Eagle again for several days.
Life settled as near to normal as possible absent Cut’s physical love. On occasion I caught a look of longing on his face and was tempted toward carnal relations, but I recalled the near destruction of this fine man as he was whipsawed back and forth between Morning Mist and me. I loved him too much to subject him to that again.
Late in the spring, I was pulled to the door by the din my dogs raised. Two of East’s pups survived. One I named North and trained him to his namesake’s duties. The other was dubbed House and made a guardian of the immediate premises of the homestead. In truth, he spent a lot of his time inside the house slobbering on anyone who would give him a friendly scratch behind the ears.
I call
