Chapter 3

What little interest I had in living each day was due to Winter Bird’s quiet strength and gentle encouragement. My friend had lost everything in those same tragic hours: home, family—his very way of life. While I had suffered a devastating blow, there were yet kith and kin to lend me support. Still, I seemed weighed down by my thirty-two years while Bird, who had not yet seen his thirtieth, buttressed me every minute of every day.

I, John Joseph Strobaw, endowed with the honorable names of War Eagle, Night Sky Hair, and Medicine Hair must surely stand revealed as a hapless weakling. 2