smiles, but through trembling lips this time, as his clouded eyes seem to twinkle. This is the last time I will ever see him. I know he’s heading to the river with his walking stick and his pipe. I will never see my friend again.
“The name my father gave me when he gave me the feather. I am Red Hawk, son of Falling Rain.”
“The name fits you well, Red Hawk,” I tell him.
“Goodbye, Lioness of the Forest. Let the Great Spirit guide you along your journey,” he says to me.
“Goodbye, Red Hawk.”
I’m leaving. I want to remember what his face looked like just as it is now, content and proud.
I get on my bike and I’m peddling off to school. I don’t know how to feel as I ride along the street.
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