Brother Bear Sitka's Funeral Access

“His name will be spoken at every hunt,” she said. “His story will be told at every fire. And when the northern lights dance, look closely. You will see him running with the caribou, diving with the salmon, soaring where the wind takes him.”

The funeral rite was simple. No body to wrap in birch bark, no pyre to light. Sitka’s spirit had already left—they all felt it, a strange warmth in the cold air, like a hand on the back of your neck that wasn’t there. Tanana took a lock of fur from a white wolf, a feather from a golden eagle, and a shard of the broken ice bridge. She tied them together with sinew and placed the bundle in a cleft of the rock. brother bear sitka's funeral

Only Denahi stood beside him.

Denahi did not answer. He placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, but Kenai shook it off like a wolf shedding water. “His name will be spoken at every hunt,” she said

And the wind began to blow again.