Brother Bear Sitka's Funeral -

“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.”

“You were supposed to be his brother,” Tanana said gently. “And you were. Until the very last breath.”

“It should have been me,” Kenai whispered. brother bear sitka's funeral

The first tears came then. Not a flood, but a slow, bitter leak from the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, furious at himself for showing weakness.

And the wind began to blow again.

“I’ll make it right,” Kenai whispered to the cliff. “I don’t know how. But I swear it.”

The villagers began to sing—a low, humming song without words, like the earth itself breathing. Denahi pulled Kenai into his arms, and this time Kenai did not pull away. He buried his face in his brother’s shoulder and let out a sound that was not quite a sob and not quite a howl. It was the sound of a boy becoming someone new. “His name will be spoken at every hunt,” she said

Denahi did not answer. He placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, but Kenai shook it off like a wolf shedding water.