Turning the Grain

“I have.”

“Then you must tell everyone,” she chided.

Gordon Redcliff climbed into a high tree and yodeled at the top of lungs that he had news. “Today I name my son and he is called Iron Eyes.”

Others passed it along, even though the name seemed a bit odd. Gordon climbed down from the tree, looked into the face of his child, placed his hand on the child’s shock of obsidian black hair, and said to him, “We’ll do copper and bronze ages when you get a bit older.”

Pela grinned widely as she looked to the east. “Look, God’n!” She raised a hand and pointed. “Oh, look!”

He turned his head and in the distance he saw a female great wolf coming their way. “Be on your best behavior, Iron Eyes,” Gordon whispered to the child. “Your aunt is coming for a visit.”