Chapter 4With frequent pauses to check the horizon, I went to work in my fields. Given the distraction the reappearance of Raven caused, perhaps I should get a second dog to keep watch around the house. I knew from reading his journal—now burned to ashes to protect its secrets—that Billy Strobaw, the man I had believed to be my grandpa, and Cut Hand, my true grandsire, had once had five such beasts at Teacher’s Mead, four trained to protect a certain area, and a fifth to keep watch over the house. Cut Hand and most of my tiospaye, my band, had been murdered by the army before I was born. Billy had taken my father, then just a child known as Dog Fox, under his protection and was the fount of all that I was. A college graduate from New York, Billy had fled prejudices against Tories following
