So I said to her. “Listen, my mate. You have been so glad to see me come home that I have hated to spoil your joy. But something happened to me last night—I know not what—and when I awoke this morning I found I had forgotten everything I ever knew. I did not even recognize my own clothing and body; I did not know myself to be Flying-wolf until you named me. I found my way to this village by accident, and know you to be my wife only by your actions; and at this minute I do not remember your name. Of our life I remember only the language; as for leading a war party, making a wooden bowl, or even hunting meat for you, all are equally impossible. I could no more do these things than a blind puppy, not because I do not want to do them, but because I have forgotten how.”
She slid off the bench and coming straight across the wigwam grasped me by the shoulders with her two hands and looked full into my eyes. “Is this true, Flying-wolf?” she asked.
“Yes,” I choked.
She stepped to the door and looked out for a while in silence; when she turned to me again her cheeks were wet. “Perhaps,” she said, “if you should see your son whom you always loved so, your memory would come back.”
She went out. Shortly she returned with a bright-looking little lad about eight years old, his long, black hair hanging loose, his lithe body naked except for a little string about his neck where hung some little bones which my experienced eye recognized as those of a turtle.
“Father,” he cried, “why did you send mother after me? I was having such a good time down at the creek with the boys—we were playing Thunder-Beings hunting for horned water-serpents.”
I laid my hand on his head and said, “All right, son, then run right back there and play.” I met his mother’s questioning eyes, and shook my head.
After sitting in a miserable silence a while, she asked: “Where did you awake this morning?”
“On that hill over yonder,” I replied, pointing, “under a tree. I would know the place again because the wood of that tree shows naked and white, half the bark has been torn off by lightning. It must have been struck lately because the broken limbs lying about it are still green.”
“Now I know what the matter is,” she cried, springing to her feet. “You have been struck by one of the Thunder’s arrows. And I know who can help you.” She darted out.