The authors donate all royalties from book sales to a scholarship fund for software engineering students at George Mason University.

Sitka Brother Bear May 2026

Sitka tries to shout, but his throat is wind. He tries to reach, but his arms are pinions. Feathers erupt from his shoulders—black, tipped with white, the pattern of a bald eagle. His spirit does not fall. It rises.

He watches Kenai carve his totem. Watches him curse the spirits. Watches the transformation—boy to bear, pride to sorrow. Watches Denahi chase a ghost, not knowing the ghost is his own brother. sitka brother bear

"Little brother." His voice is the crack of river ice, the hush of falling snow. "You broke the world to save a cub. Now you must break your pride to save yourself." Sitka tries to shout, but his throat is wind

But the living hear only the cry of an eagle. The moment comes at the edge of the world, where the ice meets the sky and the salmon run backward in memory. Kenai—fur matted, ribs showing, more beast than boy—stands before a cliff that mirrors the one where Sitka fell. His spirit does not fall

Not again, Sitka thinks. Not another brother.

Sitka understands now. The brother who died in flesh is born in light.