Pierre took off his hat and tossed it forcefully toward the Big Horn River.
The black hat turned several bends along the winding river and vanished behind the reeds.
The others did the same, shouting at the top of their lungs, "Dad! Mom! I'm home!"
Pierre walked to the riverbank, wanting to wash off the dust on his body.
Gazing at the reflection in the water, Pierre could hardly recognize the person staring back at him.
That person had a melancholy look, brows furrowed tightly, eye sockets sunken in, cheekbones gaunt and protruding.
Pierre touched his own face; he could barely remember what he originally looked like.
After witnessing the death of comrades several times, not a trace of compassion could fit in his heart anymore. He became hard-hearted, ruthless towards the enemy.
But he could no longer laugh as he used to, and found it hard to look into the innocent eyes of children.