An hour later he lay awake beside Loretta, staring at the firelight that played...

An hour later he lay awake beside Loretta, staring at the firelight that played upon the walls of his lodge. Red Buffalo's words haunted him. If Loretta had to choose, would she forsake him for her people? He knew she was awake by the sound of her breathing, but her voice still startled him when she spoke.
"Hunter, what's wrong? Surely you're not still stewing over the scalp. It upset me, but I'm over it now."
He turned to regard her. There were shadows in her eyes, and she was as pale as bleached bones. "You lie, Blue Eyes. Many of your people are dead, by my cousin's hand, and their spirits wail and call out to you."
"It wasn't you who killed them. That's all that counts."
Hunter's chest tightened. One day he would ride into battle again--to slay White Eyes. It was inevitable. How would she feel about that? "You are Comanche now, yes?" he said hopefully. "One with us."
Indefinable emotions played across her face. "I'm married to a Comanche. I love him. But I'll never a Comanche."
Hunter studied her features, once so repulsive to him, now so cherished. He ran a finger up the fragile bridge of her nose, then traced the line of her brow, acutely conscious of the small bones that shaped her face. Protectiveness welled within him.
"You are one with me, one with my people. You cannot stand with one foot on Comanche land and the other on land."
"Both my feet are here, Hunter, but part of my heart is at my wooden walls. No matter how much I love you, that will never change. You are one with me, too. Does that make you one with the ?"
An unnameable fear grew within him. He felt very much as he had several summers ago when he had been caught in a flash flood, swept along by the raging water. The Comanche struggle for survival was like that, surging forward, catching up everyone in its path. Men like Red Buffalo fed its fury.