Many Horses was putting the finishing touches on a bow he had been making when Hunter entered the tepee. Setting the weapon aside, he fastened his wizened old eyes on his eldest son and pursed his crinkled lips. "You look like you've been eating She Who Shakes's plum pudding and bit into a plum pit."
Hunter was in no mood for jokes. "My woman has my hackles raised." Sitting cross-legged, he picked up the iron poker next to him and began prodding the charred wood and ashes in his father's firepit. "One unto the other, with no horizon, that is what she wants! Imagine her setting up a lodge, tanning hides, sewing, cooking, gathering wood, all by herself. And what if she became ill while I was away? Who would tend her? Who would keep her company? The way she believes, if I was gone for a long while, she couldn't even go to Warrior to seek solace."
"Would you wish for her to?"
Hunter gave the ashes a vicious poke, sending up a cloud of gray that made Many Horses cough. The truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of Loretta with another man. "Right now, I'd give her away to the first man stupid enough to take her."
Many Horses kept silent.
"All my children would be--" Hunter rolled his eyes. "Can you see me, surrounded by White Eyes?"
"Ah, that is the trouble. She is a White Eyes." Many Horses nodded and, in a teasing voice, said, "I don't blame you there. No man could be proud of a son with white blood. He'd be weak and cowardly, a shame to any who claimed him."
Hunter froze and glanced up. The white blood in his own veins was an unspoken truth between him and his father. Never before had Many Horses alluded to it.
Many Horses sniffed and rubbed the ash from his nose. "Of course, there are the rare exceptions. I suppose a man could raise a child of mixed blood and teach him to be one of the true People. It would take work, though.
Hunter was in no mood for jokes. "My woman has my hackles raised." Sitting cross-legged, he picked up the iron poker next to him and began prodding the charred wood and ashes in his father's firepit. "One unto the other, with no horizon, that is what she wants! Imagine her setting up a lodge, tanning hides, sewing, cooking, gathering wood, all by herself. And what if she became ill while I was away? Who would tend her? Who would keep her company? The way she believes, if I was gone for a long while, she couldn't even go to Warrior to seek solace."
"Would you wish for her to?"
Hunter gave the ashes a vicious poke, sending up a cloud of gray that made Many Horses cough. The truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of Loretta with another man. "Right now, I'd give her away to the first man stupid enough to take her."
Many Horses kept silent.
"All my children would be--" Hunter rolled his eyes. "Can you see me, surrounded by White Eyes?"
"Ah, that is the trouble. She is a White Eyes." Many Horses nodded and, in a teasing voice, said, "I don't blame you there. No man could be proud of a son with white blood. He'd be weak and cowardly, a shame to any who claimed him."
Hunter froze and glanced up. The white blood in his own veins was an unspoken truth between him and his father. Never before had Many Horses alluded to it.
Many Horses sniffed and rubbed the ash from his nose. "Of course, there are the rare exceptions. I suppose a man could raise a child of mixed blood and teach him to be one of the true People. It would take work, though.
( Catherine Anderson )
[ Comanche Moon ]
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