"It is good I came, my father. You have the gift. Already my heart is lighter." Many Horses ran his tongue over his own jagged teeth, nodding thoughtfully. "I am proud of all my children," he said huskily. "Of you, most of all. It is a strange thing, my son, but when a man takes a babe into his arms and claims him as son, it becomes a truth within his heart. The blood in his veins is as nothing. The color of his eyes is as nothing. When you took your first step, it was toward my outstretched hand. was everything. White Eyes or Comanche, you were my son. I would have killed any man who said you weren't." Tears burned behind Hunter's eyes. "What are you saying, my father?" "I am saying that you must walk the path of your own heart. You came here angry because your yellow-hair is angry, yes? If you love her, it will be the same when she is sad, when she is happy. Have you ever stood where a stream spills into a river? The two become one. They laugh over the stones together, twist through the sharp canyons together, plunge down the waterfalls together. It is the same when a man and woman love one another. It is not always a pleasant thing, but when it happens, a man has little to say about it. Women, like streams, can be smooth one minute and make a man feel like he's swimming through white water the next." Hunter leaned forward over his knees, brandishing the poker under his father's blackened nose. "I don't understand her. I treat her kindly, yet she still shakes with fear at the thought of being one with me. I try to make her happy and make her angry instead." Many Horses lifted an eyebrow. "Fear is not like a layer of dust on a tree leaf that washes away in a gentle rain. Give her time. Be her good friend, first--then become her lover. As for making a woman happy, you succeed sometimes, you fail sometimes. That is the way of it."