"This stallion says , how are you, my friend." He ran a muscular arm around the black's neck, moving in close to his shoulder. "He is son to my friend who is dead. Breathe into him so he will know your smell and remember with no horizon." The thought of kissing a horse wasn't particularly appealing, but after witnessing the Comanche's rapport with his other stallion, she couldn't argue that he knew better than she how to communicate with them. She bent over and exhaled close to the black's muzzle. The horse sniffed and nibbled her face, nickering and blowing. Loretta gave a startled laugh and reared back, scrubbing her mouth with her sleeve. She glanced up to find the Comanche smiling. Her laughter trailed away, and she felt suddenly self-conscious. His large, sandpapery palm still enfolded hers, and the contact made her heart skitter. His fingers tightened. "You like?" "I--um, yes, he's wonderful. His left ear isn't notched like so many of the others. Why is that?" "The notched ear says a horse is gentled. He is not. If another puts hands upon him, he fights the big fight." "Then how can I ride him?" "You will be his good friend. Come close." Loretta stepped back instead. "But he's wild." Tightening his hold on her hand, Hunter tugged her forward. "He is friend to me and no other, eh? He carries me because he wishes it. Now, he will carry you."