"Somewhat revived by the water she had been forced to consume, Loretta sat astride the mare, suffering the confines of Hunter's arm around her waist and the familiarity of his hand on her midriff. His broad chest served as a prop for her back; soon she leaned against him, letting her body undulate with his in rhythm with the horse's gait. After about forty minutes of silence, he bent his head close to hers. " My arm is strong, no?" He hugged her close to demonstrate. "A strong arm to lean upon, a shield against all that might harm you? You will trust this Comanche. Drink and eat. It is a good place where we go." Loretta made a fist in the leather of her shirt and squeezed until her knuckles hurt. She didn't want to die. It would be so easy, so horribly easy, to believe him. "You will be warm with me in my lodge? I have many buffalo robes. And plenty food. Meat, yes? And my strong arm will protect you, forever into the horizon. There is nothing to fear." He pressed his hand more firmly against her midriff. "My tongue does not make lies. It is the truth I speak, not , the honey talk, but a promise. I have spoken the words, and they are carried away on the wind to whisper to me always. You will trust? When I go away from you on raids and hunting trips, my brother's strong arm will be yours. No harm will come to you."