Nathaniel said in Kahnyen’keháka: "I don't know what Falling—Day advised my wife, but I do know that Sings—from—Books never left my mother's home or my hearth. I claim her child as my own in the Kahnyen’keháka way, and according to the laws of the O'seronni. And I dare anyone here to prove otherwise.

"Wait," said Made—of—Bones. She turned her attention to Elizabeth, poked at her with one broad finger. "Cat—Eater cannot take the child," she said grudgingly, "but you could send her to us. You have told us of the ways of the O'seronni, who have taken your land from you and given it to a man because you chose him to lie with. You see our ways are not so simple—minded. Would you not have the child raised here, where she can learn to be a woman?"

Elizabeth flushed with a new anger, looking into the old woman's dark eyes. "I am a woman," she said clearly. "And I have things to teach her."

"You cannot teach her to be Kahnyen’keháka!" said Made—of—Bones.

"That is for her grandmother and aunt to do," Elizabeth agreed. "They are with her, too." She drew in a sharp breath, and let it out. "It's about that, isn't it? Not so much about Hannah, but about getting your daughter back."

Made—of—Bones said, "I had a good man, and I bred him five sons and three daughters. Healthy, strong children. All of my sons died as warriors, in O'seronni wars. Two of my daughters are gone. One at the hands of Red—coats, while she was big with child. The other, the mother of Splitting—Moon, of the O'seronni spotted sickness. There were once many women at my hearth, but now there is only myself left in my line, and my granddaughter, Splitting—Moon. Can you not understand what it is to want my child and her children here, where they belong?" She looked at Elizabeth, and then at Nathaniel. Suddenly her face hardened, the corner of her mouth turned down. "Perhaps not," she said, her voice dropping. "Perhaps you cannot imagine this. The loss of a child is a pain you will never know."

Elizabeth caught up Nathaniel's hand, and jerked it, hard.

"Let me answer," she said hoarsely. "Please." She stood like that with him until she felt his reluctance break.

The words were there, she could say them: But he But he can father children; I carry his child. It would break the back of the only argument Richard had which meant anything to these women; it would resolve the issue of Nathaniel's manhood. She felt color flooding her breast, moving up to her hairline. Nathaniel was looking at her, they were all looking at her. She dropped her gaze to the ground, cleared her throat, and tried to summon the words.

When she looked up, Throws—Far was with them. He had stepped out of the deepest shadows into the firelight, appearing like an apparition. With a nod to each of the clan mothers, he addressed She—Remembers.

"May I speak?" Into the terrible tension around the hearth, he brought a quiet voice, without anger or threat.

She—Remembers murmured her agreement, while the other two simply nodded. Made—of—Bones threw a nervous look in Nathaniel's direction.

Richard stood motionless, all the anger in his eyes suddenly masked. There was a stillness in him, the same stillness she had seen on the shore of the Hudson while he watched her say goodbye to Nathaniel so many weeks ago. He could bide his time, when it served his purposes. His intent and resolve were as clear and marked as the streaks of paint on Throws—Far's face.

"I came today because He—Who—Dreams summoned me to help. He sees more than one kind of sickness in this man, who is both my brother and a stranger to me. And so I speak, although I see that he does not want my help."

There was no tone of complaint in Throws—Far's manner or words, just simple statements put forth with great deliberation.

"This man has never lived among the Kahnyen’keháka," said Throws—Far. "Even when his body was here, his heart was back with the O'seronni. He could not be one of us. He could not forgive me for putting the white ways behind me."

Richard was not looking at his brother, but his face trembled and the line of his jaw hardened. A drop of sweat fell onto his shirt and was followed by another.

Throws—Far directed his comments to the clan mothers, as if they were alone. "Even now he will not see me. There is a hardness in his heart that makes him blind. But he can hear me. I can tell him that I have four fine sons and two daughters who make me proud. He is their uncle. He knows this now, and can never put this knowledge from him."

The wind rose and shook the bark roof of the long house The night was all sound: the drum and rattle, crickets and the faraway echo of the wolf, and above it all the prayers of the faith keeper, drifting into the night sky for the sake of a man who stood here, his face glimmering with sweat and his eyes blank with resignation.

Throws—Far listened to the faint voice of He—Who—Dreams for a time, and then his face cleared of this preoccupation and he turned back to the clan mothers.

"A warrior can have a father's heart. So I ask Cat—Eater, would you do to this child what was done to you? Would you destroy a child to avenge our mother?"

Richard's head snapped up, and for the first time Elizabeth saw him focus on the man who stood opposite him. His face flushed a vivid red, his mouth twisted in indignation and an undisguised pain.

Throws—Far met Richard's stare calmly. "Do not let the bitterness in your heart rule your mind. Put Hidden Wolf behind you."