"Go away," Redbird said again. "We do not want you here."
"To see you is a sunrise in my heart, Redbird."
"To see you is a foul day in my stomach!"
Reeling back from her anger, White Bear saw a little boy standing in the doorway behind her.
He was bare-chested, brown-skinned. He wore a loincloth of red flannel and fringed buckskin leggings. He was shifting uncomfortably from one moccasined foot to the other and clutching at himself under the loincloth.
Now White Bear understood why Redbird had finally come out. She and the boy must have been inside the wickiup all the time he was sitting out here, and the boy was about to burst.
It would have been funny, except that a much more important discovery struck White Bear.
He looked closer at the boy's urgent eyes. Blue eyes.
White Bear's own eyes were brown, but Pierre's were blue. Could eye color be passed in the blood from grandfather to grandson? Around his eyes, in the narrow shape of his head, his long chin coming to a sharp point, White Bear could see that this boy was a de Marion.
This is our son! Redbird's and mine!