His dream turned out to be true.
When he heard the lieutenant say his name in Indian, it was like a thick wall, suddenly turning into smoke.
They can communicate.
He also saw that there was power in the heart of standing dancing.
She was no longer just an Indian. She became a bridge, or something.
The lieutenant, listening to her English, saw a new power in her eyes.
It was new; she had never seen it before.
And the kicking bird knows what it is.
Her long buried blood ran again.
Her undiluted white blood.
Such "high density" learning makes it hard to even kick a bird.
Like a professor who knows when to give his students a break.
He told me to stop standing dancing today. It's good to have such a result.
There was a look of disappointment on her face when she heard this, and then she hung her head and nodded obediently.
At that moment, she came up with a good idea.
She stared into the bird's eyes and asked respectfully if they could learn one more thing.
She wanted to teach the white warrior his name.
It was a good idea to kick the bird without rejecting his daughter's request.
He said, then go on!
She remembered the distant English words.
Vaguely remembered, but could not say.
At that time, she was a little girl, and some of her words became blurred in her mind.
When she tried to think, the lieutenant waited patiently for her.
Then the lieutenant raised his hand and waved the harassed mosquito away from his ear.
She grabbed the lieutenant's hand and hung it in the air.
Her other hand, carefully placed on his hip.
Before neither of the men could tell, she took Dunbar on a dance floor to remember the dance steps of the chintz.
Unfamiliar as he was, he suddenly realized.
A few seconds later, she seriously let go of her hand, leaving lieutenant Dunbar, stunned.
He tried to think, what does that mean?
Suddenly, there was a bright light in his mind, and for a moment he felt it, leaping into his eyes like a boy in class.
Knowing the answer, he smiled at the teacher.