She kept going back to that moment, over and over again in her mind. Everything had happened so quickly; the kiss, the fight, the shot. The shot intended for Kocoum. Instead she was watching from a hidden place as the white men performed a ceremony to commit her first love back to the Earth. Although a part of her knew that his spirit would always be with her, no matter where she went, the rest of her knew her life would never be the same. She also knew she had little time to dwell on her heartbreak, her people were about to go to war with these white men, and now both she and Kocoum were fully aware of the damage their thunderous weapons could do. The medicines of the Powhatan's were strong, but not strong enough to bring a warrior back from the dead.
A hand suddenly descended upon her bare shoulder and she knew by the silence of his approach it was Kocoum. She turned, her intent full of anger; he had caused this. If he hadn't followed her, if he hadn't attacked John Smith... But it melted away when she saw the sympathy on his face. A single, silent tear escaped her eye, cascading down her cheek. Kocoum wiped it away and looked down.
"Pocahontas, I am truly sorry."
She bit her lip to keep more tears from coming. "You couldn't have known. What is done is done."
"Pocahontas, I"- he had stepped closer to her, his hand sliding down her arm to take her hand.
"Please, we will talk later. Right now..." she trailed off as she began walking away from him.
He didn't argue with her, or ask her to stay. He knew he couldn't. He knew she needed to grieve and he knew more than anything that it was his fault. He loved her, and all had managed to do was break her heart. Instead he turned his attention to the strange ceremony going on below them, in the camp of the white men. As they began filling in the grave, the red-haired man who had killed John Smith was placing a grave marker made of two sticks crossed and tied together. Kocoum knew that although these men were grieving for their lost friend as well, it wouldn't be long before they attacked and the war began. He would have little time to think of Pocahontas and her heartbreak, instead he would have to throw all of his emotion into protecting her, protecting their village and their people. Even with the warriors from their sister tribes, Kocoum knew now that fighting the weapons of the white man would be an uneven match. War clubs, axes and knives and bows were nothing against the metal weapons that had killed Pocahontas' lover. The red-haired man had been at a great distance, and like an arrow the small metal piece had buried itself into the man's flesh, immovable.
All through his meeting with the Elders, the warriors and the chiefs he had recounted the story, explaining what he understood of the weapons to help prepare their warriors for the coming battle. In his mind, the scene played out very differently though. The shot had been intended to hit him. To kill him. If Pocahontas hadn't summoned the strength to knock him off of the white man, it would have been his death. He also realized it could have been hers, her attempt to move him had put her right in the path of the small metal arrow, but instead the white man stood, only to meet his death. No matter how sorry he was for Pocahontas' grief, it was more important that she had lived, and he knew he was glad the weapon had killed the white man.
Pocahontas stood on the face of the cliff, the wind blowing her hair. For a moment she contemplated flinging herself off the edge. She needed to feel a rush, to feel something that wasn't crippling pain and heartbreak. She was never going to see John Smith again. And what was worse, her people were about to go to war with the white men who had killed one of their own. Their weapons were strong, and though their number was fewer, she knew now that one of those metal weapons could kill a man in a single shot. Being with John Smith had helped her realize that this war, any war, was not the answer. That was what she needed to focus on. She knew that Kocoum had met with the warriors at her father's lodge, had told them of the white men's advantages, but she hadn't attended out of grief. Perhaps that had been her mistake.
She needed to talk to Kocoum, she realized. He may be a warrior, but he knew the strength of these weapons as well, maybe he could see that seeking peace was a better option. And he was intelligent and good with strategy, if he could think of a way to bring peace between their tribe and the white men, he could convince her father, the Elders and the warriors, and maybe even the white men themselves. It looked like she was going to have to pair up with Kocoum no matter what.