Chapter 9 – woah can't believe we've made it this far! who would have guessed it ?! so, if you have been naughty, and skipped some chapters, here's what's happened as of recently – Major Heyward bravely died in the Lenape fires to save Cora, who was rescued by Hawkeye and the Mohicans. Poor alice was to be taken away by Magua forever, had Robin not offered her-self in her place. Once again our spunky gypsy is in the Hurons hands. how will things play out now ? stay tuned to find out !

Another thing, review the story ! the characters, in detail I don't want things just saying 'review please, this is good' 'update it's great'. Give me structure people !


They had been walking for hours, over harsh rocky terrain. For once Robin was thankful she was wearing the moccasins one of the pushy Lenape women had forced onto her. They weren't anything special, there was no colourful beadwork or quill stitching. They were actually a bit too big for her dainty dancer's feet, the leather was rubbing her heels red. But she didn't complain. Since their departure, Robin hadn't said a word. Even when she stumbled and fell on the uneven ground, she would clumsily dust her-self off, and keep walking, knowing full well Magua would just drag her along if she didn't. The Hurons silently approved. Showing weakness was frowned upon, only through fortitude and resilience could their respect be earned. Magua, however, was a different story. Robin's recent transgressions had left the Huron War Chief in the foulest mood. So she resigned her-self to silence, mentally talking to her-self to relieve the boredom.

Stupid, stubborn Huron knucklehead…acting like I'm the one who's done wrong by him…I should be mad at him! Which I am!

She then sighed. No she wasn't. Right now, she wasn't really feeling anything, because she was so tired! The demanding physical pace and emotional strain had left her exhausted. It was only when the war party finally stopped amongst a nest of thickening woodlands did her knees buckle in relief.

It was dusk when they set up their makeshift camp, not that there was much comfort to it. The Hurons carried little with them, so they scavenged what they could find from Mother Earth. Soft blankets of leaves acted as bedding, a few had brought blankets with them, but the weather was mild for the evening. Small fires were established, and as before, none of the other warriors paid Robin any attention. Magua sat her down near one of the fires, staked her leash to the ground and left her to converse with the other braves, who had begun to cook and eat. As customary, the men ate first, and whatever was left was then shared. Along the journey they had snared some game bird, which roasted deliciously over the fire. The wafting aroma caused Robin's stomach to grumble, rather loudly, greatly amusing the warriors nearby. Stubbornly, she huffed and sat facing away, arms crossed over her chest in her usual wilful way.

Ongewa had chucked, hearing Robin's rumbling stomach. He then looked expectantly at Magua. "You should feed her, Magua…She is too thin."

Magua however shook his head, and continued to devour his own piece of meat, cut from the forest fowl's breast. "Let her feel hunger. She must learn who is master, and who provides the food"

"You catch more flies with honey, than vinegar, as our French brothers say"

Magua frowned at his friend. "Has she bewitched you? What do you care?"

"I like her. She is stubborn, like you. Tame her spirit, but do not break it. Broken fillies make for dull wives" Ongewa cut a leg off the roasting bird, passing it to his son before other warriors could steal it away.

Magua huffed disapprovingly. The warrior, despite his stature and ferocity in battle, was nothing more than a gentle giant, except when he drank firewater and carried his tomahawk. Magua continued, scowling over at Robin, who still refused to look at them. "With the trouble she has caused me I am not sure I want her as a wife"

Ongewa raised a plucked brow, looking sceptical "Then what will you do, after all this effort? Sell her?"

Anue suddenly interrupted, with a piece of bird still sticking out of his mouth "I will buy her"

Ongewa nearly choked on his mouthful. "No you will not. You will marry good Huron girl"

"I thought you liked her" Magua mockingly sneered. "She is good enough for me, but not good enough for your son?"

"You are just being stubborn. As usual."

Magua shrugged, taking a moment to once again observe his red haired captive. "I will think on it. Much has changed…"

"How so…?"

He waved his hands in contemplation. Reciting the pros and cons he had thought of whilst walking on the trail. "She is a 'shuvani', a medicine woman. This makes her more valuable. I could sell her to an old Shaman. Give her to the Seneca Chief as a gift." He suggested, as if trying to convince him-self of the options. "She is a good-looking girl, but this will not make her a good wife. I do not know how she cooks, how she works, or how she cleans. She does not even speak our tongue"

Ongewa dismissively waved his hand. "She can learn all these things. She is still young. Take her into your wigwam, and see how the fate plays out" Ongewa knew it would also be the safest option for Robin. Captives and slaves, if not claimed, could be used by the whole village. The women could beat the poor white girl, to vent their grief and frustrations. Unsavoury men could seek pleasures with her, and she would have no one to defend her honour. If Ongewa had no wife waiting for him, he would have considered staking a claim. But Magua had more right, even more so as Great War Chief.

"And if things do not go favourably and I cast her out? Her value will decrease, her reputation tainted. No man is foolish enough to take a woman who has lived in another man's wigwam, no matter how beautiful or bewitching. He would be the laughing stock of the village"

Magua was just looking for excuses, struggling with his own pride. It caused Ongewa is grin. "Ah, but if I were that man, I would not care. Fore I would have a young exotic wife."

Magua watched his friend rise, eyeing the dish of poultry meat the warrior had scavenged. "Then it is good thing you already have Huron wife. Where are you going?" Magua stood, watching Ongewa as he strolled away. The Huron of slightly fewer years smirked over his shoulder. "If you will not feed your captive, I will. We are Hurons. We do not leave our women to starve." The warriors overhearing the conversation sided with Ongewa, vocalization their agreement with inaudible mumbles. "Besides, what do you care of her reputation?"

Magua did not respond. Instead he watched as Robin hungrily accepted the small offering of food Ongewa gave. He wondered if she still would have accepted it if he who was the one offering it. She was soon wolfing the succulent bird down, licking her fingers in content fulfilment. Food in her belly improved her mood tremendously.

"Thank…you" She finally said, in French, much to Ongewa's surprise. She genuinely looked grateful, much to Magua's annoyance. He stalked off to scavenge for more fireworks, unable to bear Ongwa's smug face.

It was some time before he returned, with little firewood in hand. Anue was asleep, within arm's length of his father, hunting knife clutched in his hand like a honed warrior. Robin had no moved much from her spot, though she now lay cuddled up by the fire, her knees tucked under her chin. Despite being close to the simmering fire, she was shivering. Winter was quickly approaching. Nights were getting colder. Left as she was, she would freeze to death, even with the thick deerskin she wore.

Grumbling to him-self Magua approached, "Little bird…", He whispered, trying hard not to wake already sleeping warriors. She didn't respond. Was she ignoring him? "Little Bird, come…" He said more sternly. Again she didn't stir. Stubborn little vixen… he thought, tugging at her shoulder. "Little bir-" He stopped, noting how unresponsive she was. He blinked. Was she…asleep? Gently, he brushed her red curls from her face, finding her eyes closed. Her breathing was shaky from the cold, but steady. She must really have been exhausted, to be so deeply asleep.

With little choice, or thought, Magua gently lifted her in his arms and carried her over to his sleeping spot, near the fire with a thick woven blanket. He laid beside her, shifting her comfortably to fit him, like a mould, made of two perfect pieces. Her head tucked under his chin and her arms folds into his chest. Again she reminded him of a little bird, in need of protection. Encircled in his powerful arms, he intended to do just that. Under the starry blanket of the night sky, the two souls slept in a brief moment of undisturbed peace.

Morning however changed nothing. Magua was already awake and active; barking orders and rallying his men, well before Robin was awake. Anue was tasked with getting Robin ready to move when the war party did. He gave her sips of water and dried deer meat to scoff down. This was the last trek of the journey. The men were openly eager to return home, to their beloved wives and sorely missed children. Robin began to see the men behind the war paint and weapons. In the end they were no different than the English or French. They were human beings, trying to live their life their own way. They fought and they cried. They loved and they laughed. She couldn't help but wonder if she, a lowly uneducated gypsy, could see this, then why couldn't the men out there leading the war? The generals and the kings. Was empathy for the enemy such a strange concept? Did the killing of innocents justify their cause? Robin hung her head, depressed by such miserable thoughts.

"Little Bird. We are leaving" Anue tugged her to her feet, perplexed by her sudden dull mood. He wondered if her predicament of capture was finally settling in. He did not want to see the red hair unhappy, so he tried to distract with trivia chatter, pointing out various creatures of the forest to amuse her, much like Chingachgook had done. Anue was not the only one who noticed Robin's gloomy mood.

"Tell me of your people…these 'gypsies'." Magua suddenly asked, startling Robin. He kept walking, with his back to her, and only looked over his shoulder when she did not answer right away.

She blinked, dumbfound by his sudden interest. "What do you want to know, there is much to know about gypsies"

It was a start. She was talking to him. He cautiously continued. "You mentioned your clan, 'Ba'ak'. What does it mean?"

"Gypsy clans are like much like your tribes. They are made up of many different families, related in some way or another, by marriage or blood. My clan, the Ba'ak, were Dutch. The name means 'the strong, the resilient'. Because my clan's people are strong". She squared her shoulders back, ever so proudly.

Magua chuffed at the statement. "Is it big clan?"

"It was, once. But gypsies follow different paths. When the time came, the clan disbanded." It sounded worse than what it was.

"Such a thing is common? There is safety in numbers."

"It was not unusual for the young who leave the clan, wanting to explore and seek out their destinies. But we always find our way home. When war came, the gypsies divided. We were too tempting a target."

Magua wanted to ask who had made war on his captive's people, but reframed. He already knew the answer. From what traders at French forts had said, gypsies were the enemy of all. English. French. Yankees. Though none could really justify why. The gypsies were nomadic travellers, who isolated them-selves for the sake of preservation. They refused to surrender their ways to greater mass of the population. And for that they were persecuted and punished, with stereotypical rumours and slander. They would be cast out from any settlement they dared to enter and again forced to wander in hopes of finding a new home.

It was a hard life. And Magua wondered if it was worth it. It seems the gypsies travelled more than the tribes on the Plains.

"I am Huron. You are Gypsy… your people, would not approve?" he asked rather unexpectedly, wondering if racial or cultural difference tainted the gypsies as it did the white.

Robin hummed and hawed, trying to explain the different concept in a way he would understand "Gypsy men may marry non gypsy women, if she swears to adapt to his ways. But if a gypsy woman marries a non gypsy man, then she is thrown out of her clan. Not for the reasons you would think though. Women are seen as the guarantors of bloodline. If a woman wishes to continue another's bloodline, then that is her choice." She paused. "If we judged a person on the colour of their skin, or by their culture, then we are no different than those who judge us. My father taught me that. In the end, a gypsy is free to do as they please, because our creator saw fit to give us free will. If they are willing to live with the consequences of their choice, then let them do so without verdict"

Magua took some time to process what he had learned. He couldn't have helped but wonder, if these gypy people had come instead of the white man, perhaps there would be greater harmony. The white man was greedy, he was vain and bloodthirsty. Amongst them-selves they warred over little, and tolerated much less. Like leaves in autumn his words and promises were gone as quickly as the wind. The white man was a plague. These gypsies, though few in numbers, seemed like a lesser evil. Though still intruders upon his ancestors lands, they were nomads, with no ill intentions. They kept to them-selves, lived off the land and help traditions sacred, like those of neighbouring tribes. Perhaps that's why they were on such good terms. At the next gathering of tribes he would seek out more knowledge about these strange nomads.


They had reached a clearing by midday, up ahead was a cliff face overlooking the rest of the vast forest. Below, by the river, was a large settlement, active with movement. Magua approached the point of the cliff. "Behold, our Huron village" he stood proudly, arms outstretched as if he was greeting the sun.

"It is bigger than I imagined" she spoke honestly. It was at least twice as big as the Lenape village, with many wigwams dotted around longhouses. It was heavily fortified, with sentries approaching them already to investigate. Magua let out a hellish cry, to identify himself, his example followed by his warriors. The village came alive, with yelling and joyous hollering.

"Bigger than Lenape…Come." He took her hand, and hurriedly pulled her toward the village for all to see. Villagers greeted the returning warriors and stared silently strange newcomer. Children that were running about the village unsupervised soon stilled. Their mothers, who were toiling hard in the evening afternoon sun, soon abandoned their work. Families greeted their men back, thankful for their safe return. Fathers hugged their children and husbands kissed their wives. Magua however did not linger for long.

"Tawendeh" He called, looking around expectantly, waiting to be answered, whilst still tugging Robin around by her hand. Tawendeh meant Otter woman. She was Magua's cousin's wife, his closest living female relative, even if it was by marriage. With his parents long since dead it was left to Tawendeh to keep his wigwam clean, and prepare his meals. She would always complain about it, having a husband and three growing boys of her own to care for.

"Magua, you have finally returned" The squaw paused, looking at Robin as if she was stray dog he had led home. "Who is this?" Tawendeh was a plump woman, stocky and round. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled now, but in her youth she was a beauty. Her eyes still shone liked polished black pearls.

"This is Tsi'tenha (little bird). She is a …guest. Clean and dress her. I cannot take such unkempt woman into my wigwam" he pushed Robin aside ever so slightly as if to prove his point. Amongst his people he was their Great War Chief. He had to maintain his image of authority. Not fawning over a woman like her amorous suitor.

"Your wigwam? Is she a slave, or a wife?" Tawendeh probed, ever so curious. Either way the old woman was hopeful. Less work for her. She stepped forward, poking at Robin's slim arms, looking very unimpressed. "Your 'guest' does not look very strong. If I have to care for her as well, I am divorcing your cousin."

Magua scoffed. No she wouldn't. As hard as she had to work she loved her husband.

"For now she is a guest. Keep her with the widowed and pregnant women in the longhouse. I must consult our wise man on some matters." Magua needed to visit a sweat lodge, seek out spiritual guidance as to his next course of actions. Perhaps the old wise man could shine some light on the darkness that was his inner conflict.

As he walked away he snapped, "Put her to use. And do not let Che'estaheh see her!"

Tawendeh laughed, as if it was an impossible task. "He frequents the widows often. That will be hard to do"

"Shoot him if you must"

She laughed again, despite Magua's humourless tone.

It was no secret Magua disliked Che'estaheh, his vexing half-brother. Born from a Seneca captive, his name suited him well. The Snake. As long as Magua could remember, he and his half-brother had always been at odds with one another, fiercely competing to earn their father's approval and tribe's acknowledgement. And like all other annoying siblings, Che'estaheh took without asking. Magua was livid to discover the Seneca bastard had stolen his favourite hunting knife. They fought so violently their father had to pry them apart, like a pair of fighting dogs. Magua had broken his jaw, and Che'estaheh had almost lost the sight in his left eye. And since Magua had been recognised as Great War Chief, his brother had become all the more troublesome to deal with, demanding a place on his council to equal his authority. In Magua's eyes Che'estaheh was a good for nothing mongrel. An eyesore. He was still young and arrogant, lacking proper respect and control one would except from a Huron warrior. If he was not leading his own band of young bloods on a raid, then he was cavorting with the available pretty widows. After a messy incident involving a young maiden and her angry tomahawk wielding father, Che'estaheh had learned to stay clear of such perilous temptations. It was the first time Magua had helped his little brother, and he swore it would be the last. Whenever Magua was in camp Che'estaheh would mysteriously stay out of sight.

Which was exactly what he was doing, from the cover of a wigwam. Che'estaheh frowned to him-self, not expecting his brother to return so soon, or even alive. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud for fear of judgement, Che'estaheh had hoped his half-brother would die whilst fighting the English. How vexing he had returned home unharmed. But he didn't come alone. Che'estaheh only briefly spied at glimpse of copper hair before the old bat of lead her away. It seems Magua had brought back a white captive. Interesting…

From the looks of the clothing, it was a young woman. The squaw taking her to the women's longhouse confirmed it. Maybe it was one of the Munro sisters Magua often had cursed about. Che'estaheh frowned again. If so, why bring one of them here? Alive? Intrigued and as always, nosy, Che'estaheh approached the longhouse, peering through the doorway before the Tawendeh blocked his path.

"Move, old woman. I want to see Ji'yah. My sun woman"

Tawendeh was not so easily frightened away. She had had this discussion with the warrior before. "She is doing to chores, like a good woman. You wish to see her so much? Marry her already."

"I intend to. When time is right" He was lying of course.

Jiyah was the most beautiful widow in the longhouse, but she already had two young children Che'estaheh had no interest in rearing. Widows would come into the Longhouse and be cared for by the whole village until they remarried. Until such time it wasn't uncommon for the unmarried men of the village to seek comfort from young and eager widows. Though many tried to court the pretty young Jiyah, she only had eyes for Che'estaheh. He was much more susceptible to her charms than Magua, easily influenced by the pleasures of flesh and whispers of lust. Like Che'estaheh, this was an affair of advantage. He was also softer on the eyes.

But for once Che'estaheh's eyes sought another. And just as the old woman began to scold him yet again for his promiscuity, he again spotted the copper haired captive leaving through the rear doorway, towards the riverbank where the women washed and bathed. He was so engrossed Tawendeh had to flick his ear to regain his attention.

"Are you listening, you snake? It's time you start settling down and start acting like a real man! Like your brother!"

"tch, annoying old bat…" he could strike her for her bold words. Tawendeh was more outspoken than most Huron women. He would later have words with her husband, not that Ogewa him-self would pay much attention. His wife cooked him good food, and gave him three healthy sons. She could do no wrong in his eyes.

Stalking off from the longhouse Che'estaheh circled back, stalking down the riverbanks, under the cover of nearby bushes, looking for his prey. He came across those already in the river.

He was sure he saw the red hair come down this way. Did she make a run for it? Or was she further down stream? His Huron warriors often poked fun at the French fathers and British bastards for their modesty and embarrassment. During the hot summers some warriors walked around in the nude, as naked as the day they were born. Why should one be ashamed of their body, if it is the body their Creator gave them? Che'estaheh certainly wasn't ashamed of his body. Young, tall and muscular. Village maidens swooned when the virile warrior walked their way. Jealous husbands and protective fathers herded their wives and daughters into their wigwams whenever he was nearby. A pity his personality was as snide as a vanity. If his disposition was better than perhaps he would not be so scorned. Not that he really cared. All he sought for at this moment was pleasure and power.

well, well, well…what do we have here? Very unexpected of you, Magua

From his shaded view point he watched as the white woman bathed in the stream. She stood waist deep, with her back turned in his direction, much to Ch'estaheh's annoyance. She was slender, almost to an unhealthy degree. Clearly she had eaten well over the recent months. Huron women were nice and plump. They were healthy. Che'estaheh was still trying to make up his whether this woman was naturally so sickly looking, or actually sick.

Magua will need to fatten her up if he wants to keep her

He chuckled at the thought, the noise apparently catching the white woman's attention. Finally he would see her face. She turned to face him, probably expecting to see an animal or another tribeswoman. She was certainly wasn't expecting him. With a startled squeak she flung her-self deeper into the water in an attempt to cover her-self, much to Che'estaheh's amusement. He had already seen plenty.

She was different, he would admit. He was surprised to find her naval had been pierced, which he found peculiar, but it wasn't unheard of in the region. She had bizarre curly red curly hair, cropped short in unfeminine fashion. She looked younger than he expected. She was not round and curly in figure, but there was still time to grow. Her breasts, which she modestly tried to cover, were small but admirably round. He couldn't help but notice her nipples had been pierced as well. An exotic but again, not unheard, practice. She was not beautiful, like Ji'yah. She was just…different. Why would Magua want such a woman? She was so strange; she could be from the moon. Again, he laughed aloud. "En'ita…"

"Moon woman" he translated, making his presence fully known. They were far enough away not to be disturbed by the other women, clucking away at the shore. He fully revealed him-self, standing up to full height.

"Greetings, Moon Woman…" He grinned at her sheepish nature. "Don't be afraid. I mean you no harm…I am Che'estaheh." He crouched down on the balls of his feet, bordering the edge of the water.

She blinked at him, still modestly submerged in the water "I am…Little Bird. Go away"

He ignored her words. "No, you are not Tsi'tenha. To me, you are En'ita. Moon woman."

Robin looked at him questionably, "I look nothing like the moon"

"Your skin does. So pale and creamy…Your eyes, they are like the blue moon at harvest. Your hair is red, like the winter eclipse." He slowly began to edge into the water, uninterested in soaking his dry knee high moccasins. He then paused, noting Robin's eyes had gone wide. She wasn't looking at him, she was looking behind him.

"When did my foolish brother become such a poet?"

"Magua!" Che'estaheh jumped from the water, caught in the snare that was his older brother's angry gaze.

"Brother?" Robin blinked, looking back and forth at the two in confusion. There wasn't much of a resemblance. Che'estaheh seemed much younger than Magua, but was still a few years older than Robin.

Magua then turned his angry gaze to her. "COVER YOUR-SELF! SHAMELESS WOMAN!" he threw a blanket at her, uncaring that it became drenched in water. He just wished to hide her naked form from his brother ravenous eyes.

"Eh? Why are you getting mad at me?! He the one peeping!" she wrapped the now wet blanket around her, grudgingly stomping shore to square off with him once again.

He poked an accusing finger at her. "You should be with the other women, not off on your own!" she quickly swatted his hand away.

If Robin had hackles like a devil cat, they would be raised. "I wanted some privacy!"

Magua grasped the short locks of her hair. "You do not have that luxury here! Come!" he tugged until she followed, despite the long stream of foreign curse words she uttered.

Watching from a safe distance Che'estaheh chortled, "En'ita, if my brutish brother continues to mistreat you, come to my wigwam. I will give you sanctuary" His hungry grin however did not.

Magua scoffed. "More like damnation. Come." He said again, tugging her through the village. The villagers stopped and stared owlishly, whispering amongst them-selves and shyly pointing. But Robin did not buckle under their gazes, she squared her shoulders backed and marched to keep up with Magua's brisk pace. He still tightly grasped at her short hair, intent on showing all who watched that his was in control of his captive. Only when arriving at his large wigwam, in the centre of the village, did he finally let go of her hair. She had that defiant look in her eye, clearly not amused with his rough treatment. If she lashed out in public he would be forced to punish her. Before she could make a scene he quickly pushed her inside the wigwam.

"Do not leave this wigwam. Tawendeh will bring you clothes shortly" He had half a mind to let her stay naked, after the little show she gave his brother, as unintentional as it was. He scowled again, conflicted with the matters of his heart. She made him feel so twisted inside.

She just sat there, glaring at him in silence. Her wilful eyes implying that once again their silent truce was over. It was only a matter of time until war was declared. He wondered as he was walking away, Who will strike the first blow?


A/N – sorry for lateness. Review the story !