All of this is me. This is a shorter filler chapter, set between his capture and... well you either know or you don't, and if you don't I won't spoil it for you. I wrote this in several sittings and as I read back over it I'm wondering how well I am doing with Uncas' emotions and reactions. I don't want to forget something that I have brought up in a previous chapter, but I also don't want to overdo it. Thoughts?

Italics are Uncas' reminiscences and bold is Wyandot (Huron).

The youth shoved me into a corner; I stumbled on a stone in my path and tripped, falling to the dirt floor. He laughed scoffingly, "The Delaware is a clumsy woman!"

I ignored him and pulled myself into a sitting position. Drawing my knees up, I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes to block out the image before me. The youth continued to mock me but he soon tired of his game. With one last curse he bound my ankles together harshly and left the place.

I opened my eyes slowly and inspected my prison carefully. The thatched roof above me was old and dilapidated and the four walls were brittle; no inhabitant had lived in this lodge for many seasons. The bare floor and cold hearth, attested to the truth of that surmise.

I glanced at the entrance. The late morning sun filtered through the cracks between the doeskin, that served as a door, and the door posts. The dust motes danced in the two rays and I bowed my head. Sleep hung heavily on my eyelids and I let myself relax. The pain in my wrists and ankles was bearable but stiff. I shifted my posture so that I was reclined against the wall. The wood lattice bit into my shoulder-blades but I did not mind it; pain was part of my daily life.

I jerked awake. The first thing I registered was my odd position, then the pain in my wrists, ankles and back. Instinctively I fought the withes that imprisoned me, but after a few moments I gave up the futile endeavor as my memories came back in a rush.

My father's warning, the cowardly Wyandot, the ambush, the trial, Magua's arrival and the sentence, each scene flashed before my closed eyes. I took a deep, slow, steady breath. Then I exhaled smoothly. I opened my eyes. It was after midday but before late afternoon. The sounds of the village's activities, boys running and shouting as the played—girls and their mothers working and calling to one an other, men talking quietly—caught my ears but it had been something else that had woken me. But whatever sound, if sound it was, did not repeat itself.

I cracked my neck, tilting it first one way and then the other. I shifted my position slightly so that my blood once more circulated through my legs. As I did so thousands of minute spikes of pain jolted through me. I grimaced and fought the urge to lift my legs from the ground. Slowly the sensation dulled till it had faded entirely away. I flexed my fingers and rolled my shoulders. I studied my hands. Even at a glance I knew that to try to wriggle my hands free would be futile. My wrists were raw and bloody from my frenzied struggle but I did not care. With that I leaned back and once more closed my eyes.

Sleep did not come no matter how I longed for it.

The moonstone on my breast lay where I had left it and its constant pressure was comforting, just as the beaded bracelet on my wrist reminded me of my mother, so also the necklace brought to mind Cora's serious countenance.

In my minds eye I saw her once more as she was the afternoon after the battle on the knoll; her dark hair was partially braided and coiled loosely around her head, her green vail was brushed aside by the breeze and her eyes sparkled as she smiled at her sister's words. Then her dark brown eyes flitted up to my own; her expression changed. Instead of mirth there was a serious respect and sadness, almost a longing. But it was a longing held in check by duty and propriety. She had given me her friendship and nothing more, I wanted nothing more than what she would give willingly...

Then again I saw her as she had been before the fort when she had realized that she would die at her father's orders. I pulled her to me and she fought instinctively, but a moment later she stilled, froze, and began to quiver. I hugged her tightly to my heart. Her breath heaved roughly in my ear as she strived to calm herself. The the light cast by the torches from the ramparts did not penetrate this far into the night and even my eyes could only make out the basest of outlines. Soon her breathing was natural, nearly silent, and she dropped her head till it rested against my chest. She murmured words to softly for me to hear, a prayer to her God perhaps...