I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.
I would go into a cave with them at this point.
Into the Wild
Pale Silver and Black Ink
"Look."
They have come to water.
Not a flowing, trickling stream. Though they have crossed such this day in their wanderings in this undiscovered hidden world.
No moving water.
But still.
A still pool.
A pond.
A lake.
Here in the underdark of the world.
Full in the space, filled by the recent rain seeped from the high ceiling of rock, the clouds the source.
And now they stand before it.
Smooth banks, no pebbles, no dirt.
Cavern floor simply covered in water so clear it appears that within it simply floats above the submerged stone.
And she is in . . .
"What is that?"
. . . in amazement.
Fish.
There are fish in the water.
Swimming so serenely in their dark lightless world.
Pale their bodies are, almost translucent.
And moreover, they are . . .
"There-"
. . . different from any fish she has ever observed in all her days upon the earth.
"Yes."
They are blind.
Complete and total.
No eyes upon their heads, no lidless, staring round orbs with which to see.
Translucent scaly flesh cover where they would be.
And are no longer.
See it, she can see it.
The space where their eyes should be.
And yet . . .
"Do you see?"
. . . there is nothing there.
Mystified, the pair of travelers crouch down slow, fish shying momentarily away from the light.
And them.
The fish.
They are small, in a babbling, brisk brook, not worth the effort to catch and scale and clean.
Long and slender, these, pale, nearly without color.
The barest whiff of blue streaked upon this one's body, the faintest hint of pink upon the belly of that.
And they, the indian and the woman who has chosen him, open their own eyes as wide as they may.
To observe that which they have never seen.
Which may not see them.
"I have never seen a creature without eyes, save worms," Alice murmurs in low fascination.
She thinks they are unsightly, monstrous.
And thinks they are not.
Uncas raises his face up to the darkness above, searching.
Then lowers it once more, curtain of sleek, dark hair falling over his shoulder.
Own low rumble soft and reverent.
"There is no sun. There is no light that needs to be seen."
"And yet they can feel it. They swim away from it."
"And they return."
And they wonder.
They eventually leave the watery chamber, leaving the fish to their lightless circlings.
They retrace their steps.
"Uncas."
Mostly.
"Alice?"
Although not without alteration here and there.
"Here."
She wishes she did not have to speak it.
"Where?"
She has tried to resolve the matter of her own accord.
"Below."
It is her own fault, of course.
"Alice?"
She really did not mean for this to all happen.
"Down here."
But she has been overly confident.
"Speak again."
Overly headstrong.
"I am here."
Wandered off.
"Once more."
Just a little ways.
"Here. You are close. Look down."
And overly . . .
"What are you doing down there?"
. . . adventurous.
"I am stuck."
He hunkers down and she looks up.
"It is not such a feat."
He smiles and reaches out a hand.
"Can you not scrabble up the rock like a lizard?"
And she stubbornly holds her dignity.
"Apparently not."
And he smiles.
Reaches down a hand.
"Come then, Miss."
And she takes it.
"Thank you, Sir."
And he helps her up.
They stay a day more, rest.
Coax without much effort, their accommodating elder, he who has walked longer and farther than either of them put together . . .
"Please, Wètuxëmùksit. Knemën yushè."
You must see.
. . . into accompanying them to the drip water pond and its blind fish.
This time around, Alice harbors no schoolgirl fantasy of her feverish fumblings with her dark and delightful Mohican upon a improbably smooth stone ledge.
Only a barely contained giddiness . . .
"Ntunëm, Wètuxëmùksit!"
Look!
. . . to show her adopted father a new marvel his eyes . . .
"Knemën hèch?"
Do you see?
. . . have never before seen.
The fire burns low.
He is seated close . . .
Do not cross.
. . . but not too close.
Hunched, her Uncas is, hunched over something that has his attention caught and captured.
His father, Chingachgook, across the fire, pipe in mouth, eyes meditative upon the fire.
Alice the Cavern Adventurer, returning from a latrine sojourn, . . .
I do not think even that fertilizer will grow grass from the rock-
. . . wonders at the focus . . .
But I would not inquire of it to him, I think.
. . . of his intent musings.
She crouches behind him as he works.
Uncas, legs crossed, folded material laid . . .
Is that parchment?
. . . upon buckskinned knee.
But where would he find a quill?
And Alice finds herself in quite . . .
And what for the ink?
. . . a curious . . .
What has my Mohican set himself to?
. . . disposition.
She leans herself carefully against him, not wishing to jolt or cause him to make any misstep in his creatings.
"Hè, Uncas."
She wraps her arms lightly about his shoulders, hands pressed close to his warm chest so as to not obscure his view.
"Hallo, Miss."
Chin atop his shoulder, eyes peering down.
"What do you have?"
Nostrils full of the pleasant musk . . .
"A map."
. . . of him.
"A map of what?"
Tendrils of his sleek, smooth hair tickling . . .
"The cave."
. . . the side of her face.
"Our journey."
And she sees that this is true.
Uncas has taken a swatch of smooth hide from his possibles bag.
Soot dampened with saliva.
And a thin, partially burned stick from the fire.
And has made a creation . . .
"Camp. Blue rock. Fossils. Cabin rocks. Stones that flow. Pool."
. . . of his own moderate ability.
Gesturing to each bit as he names it.
It is the pool she likes the most.
Slightly irregular oval, three fish shapes within.
She thinks it is very good.
She points to it with a careful finger.
"That is our pool of the blind fish?"
He nods, rumbling a low velvety affirmation deep in his throat as he works.
And she resettles her hand upon his shoulder, resting her chin comfortably atop it.
"Ah. And what will you name it?"
She smiles self-assuredly, awaiting the moment he will reveal the christening of "Alice's Pool" or "Alice's Lake" or-
"Pool of the Blind Fish."
Oh.
And she decides to stop being coy as she was raised.
And simply asks.
"You will not name it after me?"
Though perhaps just a bit still teasing.
But Uncas . . .
"No."
. . . seems not of the same mind as she.
"No?"
And as she is feeling the beginnings of whisperings of disappointment . . .
"No. You are not a blind fish."
. . . he reminds her . . .
Oh.
. . . one of the reasons why . . .
"You are made for the sun."
. . . she loves him so.
Warm and pleased and oh so very close and familiar and comfortable with this man whom she loves.
"Am I?"
Her Uncas.
"Yes."
Who continues his work without pausing.
And Alice . . .
"Nëwahkwësi ntëlkènèp."
. . . who cannot resist her low murmur . . .
I am made for many things.
. . . surreshed into his silver-adorned ear.
And watches him . . .
"Ahikta."
. . . falter.
Yes.
Smile.
"Klëpo."
And return . . .
You are.
. . . to his work.
And then it is time for them, by mutual consent, to go.
Leave their cavern home.
Their world under the world.
Their hiding place.
And so they gather accoutrements.
Leaving nothing behind they may use.
They douse the fire.
Leave the ashes.
And they . . .
"Where will we go?"
. . . they walk up and out together.
"West."
Leaving the golden glowing rock of the Smoke Hole Caverns behind.
"What will we find there?"
At least until their next journey.
"Tëwènama."
Family.
Back along this path.
Huge kudos to BlueSaffire for getting me writing again with her brilliant plot bunny of Uncas basically turning into a sexy, Mohican, cave-dwelling cartographer. It just really gave this chapter a little something special!
*applause, hugs, accolades*
Thanks to BryannaRaven, AsterLaurel, ELY72, BlueSaffire, and blanparbe (laughed when I looked him up on YouTube, thank you! And you're not an idiot, you're a sheer delight) for previously reviewing.
I completely adore you all. And the silent readers of this story as well. :)
Whelp, this is the end of the cave story arc. It has always been meant to be a rejuvenation period for our intrepid explorers. Even Alice's breakdown was part of the healing. Anyway hope you enjoyed it.
We'll continue on with their journey, after some time off for writing and work.
See you soon! Be safe and well!