I am so so sorry for not updating in over a month! I had this written (though thanks to MohawkWoman I have edited it slightly, Uncas needed a shirt.), but I got caught up with Christmas (a late merry Christmas to all of you!) and then heading back to school and realizing I was behind, but I could have updated because I have also been working on writing something Hunger Games related and I dislike that fandom so it doesn't count as an excuse. Sorry again and here you go.
Finally a bit of something a little less boring and another step in the right direction for Cora.
When I awoke the next morning, Cora was still asleep. I sat up and stared out the small opening. Outside the rain pounded down. I drew my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. At least the warmth of the two of us served to heat the den slightly. My eyes were inexorably drawn to the small child-bow, the flint knife, the hawk feathers, the remnants of a pretend fire—never lit. They had been shoved towards the entrance to provide extra room in the confining space. I reached over and took the bow in my hands. I had carved it myself fourteen summers past.
I remembered my father's hands holding mine as I drew the sharp stone over the wood. I remembered the grin that had split my face, felt again the pain from cheeks that would not cease to smile. I saw Hawkeye's proud look as I released my first arrow into a target. I relived the many lessons and the many hours spent straining my arms. I remembered leaving the bow here in the den when I heard my name called. I remembered the tears welling up when I was forced to leave it behind. I remembered forcing them back and triumphing over that small battle. I remembered my pride when Chingachgook handed me the wood to make another, how I had carved it myself—without his help—how that bow had served me till I outgrew it, how I had built a third, how I had left that bow behind in the caves at the Glenns.
A sad smile curved my lips. I set the bow down and reached for the knife. Unlike the bow it was still useful. I ran a finger down its sharpened edge lightly and it drew blood. With satisfaction I strapped it to my leg and stuck my finger in my mouth. The feathers I fingered and dropped into the dirt, they were but pretty souvenirs of a time long gone. The wood piled so long ago to make an imaginary fire was next to useless unless I had any meat to cook upon it.
With a sigh I sat back against the far wall. Cora could not travel in the deluge outside and neither could I. I had no wish to catch a cold. An hour or so passed and Cora continued to sleep. The rain lessened slowly, but I did not make a move to leave the den till the need to relieve myself became too strong to sit still. Then I slipped out. After doing my business I checked my snares though I did not hold much hope for them to be sprung. The first three were empty, but the last two held game. One, a squirrel, the other a hare. I shook my head in amazement at my good luck and removed them. Then, through the blinding rain, which had increased in force while I was out, I returned to the stream, carrying the food.
On the bank, near the remains of the fire, I skinned and prepared the meat. That done, I scraped the skins clean and stretched them on frames.
When I returned Cora was awake. She was sitting in a huddle shivering. As I crawled in dripping, she flinched away. I sighed and wished whatever had caused her to believe such a thing about me had never occurred. At the entrance I began piling the wood and striking my long knife against the flint knife I had found in the den. Sparks flew, but finally my tinder caught and began to smoke. With steady breaths I blew upon it till a flame sprang up, then I slid it into the kindling and other wood. Slowly, patiently, I tended my fire till it blazed up crackling.
An hour or so later I handed Cora her portion and sat myself down against the wall with my own. I itched for a bath, for the hard packed dirt of the den had mixed with the water I had accumulated while out in the rain and I was now streaked with half dried mud. When I finished my meat, I took a gulp of water and passed it, hesitantly, to Cora. In the flickering light cast by the fire I saw her pained face.
[I will not hurt you,] I assured her.
She choked on her water and snapped her head around at me. [I know that,] she replied.
I must have let my surprise show for she set down the flask and turned her brown gaze upon me. [I…] here she paused as though uncertain of how to put whatever it was she wanted to say into words, [I want to explain myself.]
I looked at her in confusion, raising an eyebrow. What did she want to explain? What is there to explain?
Taking a breath she continued, [You have been nothing but kind to me from the beginning. That night,] she paused, gathered her courage and started again, [I didn't wake up because of the cold.]
Now I understood what she was speaking of, though what there was still to explain I could not see.
[There was—I had a dream, Magua…. I was trying to take my mind off it, that didn't work….] she trailed off again. A hunch began to form in my mind. [I—you—the way you were looking at me—that was how he looked at me. I know now I was wrong. Forgive me. I—I was not myself. Will you accept my apology?]
I understood now and I pitied her for the long nights she would no doubt endure. Nightmares were a common occurrence for those who had seen death as much as she had in these last days. [There was never anything to forgive,] I replied, trying not to still feel the hurt that she had thought such a thing of me.
She raised an unconvinced eyebrow. And crossed her arms over her chest reminding me, somehow, of a mother scolding her child. [I will still beg your forgiveness. I was in the wrong.]
[You are forgiven.] I promised finally, the idea that she was scolding me for refusing her apology softening my heart and reminding me of her tender words to her sister, whom she had raised. [It was an honest mistake.] And it was, though I hoped it was one she would never make again.
We spent the rest of the day in silence, warming ourselves by the small fire and eating the meat I had snared. It was a comfortable silence. One that held no embarrassment or fear. A silence that healed hurts.
At one point her head drooped and her breath evened out. I sat beside her for a while listening to the rain come down and watching the flames flicker entrancingly. Then as my own eyes sought their slumber I reached over 'Killdeer' and gently shifted her weight so that she lay upon her back. I folded her hands across her stomach and lay myself down and slept. Sometime in the night I awoke to find that the fire had burned out and the rain had ceased to fall. A quick glance informed me that Cora had turned upon her side, facing away from me.
All was well, I turned over and went back to sleep. In the grey morning the dirt of the ceiling was slightly damp and the air smelled sweetly of damp earth, rushing water, and a clean sky. I stared up at the hanging root above me. My shoulder was itching as the scab that covered it continued to peel. Almost lazily I reached up and scratched at it, picking away at the flaky skin. It peeled off easily, flaking off and falling to the ground. My fingers continued their absentminded scratching till only the pale-pink scar-tissue was left. I felt the gash on my side and found that it had scabbed over. It would need a day or two more to heal.
I sat up, stretching as best I could in the confined space.
[Good morning.]
The soft words startled me, I had not known she was awake, but I nodded my awareness of her words. [Good morning.]
The day passed without much of interest occurring. I spent most of it outdoors, fishing or scraping the hides of the animals I had caught. Cora was sometimes inside the den doing only she knew what, or outside sitting on the bank, watching the water flow past.
It was past midday, and I had ventured out farther than usual from the ravine, when I felt something off. I froze, listening and straining my eyes to see anything amiss. But there was nothing. My hand reached for my knife, but before I could close my fingers around it sting arms wrapped around me and I was thrown to the ground.
In silence broken only by the rustle of scattering needles and leaves my opponent and I wrestled. A sharp pain at my shoulder informed me that he was in possession of a knife. I redoubled my efforts and soon managed to pin the warrior to the ground and take the knife. He was from the Mohawk tribe. With a snarl I slit his throat with the knife I had pried from his grasp. Then I stripped his scalp, shirt and moccasins from his body. After hiding him in the brush, I followed his tracks backward to the fringe of a small camp. There was one other man, who by looks was the other's brother, in the place but there were marks of others. A frown descended on my face and I slipped away, covering all traces of my presence.
In the stream in the ravine I washed the shirt of blood and donned it. Then I found Cora and did not leave her sight again. Cora saw the shirt and she frowned but spoke not. I could not tell wether it was because she did not wish to know how I had come across it, or because she knew and did not wish to hear of it lest the danger be more real. In any event she seemed content to pass the rest of the day in silence and did not stray far from the entrance to the den.
[At dawn we begin walking once more,] I declared as we sat on the bank eating.
Cora glanced up at my face, shrugged and turned back to her food. I tossed her the moccasins which I had altered to better fit her small feet.
[For you.]
She looked up again as they landed in her lap. Surprise and admiration crossed her futures as she examined them. She traced the seams with her fingers and inspected the whole of them in curious wonder.
[My thanks for your generosity! The craftsmanship is beautiful!] She slipped them onto her bare feet, the bandages there seemed to have disappeared, nowhere to be found.
I smiled. I was glad she did not promise a reward for me to collect when we reached our destination. I wanted none and none could ever replace the dead. She did me honor by accepting the gift and wearing the moccasins, unlike, I imagined, one of the pompous English generals would have done in a similar situation. In truth, though, I cared little for the footwear that had once belonged to the Mohawk warrior. That night, sleep came to me easily—though I hated myself for that for I disliked peace when I knew that enemies camped so close at hand—and it was uninterrupted till near morning when Cora cried out in her sleep and woke me. After staring down at her for a time as she tossed, I decided to shake her awake. It is not like she will kill me with a reflex. I thought bitterly, she was not my father. Only glare at me and scoot away.
But she did neither. She woke with a gasp, blinked away tears as she stared up at my face and then turned on her side, begging me to leave her to weep in solitude. I did not leave, of course, but I did go back to my rest. She would learn eventually to overcome her losses.
Just like I had.
Just like my father had.
Just like generation after generation of men and women had, white or red or otherwise.
We all had lost one person or another who had been close to our hearts. Some were luckier than others to have family left. Others, like me, were the last. When we reached the fort she would have her father to hold her close while she wept. I would find my way, perhaps North—to the tribes of migrating Delaware rumored to be above the lake.