I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

I do still love them so. And this fandom.

Into the Wild

That Is All


She has not seemed quite unhappy, the woman he loves.

But the burgeoning confidence she found on their journeys has vanished from her as mist upon morning water.

She has drawn inward, not quite so as she once was in the beginnings of him knowing her.

But enough so that he wonders if she is heartsick for her sister, her father, her old life.

That which she once knew.

He begins to wonder once again if she will not wish to stay with them any longer.

These people.

His father.

Him.

If she has come to the end of her journeys and will wish to go back.

Back to her sister, perhaps.

Not so far away.

England.

Quite very.

And he wonders.

If she may or may not say, may or may not contrive.

He thinks he will sense it if she turns her eyes back.

She has not kept much from him, he thinks, since he returned in the spring and she ran to him, eyes bright with joy.

Running to him, throwing herself into his arms.

Knocking the breath from him, feeling the trembling in her body as she pressed herself to him and he held her close.

He thinks he will sense it.

Though he does not know if she will say it.

But that if she does, he will not try to stop her from doing as she wishes.

For now, he is walking the village, returning from his chosen work.

Looking for her with curious eye.

Looking for her with curious heart.

Wondering if she has found something to bring her out of herself.

To occupy her with accomplishment, ease her worry of mind.

Bring her into the community, be a part of them she wished and wondered so long to join, to discover.

And then . . .

Ah. So that is what she has found.

. . . he sees her.


It is quite the effort, taking much time and much preparation.

She has only but begun.

And finds it quite pleasant.

The working of the substance with her fingers.

It coats the flesh of her hands, gets under her nails.

It will be difficult to clean off.

And she will smell of it for days.

But Alice Munroe rather likes it.

It is . . .

"Hallo, Miss."

. . . an enjoyment.


He has been watching her, the one he loves.

Watching her sit with the women and work.

Mixing the pounded, crispt meat and dried, ground fruit with the nuts and seeds and rendered fat set as for this very purpose.

Salt from the river banks.

Watching her shape what she has created into portioned mounds.

Left to set, to be wrapped.

These energy sustaining morsels of pemmican that the hunters, the trappers may eat as they travel far and wide in search of the animals the village requires for survival.

She has sat herself with the women, worked the mixtures with her hands.

Face a study of concentration.

Of meditation.

Of small delights when one of the women . . .

"Wëlët ta nën."

That is good.

. . . nodded and smiled at her efforts of her labors.

And it is the happiest he has seen her since before the French trappers.

And he is glad that there is light in her eyes . . .

"Hallo, Miss."

. . . once more.

"Uncas."


They are together now, the two of them.

Walking through the village.

It is not so contained as she once thought.

There is the center.

Half a dozen or so longhouses set in measured paces together.

Built, she is told, for common lodging during winter.

Many people lodged together.

The low burning fires and accumulated body heat more preferable than going it alone.

Not many there are.

But some . . .

"What is that?"

. . . that seem more specifically assigned . . .

"That is the women's longhouse."

. . . than others.

She does not understand.

"That where the women go when they bleed."

And she blushes.

"Oh. Yes. I apologize."

Stammers.

"I did not mean to shame."

And he looks to her.

Face unreddened, eyes not looking away.

"It is not a shame. It is life."

And she is in a bewilderment.

Aunt Eugenia, their mother's sister, oft bemoaned the hated morbid flux.

Bed-ridden for days and on a steady rotation of warm compresses, cold vinegar compresses, and the like.

Piteously lamenting the sins of Eve when not laced to the gills on laudanum.

Whilst Alice, Cora, and other younger women of the time simply garbed themselves in their girded clouts, quite nearly swaddled as babes.

Perfumed sachets looped 'round their necks and waists.

And went about their daily excursions, quite comfortable and unencumbered by their most secret of "women's shame".

It had all been very hush-hush around men.

And not oft spoken of directly by the women themselves.

Alice and her sister's clouts packed carefully away on the travels to the fort.

Lost and abandoned in their flight, they had done what they must.

Procuring rags and making the best of what they had in the wilderness.

The constant trek and, later, farm work, making light her shedding.

Almost to nil.

And she had felt rather wild and free then, this woman of the wilderness.

Wild and free.

Only now to be told she must not be allowed to be seen, be allowed in the society to which she thought she was accepted.

Simply because she is a woman.

Unclean, unfit to-

"It is place of prayer and meditation," the one she loves murmurs. "A time for women to turn inward and give thought and reverence to the power that resides within them."

Alice furrows her brow at this odd statement.

She does not understand.

"Power? Women?"

And again her Mohican seems mystified by her.

"Women are closer to the Great Spirit than men because only women have the ability to create and bring forth life. They possess a strength and endurance and power men can never match, can never understand. Women are sacred beings."

She stares at him.

Chews upon what he has revealed to her.

"You believe this? That women have power just for being themselves?"

He nods.

"Yes."

And now it is she . . .

"Oh."

. . . who is mystified.


"You have no gaol here?"

Uncas turns to her, face a question.

Alice tries again.

"No . . . imprisonment for those accused of wrongdoing?"

Uncas, brow furrowed, shakes his head.

"Do you simply . . . kill them?"

He stares at her, this man she loves and does not always understand.

And she feels, for some reason she cannot identify, ashamed.

"Outside of battle or threat of life, there is little reason to take life."

She tries to think.

"What of thieves? Those who steal? Do they not face punishment?"

Uncas shakes his head.

"There is no need to take from another. We share all we have."

Alice tries again.

"Adultery? Carnally knowing another man's wife?"

Uncas frowns.

"There is no such thing. If one wishes to be released from their union, they are free to go in peace. Some are content to share those they love with others."

Alice feels she may be misunderstanding something clear to him and it frustrates her.

"And that is acceptable? That is allowed?"

Uncas responds so simply she is amazed.

"That is their choice."

And Alice, overwhelmed and at frustration, blurts her statement with low spoken, rather curt tone.

"Forgive me, but do your people do no wrong?!"

And it is now Uncas who smiles.

The fondness returning to his chiseled face.

He pulls her gently to him.

Presses his lips to her forehead.

And then moves back only enough to lift her chin with a gentle hand.

His adoring gaze finding hers.

And then, warmth and love coloring his rumbling tone, he speaks.

"The Delaware are as others. They must live as they see fit. Sometimes they stumble along their path. This is understood and confronted and forgiven so that they may to continue to walk on and make themselves more than what they have been."

And Alice . . .

"That is all?"

"That is all."

. . . is in a wonder.


Yes this is real (Slim Shady) chapter 49. And if you're reading it, thanks! Fanfiction has been more than a little spotty lately and I'm just happy you're still out there whether or not you review.

More to come.

And please don't think Uncas is a male chauvinist, seeing women only as baby-making factories.

He's not.

But women are badass. At the very least just having a period alone is more badass than men could ever imagine being.

Do you honestly think men could handle nearly bleeding to death every month (I swear, for some of us) much less childbirth?

Hell no!

;)

Thanks to BrynnaRaven and MohawkWoman for somehow getting a review in there. Still don't know how you managed it but thanks!

Please be safe and well! :D