I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.
But I do so love them. And this fandom.
Into the Wild.
Quite Capable
Life goes on in the village.
It must.
The rising of the sun. The setting of the sun.
The movements of the day in-between.
And an essential part of life is . . .
"He, Uncas!"
. . . food.
It is early morning, as early as late fall allows.
And Uncas the Mohican and the woman who has chosen him have been lounging in the serene seclusion of their thatched shelter.
They have not been abrace, a rare moment in the early days of their honeymooning.
But they have not yet quite been prepared . . .
"Hè, Uncas!"
. . . to receive visitations either.
The call is not alarming.
More friendly . . .
"Nchutièstuk kpèhël!"
Your friends are waiting for you!
. . . and . . .
"Alaitàm!"
Let us go hunting!
. . . inviting.
Kissing her forehead, Uncas rises from the furs, smooth and easy.
Alice, quite content to watch him, stays as she is, just for the moment.
Tall and dark and lean, he rises, unadorned and unaware.
That she, his Nëwicheyok, . . .
Well, hallo, sir-
. . . watches on with unabashed appreciation.
Fancy seeing you here-
As he wraps his loincloth around his hips.
Might'n't you turn a bit first so that I may look upon you more fully?
And she only a bit reluctantly rises.
Ah, my most appreciative thanks to you, kind sir-
Much the same unclad.
Whilst it is a pity to suffer your departure, . . .
And reaching to slip her dress carefully over her head.
. . . I do so enjoy to watch you go.
The one she loves secures his leggings.
His shirt.
And the joy of rediscovering you . . .
His hair.
. . . upon your return.
And, hefting his other accroutements, . . .
If you return.
. . . ducks his head out of the . . .
Which you must, of course.
. . . canvas flap.
The only mysterious Mohican man who ever held me safe under a waterfall.
Delaware men are there, respectful paces back from the humble abode.
The same men, so far she can surmise, that helped him build the hut from which she is now . . .
"Uncas, nutxùkunk!"
We have come to find you!
. . . exiting.
"Kwënake ntitehahëna ktalëmska làpi!"
You have been so long away we thought you had gone traveling again!
She watches them smile, watches him smile.
Yawning, nodding, and stretching.
Easy and amicable with his friends that tease and joke him almost as his own adopted brother.
She feels happiness at this, that he is so accepted by them, that he is a part of a community.
It is still an oddity to her, seeing him so belonging amongst others nearly like him.
After so long alone in the wilderness.
The three of them.
"Hèch alaitàm yukwe?"
Will you come on the hunt with us now?
But warm and welcome at that.
She watches his friends beckon him, the hunt beckon him.
And watches the Mohican man she loves turn back.
To her.
And her heart is lifted further by his dark, warm gaze.
The light in his eyes at the sight of her.
The smile.
And he . . .
-loves me. My Nëwitaemàk loves me. My Nëwitaemàk considers me.
. . . comes to her then.
She gifts him an open, welcome smile.
And he . . .
"Nëwicheyok."
. . . murmurs to her.
She has already silently given her permission, willing enough for him to go out from her.
Apart they have not been since the night of the ceremony that affirmed and further joined their already bonded spirits.
But she feels it is good.
For he and her.
To be together.
And apart.
It is the nature of things.
Separated for a time so that they may be reunited . . .
"Uncas! Kèku hèch kpeha?"
Why do you hesitate?
. . . later.
And as he stands close, the one she loves, one of the trio, offers another jocular prod.
"Kwikwihëla takuu kitamehële witaeminèn?"
What makes you so tired you may not run with us?
And Alice, formerly shy of nature with them, these men she does not know, these 'savages' of whom she has been so stringently warned, finds her mischief and her voice together in the same place within her secret smile, . . .
"Wahiekwe a . . ."
If you knew . . .
. . . without malice or contempt.
". . . mata ntuxta, . . ."
. . . you would not have to ask, . . .
Only a healthy sense . . .
". . . kwinki hèch?"
. . . would you?
. . . of good humor.
The moment grand, the men in stunned surprise.
The one whom she loves, the one at her side, gentle fingers absently stroking a length of her yellow hair, chuffs in amusement.
Dropping his face a touch away and to the right.
Silent mirth coloring his handsome face.
As Alice Munroe, Woman of Earth, raises a demure eyebrow.
And offers a good-natured smile.
To those who now burst into gales of laughter.
Slapping the back of the one who spoke so carelessly..
And was rebuffed . . .
"Nàni ulixsu!"
She speaks!
"Nàni kuwahi Mohican!"
She knows Mohican!
"Tun lànkuntuwichik kimahtësëna shè!"
Her mouth is a kindred spirit to our brother here!
. . . just as well.
Uncas speaks, low enough for only her ears.
"I will return by the setting of the sun. If it sits well with you."
And Alice smiles easily.
"Do not be of concern for me. I have much to occupy me."
Slyly.
"Nkàski në lësin."
I am quite capable.
Earning a similar nudge in warm response.
"Nuli watu."
I know you are.
And then, a smile in his eyes and on his lips for her, . . .
"Nali! kitamehëlanèn!"
Come! Let us run!
. . . Uncas the Mohican moves with gathering speed and purpose . . .
"Apuwawtu këkhìt ahtuho!"
The food is very fast!
. . . into the wild wilderness . . .
"Òk ki, nimahtëstuk, . . ."
And you, my brothers, . . .
. . . and away . . .
". . . këkhìt òhtàmsu!"
. . . are very slow!
. . . from her sight.
He may not return to her, of course.
Ill fortune befall him in some way.
Leaving her alone in a vast, wide world without him.
Never again feeling his touch, smelling his musk, hearing his low rumble, seeing his uniquely formed face, tasting his lips upon hers.
Nothing is certain in life, certainly in the wilderness.
It is a fact she knows and accepts as much as she can
Choosing to worry herself not, as much as she may be able.
Instead choosing to content herself with her own endeavors, her own pursuits.
Pushing away the unspoken thought that all life must end and no man (nor woman) may know when or how or why for certain.
So she turns her face to the sun . . .
I am Alice Munroe. And I am . . .
. . . and basks . . .
. . . not afraid.
. . . in the time she has been given.
Hello again, all! Hope you are safe and well. :D
So, wait, Uncas and Alice are now in the suburbs?
*Goes back, checks notes*
Huh. Yeah.
Whelp. Okay then. ;)
Thanks to AsterLaurel, BrynnaRaven, BlueSaffire, DinahRay, Conbird, MohawkWoman, PanickedPossum, ELY72, MedicineGal815, and blanparbe for so graciously reviewing before!
Thanks also to EverGreen1272 for adding your support to this tale!
And thanks also to the silent readers of this story as well!
I am grateful for you all.
See you again soon!
