I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

But I do so love them. And this fandom.

Into the Wild.

Offerings of Thanks


Uncas the Mohican moves swiftly through the densely wooded forest.

His belly is empty and gnawing, hungering for food.

Delaware, Mohican, hunt hungry.

It sharpens the focus, keeps the senses alert.

Makes them appreciate the sacrifice of the animal when it has been felled.

The ending of its existence upon this earth more meaningful than simply the taking of life.

The taking of life to continue life.

For the hunter and those he has left behind.

Left behind.

He has left her behind.

His Alice, his partner, his Nëwicheyok.

He has left her alone before, when he went on the hunt with his father in the wilderness, many times.

It did not sit easy with him, never once. He had worried much for her safety and well-being.

Any ill thing might have befallen her in their absence.

And once . . .

"Bonjour, ma petite fille-"

You will die by my hand for your danger to her. And soon.

. . . nearly had.

It had haunted his dreams, the very real danger of her demise in the wilderness.

He had never mentioned.

And though any ill thing may befall her still in his absence, she is in the village.

Amongst others.

She is not alone.

And she, as she has on many occasion, reminded him thus . . .

"Nkàski në lësin."

I am quite capable.

"Nuli watu."

I know you are.

. . . of her prowess.

It would not surprise him to find upon returning to the village that she has herself gone ahunting or trapping.

Perhaps guided a child in the preparation of a squirrel or some other such creature.

Always remembering to be ware of squeezing the bladder, of course.

His thinking mind not seeing the low hanging branch at aim of his head.

His instinctive hand reaching to angle it away as he moves to and past it.

His hunting companions are about as well.

And the hunted prey on the move.

More difficult to see through the browning and oranging of the leaves, similar to the brown of the fur, the antlers.

The air colder, sound moving more slowly than in warmer months.

And yet the creature with its considerable size, crashing through the thick underbrush, reverberating the ground with heavy step, is easy enough to track.

If they may only keep up with it.

To bring down an animal of such substantial size will go well in providing for the village in their preparations for winter.

And so . . .

My brother would tease my slow pace.

. . . he redoubles his efforts.


The elk has been downed.

Three shots, one from each of the men with him.

And Uncas . . .

I will not tell Nathaniel of the number of shots.

. . . finally catching it in the throat.

I would not hear the end of it.

The four men gathering 'round the animal.

Whose dying breath billows steam into the crisp late autumn air as Uncas, the oldest of the hunters, . . .

"Nshielìntàmuhëna kënihëlël, nimàt. . ."

. . . offers honor to their brother . . .

"Mòxinkwelëmawoo wa chitaniteheyok òk kshamehëleyok . . ."

. . . for the sacrifice of its life . . .

" . . wa chitanësëwakàn."

. . . for the good of the village.

"Ktaxami awènik wëlaihòsu . . ."

As his father . . .

". . . òk kulhatenamihëna wa miltëwakàn."

. . . has taught him.


The trek back to the village is longer, more wearisome.

And necessary, a part of the hunt itself.

Lighter walk would mean less success.

And so it is welcome, the weight. The strain. The toll.

Elk hauled aloft amongst the men.

Not simply a hunting victory for the men themselves.

A survival victory for the entire village.

The hide, the fur will be cleaned and tanned, portioned to those in most need first.

Meat, enough to feed the village well for months, portioned, smoked.

Tongue, liver, heart, kidneys, lungs, eyes, eaten much earlier in blood-thickened stews, within the week.

Rendered fat mixed into pemmican, some perhaps kept back for the luxury of skin treatments.

Stomach, bladder, cleaned, dried, bags then to carry water from the river.

Tendons and sinew used to make thread, strings, ties for arrows.

Stitches for wounds.

Massive skull, cleaned, an honored gift, perhaps to an elder.

Hooves boiled down into sausage. Antlers, bones, broken down into various tools, sewing needles, cooking utensils.

Toys for the children.

Every usable part of the animal will be used in some way for the good of the village.

And the hunters . . .

Perhaps I will take some of the teeth for a necklace for Alice.

And the hunters . . .

I do not know if she would like a necklace of elk teeth.

. . . will be glad to have been able to . . .

I have never asked her.

. . . contribute and provide.


The village is spread across some distance along the river's edge.

Little more than fifty.

And now with the return of Uncas and his three hunting companions . . .

"He, Uncas!"

. . . they now number little more than fifty.

And one dispatched elk.


Alice is there, amongst the Delaware.

Pale oval face standing out from the darkers.

Cornsilk hair twisted back. Braid of pale and dark within.

Buckskin dress. Moccasins.

She stands out amongst them.

And yet appears welcome and at ease in their midst.

Eyes bright, lips he so loves to kiss curled into broad smile.

He feels joy at the vision of her, joy and pride that she is amongst them.

And so easily so.

The hunters are welcomed, the elk is welcomed.

And as he can, he steals away . . .

"Hallo, Uncas!"

. . . to be welcomed by . . .

"Hallo, Miss."

. . . another.


"How went the hunt? You seem to have found success in your day."

She is wrapped warmly in his arms and he in hers.

"That we did."

Standing face to face outside their earthen dwelling.

"And you? What has my Nëwicheyok found in her freedom?"

Alice's smile is proud.

"I went fishing."

As well it should be.

"Five good fish. I seasoned them and cooked them for our father and the Honored Mothers who helped me. As an offering of thanksgiving for their attentions on our . . . bonding ceremony."

Uncas nods, pleased.

"What did they say of that?"

Alice reaches up and into the fall of his hair.

Finding the braid of dark and pale twisted there.

"The elders with them now wish me to marry their sons as well."

And they laugh together.

And then Uncas the Mohican . . .

"Five fish, you say?"

. . . catches the words of the one he loves only a bit later than she spoke them.

She who smiles cleverly at him.

"I have for us a supper to share. Cleaned and ready to cook upon your return."

And seems to mean more . . .

"Would you have some with me?"

"Yes. I am very hungry."

"Yes. As am I."

. . . than the simple words she speaks.


BrynnaRaven, just know it was so difficult to write the hunting scene. I swear all I could hear was, "HANG ON, I SEE THE ELK!" *VROOOM*

So thanks for that. ;)

No, really. You are awesome. :)

And a little further down, because Uncas would not need to translate Mohican into English for himself, here is the translation of the dialogue for this chapter's elk hunt. Mostly taken straight from the movie with a little added by me.

"We are sorry to kill you, Brother. We do honor your courage and speed, your strength. You will feed our village well and we are thankful for your sacrifice."

Also, further down, another note:

"Darling, I have been meaning to inquire. Would you be interested in a rather posh necklace made of elk teeth? I hear they're all the rage amongst the Royals and I have managed to remove most of the plague."

"Oh yes, dear, that sounds positively divine."

"Splendid. I shall call upon my huntsman then. Scone?"

Have I completely ruined the chapter for everyone then? My bad. I'm a little hyper. ;)

Thanks to BlueSaffire, hotforteacher3, DinahRay, BrynnaRaven, ELY72, and blanparbe for all the gracious reviews. Over five hundred reviews, what a generous bunch you are!

*Fanfic hugs!*

No, seriously, thank you.

And thanks also to the silent readers of this story.

I appreciate you all a whole awful lot. :D