Chapter 2
Pocahontas sighed and walked back towards her village feeling even worse than she had been. As far as she was concerned, nothing in her life was going right. Since John's leaving, her father and some of her friends had tried to convince her to start courting again. John Smith was Pocahontas's first man she had ever courted and it seemed to her father and friends, he wouldn't be her last.
"Wingapo, my daughter," her father's voice startled her thoughts and she almost stumbled on the path. After quickly studying his daughter on her feet he began, "Mochag has asked my permission--"
"Father please," Pocahontas said, gently cutting off her father.
"My daughter, it has been a long time since he left, you must move on!" The young woman sighed and began walking away.
"My daughter!" Powhatan swiftly grabbed his daughter's shoulder, turning her to face him, "John wouldn't want you to live this way."
Pocahontas's eyes filled with tears at the mention of his name and breaking free from her father's hold she sprinted away from him, not knowing where she was going, only knowing she needed to get away.
"Think about what I have said!"
Powhatan's voice rang after as her feet pounded softly on the earth.
Nakoma stepped towards Cocoum wondering briefly if he were a ghost. She hesitantly reached out to touch his face and Cocoum's strong hand grabbed hers.
"How?" she asked shrugging her shoulders trying to comprehend, "you were dead."
"I didn't die that day Nakoma, I was wounded badly, the loss of blood had slowed my heartbeat, the shaman thought I was dead, so when he left the tent to tell the village I snuck out the back and ran off, I took a boat to London, I hid under the ship," Cocoum explained simply as though it were common knowledge and Nakoma shook her head at him. Strange she didn't notice before he now wore the clothes of a white man, a long flowing white shirt and cloth pants, the shirt hung open to reveal that his bear paw that he had been so proud to receive the day he was proclaimed a man had lost its colour, it had faded. As had the proud look in Cocoum's eyes, he looked so different; he had the look in his eyes like one of a broken horse.
"You look different, very English," Nakoma said referring to the clothes and Cocoum growled looking down at himself then he tore off the shirt he wore and threw it to the ground spitefully.
"I hate the English, they call us the barbarians Nakoma, but it is they who are the barbarians," Cocoum hissed and Nakoma thought of a different line of questioning not wanting to get Cocoum so angry.
"Why did you let us think you were dead?"
Cocoum stared at her as though she had asked a silly question.
"Would you have preferred me to come back in the wake of my defeat? I would not be the laughing stock of our village, Pocahontas did not want me, there was nothing for me here," he said heavily and Nakoma felt stung by his words. Nothing for him. Not even the friendship they used to share meant anything to him. Only her, only Pocahontas, always Pocahontas.
"Then why come back?" Nakoma demanded nastily and Cocoum turned away from her searching eyes and then Nakoma heard another voice, the voice of a white man she used to know.
"Cocoum, how far is the village?"
Pocahontas sighed and walked back towards her village feeling even worse than she had been. As far as she was concerned, nothing in her life was going right. Since John's leaving, her father and some of her friends had tried to convince her to start courting again. John Smith was Pocahontas's first man she had ever courted and it seemed to her father and friends, he wouldn't be her last.
"Wingapo, my daughter," her father's voice startled her thoughts and she almost stumbled on the path. After quickly studying his daughter on her feet he began, "Mochag has asked my permission--"
"Father please," Pocahontas said, gently cutting off her father.
"My daughter, it has been a long time since he left, you must move on!" The young woman sighed and began walking away.
"My daughter!" Powhatan swiftly grabbed his daughter's shoulder, turning her to face him, "John wouldn't want you to live this way."
Pocahontas's eyes filled with tears at the mention of his name and breaking free from her father's hold she sprinted away from him, not knowing where she was going, only knowing she needed to get away.
"Think about what I have said!"
Powhatan's voice rang after as her feet pounded softly on the earth.
Nakoma stepped towards Cocoum wondering briefly if he were a ghost. She hesitantly reached out to touch his face and Cocoum's strong hand grabbed hers.
"How?" she asked shrugging her shoulders trying to comprehend, "you were dead."
"I didn't die that day Nakoma, I was wounded badly, the loss of blood had slowed my heartbeat, the shaman thought I was dead, so when he left the tent to tell the village I snuck out the back and ran off, I took a boat to London, I hid under the ship," Cocoum explained simply as though it were common knowledge and Nakoma shook her head at him. Strange she didn't notice before he now wore the clothes of a white man, a long flowing white shirt and cloth pants, the shirt hung open to reveal that his bear paw that he had been so proud to receive the day he was proclaimed a man had lost its colour, it had faded. As had the proud look in Cocoum's eyes, he looked so different; he had the look in his eyes like one of a broken horse.
"You look different, very English," Nakoma said referring to the clothes and Cocoum growled looking down at himself then he tore off the shirt he wore and threw it to the ground spitefully.
"I hate the English, they call us the barbarians Nakoma, but it is they who are the barbarians," Cocoum hissed and Nakoma thought of a different line of questioning not wanting to get Cocoum so angry.
"Why did you let us think you were dead?"
Cocoum stared at her as though she had asked a silly question.
"Would you have preferred me to come back in the wake of my defeat? I would not be the laughing stock of our village, Pocahontas did not want me, there was nothing for me here," he said heavily and Nakoma felt stung by his words. Nothing for him. Not even the friendship they used to share meant anything to him. Only her, only Pocahontas, always Pocahontas.
"Then why come back?" Nakoma demanded nastily and Cocoum turned away from her searching eyes and then Nakoma heard another voice, the voice of a white man she used to know.
"Cocoum, how far is the village?"