7 August (before dawn)

Uncas eyed his cot with longing, but knew the near constant shelling would be too strong to grant him rest until morning.

He changed out of his bloodstained green shirt and into his fresh maroon one, fingers brushing over the tear Alice had mended as he tugged it down. He took a moment to examine the neat row of stitches, letting his mind wander. He imagined what Alice would have been doing a week ago: quietly working on embroidery, unaware that she'd soon be using the same skills on an Indian's shirt, courtesy of a bayonet.

Uncas dropped his hand and exited the barracks to find the laundry.

He left his green shirt with a middle-aged Scotswoman who seemed in charge. She paid him little heed until she eyed the shirt he wore in surprise, looking down at the stitches and back up again.

"Good to see your shirt properly mended, sir."

She must have somehow recognized it from the wash days before. Unsure of what was truly being said, let alone the proper response, he simply nodded.

The woman appeared speculative, and a couple more laundresses began whispering to each other: one giggling, the other rolling her eyes dismissively. Realizing he was somehow attracting attention, Uncas left immediately.

What was that about?

"Uncas. We need some assistance."

He turned to find William, now appointed captain of the militia, with Sharitarish beside him. At Uncas's questioning look, he explained.

"About to put up another stand and we need more cover from above."

He and Sharitarish explained the plan. It was a wild, desperate attempt to do something to halt the enemy's progress by whatever means possible. But Uncas's role was straightforward.

He sighed. "Sounds like a job for Nathaniel."

William grunted. "Well, we've got you."

Both Uncas and Sharitarish turned skeptical looks on him.

"Full confidence, of course." William held no change in expression, as if the responsibility of taking over the militia mid-siege gave him no energy to commit to humor.

Uncas let out an amused chuff and nodded. He tracked down his father, explaining the situation as he took Nathaniel's rifle. Chingachgook offered his own rifle as well, and stood to join him.

"I'll reload for you."

Uncas agreed, though coming from his father, it was a statement rather than a request. It felt like a strange role reversal, but Uncas knew his eyesight was better—and if he trusted anyone to load a rifle with speed and accuracy, it was the man who taught him to use one.

As they collected additional powder and shot, Uncas pondered why he hadn't been invited to join the Mohawks in the fight on the ground. Sharitarish had every reason not to, he supposed. It could be a lack of confidence in him due to his injury or lost sleep, or simply because they didn't want to risk Chingachgook's only other son.

Any of these were good reasons not to bring him along. Yet it didn't feel right to remain in the walls of the fort when others were fighting out there. If Uncas was known for anything, it was his speed on foot. He was a decent shot, as any self-respecting hunter would be—even a good one with Killdeer. But not great. Not like Nathaniel.

Uncas and his father stationed themselves on the western bastion along with the cannons and the other sharpshooters: a motley combination of militia, rangers, and other soldiers.

He waited until the Mohawks and Highlanders moved and artillery ceased, then began firing on the French line 240 yards out. Nathaniel would be able to pick them off, but Uncas knew he'd probably only hit every other target. Still, the errant shots might be enough to encourage the French to keep their heads down long enough for their side to advance easily.

Once they engaged the French at the foremost siege line, Uncas held off, waiting until he'd get a clean shot once more. He let out an exasperated breath as he saw some Mohawks take scalps, as if time wasn't of the essence during the distraction. But soon enough the Rangers had poured in from the south, as marked by the series of small explosions. The largest among them had been chosen as grenadiers, with focus on destroying the foremost pickets and artillery weapons from behind and hopefully filling in some trenches while they were at it.

If they were lucky, the French would be set back enough to put off their final bombardment by one more night. Otherwise, it would arrive within 24 hours.

Uncas resumed cover fire as the Highlanders and Mohawks retreated. A few enterprising Abenaki and Frenchmen gave chase, and he had to pause and readjust as the Indian he aimed for stumbled and fell back from a shot to the shoulder.

The reason Uncas had been chosen to cover the courier the other night was because of how well he and his brother worked in tandem. Each could sense the others' intent, take one look at the situation to determine when and where to expect the other to fire the next shot. Tonight it was a free-for-all, and as Uncas fired Killdeer, he felt his brother's absence all the more acutely.

An explosion rocked the bastion; Uncas and Chingachgook ducked instinctively as shrapnel tore through the air, though they managed to be protected by the cannon nearest them. Ears ringing, Uncas turned to see the French had managed a direct hit on another cannon.

One more down, ten to go.

Steps from him a soldier lay sprawled out on the ground, apparently having been tossed over the cannon. Someone shouted orders which Uncas ignored as he dropped Nathaniel's rifle and turned the man over, only to find that the side of his head had been bludgeoned beyond all recognition.

A couple rasps of air marked the final moments of the soldier's life. Uncas murmured a small prayer and was glad for the relatively swift end; not only to ease his suffering, but also because Alice would not have to see this in the infirmary.

The crack of a musket being fired beside him brought Uncas back to reality. He turned to see his father had taken over in his stead. With more than a little shame, he moved to assist in reloading, but Chingachgook held him off with a wave of the hand.

"It is finished."

Uncas collected the rifles in silence while others hauled the body away, making room for a team to operate the cannon. He knew full well that he had not reacted as a warrior should just now. A glance out the neighboring embrasure, and he was further disheartened to see there was little to show for their efforts. The French might be delayed by an hour, perhaps two; enough to halt the siege for this night, but they would still be able to bring their mortars within range the next.

Finally, he turned to find his father watching him.

"Tonight was not about taking lives, my son. It was about protecting them."

Why did his father talk to him like he understood? Why didn't he scold him like he deserved? Like the first time Uncas had taken a man's life—his joy at finding himself alive and victorious dissipating moments later as he looked upon the dead Huron. Uncas had stood still while others fought on, feeling the horror of what he had done to another person.

There had been nothing he could do for the soldier now being carried away. The only lives he could protect had been on the ground, yet his instinct had been to abandon them.

"Miss Munro, your father requests your company."

Lt. Ashton's eyes gleamed in a way Alice had not seen earlier—now that she looked for it, she could see the drink at work. He offered his arm as if they were out for a stroll through a garden. She hesitated, then decided it would do her well not to be rude and accepted it, her fingertips barely brushing his sleeve.

As he took a detour towards a barracks doorway she halted. The Lieutenant looked down on her and smiled sardonically.

"Why, Miss Munro. Did you not want to speak privately?"

Alice walked alongside the building to a point where they still could be seen, but have fewer passersby to overhear them. "This will do, Lieutenant."

"Then what is this about?" he demanded abruptly, with the manner of one who's time was being wasted. Perhaps he had expected something a little more licentious. She was happy to correct that assumption.

"I understand you were involved in an expedition to a Huron village last spring."

The unexpected topic of conversation managed to hold his interest. "Yes, rather eventful, wasn't it? I led the attack."

He puffed himself up a bit and Alice had to refrain from rolling her eyes. "I was under the impression my father led it."

"The entire expedition, yes. Why don't you ask him about it? Or..." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Could it be that you are hiding something from your Papa, Miss Munro? I can't imagine what secrets you have."

Her face heated at his blatant sarcasm, sure he was referencing her aid to the deserters last night. She would have to steer clear of that topic. "You're the one who received commendations for your heroism, Lieutenant. I was rather hoping to hear the story from you directly."

The flattery reeled him in, the success of which no doubt aided by his inebriation. "Before I came to his rescue, you mean?" At Alice's blank stare, he sighed. "Do you really know nothing? Your father engaged the raiding party that had been dispatched the day before, while I was tasked with the rescue of the prisoners and destruction of the outpost."

"Outpost? Was it not a village?"

He shrugged. "No difference for their kind. It's where they held captives from the surrender of Ft. Miller."

She eyed him balefully, a fear of hers practically confirmed. "So my father fought their warriors while you attacked their women and children."

"Well, you know what they say, nits will be lice."

He winked then chuckled at her disgusted expression.

"Come now, Miss Munro. They weren't all women and children. And it's not like we didn't give them the chance to flee, the stupid beggars. Most did, but some decided to quiver in their hovels."

Over the officer's shoulder she could see Uncas approaching, no doubt to put an end to the conversation. She just needed a moment longer. Alice frowned then gave him a small shake of the head while Lt. Ashton continued happily.

"Quite ridiculous, really, but you can't expect higher thought from savages. We even gave a go at flushing them out. But when we were fired upon from the cover of the trees, engaging became a fruitless endeavor, so I set the boys to kindling."

Alice swallowed, barreling through the implication that those in their homes had burned alive. She needed no more details on their final moments. "And for all this you received a hero's commendation?"

"Followed through on my orders, didn't I? And in no time at all. Good thing, too, because your father was well overrun once we returned to him. Many dead or fled—he himself bleeding out from that bullet's graze to the neck."

She stared at him in shock. He seemed not to notice as he stroked his chin, musing. "Course, we did lose a few prisoners in the confusion, bloody shame that."

"Papa almost died?"

"That's right, I saved his life. If anything, you should be supplicating yourself before me, Miss Munro."

She stumbled back from him in disgust and hurried away to her father's quarters, ignoring his protests.

"But I didn't even get to the best part!"

Uncas and Chingachgook joined the Mohawks after the assault, scalps set out to dry by the campfire in triumph as the Mohicans cleaned their firearms. Though each were silent by custom, Uncas kept to himself out of disgrace. He had been asked to cover the others, and had let them down.

Uncas glanced up from his musket every so often as Sharitarish reenacted his part of the battle, attempting to give his friend the attention his story deserved. But soon he was further distracted by the sight of Alice by the barracks, stiffly walking with her hand on Lt. Ashton's arm.

He dropped his gaze, continuing to wipe down his musket as he considered what to do next. Once a couple more glances at Alice's face confirmed the conversation was deteriorating, he quietly stood, surreptitiously checking that his knife and tomahawk were still on him.

"Son."

Despite the soft warning, Chingachgook made no attempt to stop him. Uncas nodded reassuringly. He would not do something stupid enough to leave his father childless.

He attempted to exude calm as he approached Alice and the Lieutenant. Uncas wasn't sure what he was going to do to rescue her from the situation, but he figured he could come up with a quiet excuse. However, she caught his eye over the Lieutenant's shoulder and gave a tiny frown. He stopped in his tracks, frustration threatening to overtake him. A second glance his way and a nearly imperceptible shake of the head caused Uncas to reluctantly back off.

Clearly, whatever she was doing, she did not want his involvement. Perhaps he would only complicate things, make the situation worse.

He leaned against the barracks, composing his face into a blank mask, though his eyes continued to bore into the man's back. Even if he hadn't been upsetting Alice, the officer was responsible for his brother's incarceration and eventual execution. If he were an Indian, Uncas would challenge him. But the Yengeese had a different sense of honor, and an Indian's threat of violence would only end with him in manacles.

A moment later, Alice rushed off to her father's quarters, hiding herself away from both of them.

"But I didn't even get to the best part!"

Chuckling to himself, Ashton fumbled with his waistcoat before turning toward the wall to take a swig from a flask. As he replaced it, he spotted Uncas with a startled lurch. The Mohican watched on impassively.

"What are you looking at?"

Uncas did not respond. Ashton squinted at him.

"You're friends with that cur that's meant to dangle, aren't you?"

The Lieutenant had just confirmed how very badly Uncas wanted to strike him down. Instead, he answered simply.

"My brother."

"Brother?" Ashton chortled. "I'll wager your father was surprised."

Without a response, Ashton simply laughed again and went on his way. Uncas watched him disappear into the officers' quarters before returning to the others.

He cleaned their firearms with singular focus until a bowl of gruel was shoved into his hands, to be tackled with the same methodical intensity. Soon his father suggested they retire early. Knowing that he was unneeded anywhere in this fort, Uncas agreed.

Papa sat at the table, alone. Alice avoided staring at his neck and took her seat with resolution.

"Your sister's not joining us?"

She glanced at the empty chair. "I believe she's preoccupied."

"Visiting Mr. Poe again."

He must have been informed by the guards. Alice nodded, and her father sighed.

"Is this all to antagonize Duncan?" He sounded reluctant to ask, having little to do with his daughters' suitors beyond granting Duncan permission to court Cora.

"No."

"Truly attached, is she?"

Alice nodded again.

"Damn. Of all the blasted men in this fort, why him?" Her father growled out the words, his frustration evident.

The question was rhetorical, but Alice answered it anyway. "He's a good man." Honest, unlike some people.

Papa waved his hand dismissively. "He's a malcontent."

An idea struck Alice. "He's a Mohican, and should not be subject to British law."

"Whatever he calls himself, he was born an Englishman."

"But the Mohicans consider him family; it would not do to upset our allies."

"We have no treaty with their tribe—they are here solely at my leave."

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but her father cut in.

"—And such presence, I might add, places them under martial law."

"Even so, is it in the best interest of the Crown to risk the ire of an entire tribe?" She looked down at her plate as she spoke, knowing full well how few Mohicans were left to make this a creditable threat.

"A tribe of three?" He gave her a wry smile. "Certainly."

Of course—Duncan must have informed him of their background. She felt her face warm at being caught in the prevarication, but pressed on, grasping for another argument that would give her purchase.

"Chingachgook is their chief. Should not his sons be considered princes, and given due reverence?"

"Princes." Papa chuckled and threw down his napkin. "My dear, if you were born a man you'd make a formidable barrister."

She sat up straight, brightening.

He fixed an eye on her. "No. That's not how it works for Indians. And releasing Mr. Poe is out of the question."

Alice sagged back into her chair.

"However, these are all arguments he's free to make at his trial."

She stared at her food, glum. "He won't win a trial."

"No, because he's guilty. And if he was a man worthy of my daughter's affections, he would not have broken the law."

Her father continued to eat as they drifted off into silence. Alice caught herself staring at the scar on his neck as he chewed.

"Papa. Why didn't you tell us you almost died?"

He paused but continued eating. "That is an exaggeration."

She nodded to his neck. "If the bullet were a hair's breadth over, it would be an understatement."

He placed his fork down, giving her his full attention. "I didn't want you to worry, girl."

"Because I can't handle it?"

"Because you shouldn't have to carry that burden to begin with. It's a risk I accepted when I chose to serve my king. Now where did you hear of it?"

"The distinguished Lt. Ashton, whom you should know is a jug-bitten lout."

He grimaced. "I had Phelps provide him with alcohol to aid in his recovery. Perhaps that was hastily done."

"I believe he'd have found a way, regardless."

Papa frowned and leaned forward. "Was he impertinent with you?"

"Said something about nits making lice."

Her father relaxed back into his seat, but still looked troubled. "Well, that's soldiers' talk for you. Bound to come across it here."

"You agree with him, then?"

"Don't be obscene, girl." He frowned, examining his glass of wine as he spoke. "Lt. Ashton has shown exemplary service. He survived the attack on Fort Miller and was ransomed back to us. It's... given him impetus."

"And that justifies the murder of women and children in this war?"

He clenched his jaw and hesitated, as if choosing his words. Alice wondered if he was going to lie to her, but they both knew she had already learned the truth. "That was not done deliberately."

"Setting fire to their homes while they're still inside sounds awfully deliberate to me."

"The village was a staging point for raids, Alice. It had to be sacked. Those inside should have had time to flee. But the French had just sent them a shipment of powder, which they stored in their homes. We had no way of knowing." He started in on his food again. "That is the price of war here. It is not your concern."

"On the contrary, I believe it should be everybody's concern. Especially that they have retaliated in kind."

"Retaliation? It's been over a year since the expedition."

"Do you think they forgot the loss of their families? A Huron spent all that time gaining the trust of his captors, infiltrating this fort, and waiting until the moment you sent for us to make his move. That's blood vengeance, Papa. And no how much you assure me everything is all right, it does not make it so."

She stood and collected her untouched food along with her sister's.

"Alice, wait."

"I'm taking this to Cora." She spat out the words as if daring him to challenge her.

He did not.

Not wanting to intrude on their privacy, Alice dropped off the food with Cora and Nathaniel and made her leave.

"Wait!" Nathaniel called after her.

She returned, frowning in confusion.

"Can you deliver another message?"

Alice didn't have to think about it. "No."

"Alice!" Cora looked shocked, and Alice felt her face heat up.

"The last one was about me, I'm hardly going to repeat that mistake again."

Nathaniel chuckled. "I see why he started calling you a doe."

The sudden change of topic disconcerted Alice. "What? He does not."

He narrowed his eyes and smiled as if she had played into his hands. Suddenly, Alice realized he never said whom he was referring to. "Oh yes. You act all gentle, but then you've got a dangerous set of hooves."

At her confusion, he kicked the bars lightly, and Cora laughed. "Oh my word, it's true."

Thoroughly embarrassed, Alice folded her arms and looked away. "I do not kick, and I resent the implication."

"That's right, you play dead, like a possum."

Alice did not dignify that with a response. She had no idea what a 'possum' was, but it did not sound nice.

Apparently Cora didn't know either, because she let it pass, and addressed Alice with affection. "My dear, you can lash out at times." To Nathaniel she added: "Do I get a name then?"

He grinned affectionately. "You're a catamount, through and through."

Alice felt her lips quirk despite herself. Her sister was certainly ferocious enough to live up to the name, and she treated Alice like her cub. Were mountain lions territorial?

Cora laughed delightedly, then gasped. "You know, I saw one along the George Road. Just before the attack."

"As I said, then." Nathaniel reached through the bars to cup her cheek, and Alice took the opportunity to sidle away.

He caught the movement. "Alice. Please. I have no other choice here."

Nathaniel indicated the cell around him, and she felt her heart twist. With a groan, she acquiesced. "All right, what's the message?"

"It's for Uncas. Say: keholàk."

"Does it really have to be a secret?"

"Oh, I'd hardly call it a secret."

"But it's in Mohican!"

He laughed. "No, that's Delaware."

She sighed, not understanding the joke. Perhaps Uncas would tell her.

Alice left to go find Uncas and Chingachgook. After she scoured the parade ground a couple times with no luck, she finally decided to approach a Mohawk she'd seen with them earlier.

She reminded herself that there was no need for embarrassment. She was simply trying to deliver a message, and make sure the two were fed. But it was difficult for her to strike up conversation with a stranger, especially when they hadn't been introduced.

"Pardon me, sir. Have you seen the Mohicans?"

The Indian nodded toward the barracks.

"I see." She tried to tamp down on her disappointment that he had gone to bed without waiting to see her. Perhaps it was deliberate. Did he believe they should see nothing at all of each other from now on? She hesitated, but supposed if Nathaniel said the message wasn't a secret, that it wouldn't matter. "Do you mind giving Uncas a message?"

He grunted, and she took that for an affirmation.

"Tell him: keholàk."

He let out a chuff of laughter and walked away.

Alice stood confused for a moment, hoping they had understood each other, then wandered off. Her mind drifted back to the story she had learned this night until she found herself back at the infirmary. She entered the L-shaped store room as she had many times before, and crawled onto the row of crates in the corner, hidden from view of the door.

After a minute or so, it opened. Alice got to her feet with reluctance as Mr. Phelps appeared, making his way to extinguish the candle burning on the wall. He caught sight of her first.

"Beg your pardon, Alice. About to call it a night. Nearly locked you in!" He chuckled despite the dark circles under his eyes.

Alice responded with what she thought was a smile, but Mr. Phelps frowned disconcertedly.

"I'll just... leave you to it. Lock up when you're done, then." He handed her the key to the door's lock and made himself scarce.

Alice examined the key before pocketing it and returning to her spot in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees. It was an odd place to find refuge, she supposed, but the herbaceous, medicinal smell reminded her of being a child again—back before she knew the horrors of the world.

Uncas rolled over as someone collapsed onto the cot beside him. Though he was exhausted and looked forward to the night being over, it was difficult to rest as men came filtering in and out of the barracks. That, and his mind kept going over the failures of the last 36 hours. The best he could do was not think of how much worse it would get tomorrow night.

"Yellow-hair was looking for you."

At the sound of quietly spoken Delaware, Uncas's eyes flew open, and he turned towards Sharitarish. The Mohawk already had his eyes closed against the candlelight.

After a moment of silence, Uncas realized he wasn't going to make this easy. "She say why?"

Sharitarish smiled. "Had a message for you."

Uncas willed himself to be patient. "And?"

"Better you hear it from her."

Uncas hesitated, bone-tired and knowing his next action would be noted by both Sharitarish and his father. But he got to his feet anyway, taking his knife and tomahawk with him.

As he left the barracks, Chingachgook spoke resignedly.

"Be more careful than your brother."

He wanted to explain to his father that there wasn't anything to worry about, but realized sneaking off to visit a Colonel's daughter was never going to be an entirely innocent thing. "Always, father."

Uncas looked towards Munro's quarters first. Seeing the firelight flicker through the windows, he knew no one slept inside yet. So where in this fort would a doe run off to?

When he determined he was not being watched, Uncas slipped into the infirmary's store room. At first glance, it appeared empty. He rounded the corner to find Alice curled up against the wall, sitting on a row of crates.

She hadn't registered his presence. Instead, her eyes stared vacantly at his moccasins, her mind having retreated in on itself.

Nothing worried him more than that look.

He knelt before her, peering into her face. Alice blinked, a flicker of confusion at finding him here. Wordlessly, he placed his tomahawk on the ground, got to his feet, and sat beside her. He pulled her close and encircled his arms around her, drawing her to his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Làpi pal, Nushètu." You must come back, Doe.

Uncas wondered what Alice's world was like before she came here. Reading books, embroidering beautiful things. It held peace and calm—not this constant fear, like a deer that had been run to ground, only to begin the chase over and over again. A creature of the forest could not live that way indefinitely. How would it change Alice Munro?

He listened as her breathing became deeper, felt her body loosen. She was present.

He murmured against her hair. "Tell me?"

Silence. Then, a whisper.

"I know why Magua wants to kill us." As her breathing hitched, she haltingly told him the story she had pieced together from Ongewesgone, Lt. Ashton, and her father. "Do you think... if the fort falls. All of us in it. My family, the regiment, Ashton, the Mohawks. Everyone who participated, gone. Would that be justice?"

"No. Never." The denial felt inadequate. He wished he could express in words how terrible all of this was. How she ought to have more than the comfort of a man who could never give her the life she deserved, let alone be seen with.

"But maybe, it could all stop. If the French took the fort, and the Hurons went home. Other Indians, too. Maybe it would stop with us."

"Won't end. The war's bigger than any of us, Nushètu. That's why we're leaving." There was nothing but death here, and nothing she could do.

Uncas knew the feeling. Like the men of his tribe, he held on to the fear, the anger, all the grief that would be thrown at him—took it, and channeled it into purpose. Action. It was nearly impossible to find an honorable purpose in this war. The best he could do was protect those he cared for.

Yet he couldn't hold this fort up on his own, couldn't get Alice out of here, couldn't do anything for Nathaniel but wait. What hope was there? The Camerons, his tribe, his mother—all good things fled this world too soon.

His arms tightened around Alice.

When she moved away and unfurled her limbs, he felt one more pang of loss. But she simply wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him closer to her. He released a breath as he buried his face against her shoulder, only realizing then how much he needed this. Needed her.

"Uncas?"

He grunted.

"Does Nushètu mean doe?"

He nodded against her shoulder.

"I like it."

The whispered confession made him smile. The next one made him still.

"Keholàk." You are the one that I love.

Uncas was instantly brought back to the time his brother teased him about finding a Delaware-speaking woman. 'She will say 'You are the one.' Bear him many children.' He pulled back far enough to look up into Alice's startled eyes.

"Did I just say something obscene?"

She clearly had no idea, and Uncas wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He smiled, shook his head, and leaned into her once more.

"No. Very nice." But he was absolutely going to kill Nathaniel.

Together, they drifted off into sleep.

Notes:

- "Nits will be lice" and variants thereof was a saying used to justify the killing of children throughout history, nits meaning the eggs of headlice.

- The expedition here is mostly based off of the Kittanning Expedition, which was a raid/massacre conducted on a Lenape village in 1756. Lt. Ashton is partially based off of it's leader, Lt. Col. John Armstrong, whose brother was killed during the attack on Ft. Granville in which the Lenape gained their prisoners.

Inspiration: TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan