A/N – meh, review story, not grammar, other than that – more reviews, more chapters ! p.s. might have mixed up the events a little bit…oh well. Tarot is mentioned in this chapter, honestly don't want to hear people's opinions about it, whether you like it or not, (especially if not) and if some of the details differ from your own experience and knowledge. My story, my rules.

The caves were meant to protect them. From the cold night and scavenging animals, but not from attack. The Hurons ambushed them at the in the early hours of the morning, when the skies were still barely lit. The unprepared red coats, stationed outside the rocky caverns were outmanoeuvred by the experienced battle seasoned Indians. In few numbers, some slipped passed the sleeping soldiers, and then in a pincer movement, attacked, causing as much chaos and havoc as possible while Magua and his party entered the mouth of the cave, unnoticed. Like an ant hill, he knew the more important morsels were inside, hidden in the many tunnels of the cave. He had too few warriors to truly fight the English dogs, for now, he had to use his cunning, wise use his little time, and snare his prey. The Munroe sisters, Grey Hair's offspring. With the prize within his grasp, Magua willed him-self to keep his wits about him. The English now had the accursed Mohicans trio accompanying them. They were skilled. More likely to throw a thorn in his plans. Clutching the dagger at his side, Magua prepared him-self for the worst. With victory so close at hand, he refused to give up!

The noise of the attack outside no doubt stirred those inside the caverns. Magua dashed inside with his party, soon finding the discarded makeshift fire and camp, now smouldering and abandoned. There were many tunnels in the caverns he could not risk to lose them. Dividing his forces Magua took one tunnel in particular, accompanied by five other warriors. He had caught the glint of fire light in front of him. Rapidly he increased his step until finally he seemed to have cornered his prey.

"Hurry, hurry!" Hawkeye shouted, pushing Alice, Cora, Heyward and Robin ahead of him as he fired his musket back at the encroaching Hurons. Everything happened so fast. One moment Robin was huddled by a warm fire, finally asleep, before being roughly shaken by Hawkeye, told to grab her rucksack and run. They were under attack. Without question Robin snagged her satchel and ran after Heyward of the Munroe sisters. Blindly they ran around twists and turns, aimlessly looking for an escape. They came to a dead end, faced with a wall of crushing water and a 10ft drop into the depths below. The men may survive the fall, but could the women? Already Hawkeye saw the sisters shaking with fear, clutching each other for comfort. He then looked to his brother, and then Chingachgook. They nodded to a conclusion. "Jump!" Uncas shouted, herding everyone closer to the edge of the slight cliff. It was either jump, throwing them-selves to the mercies of the water, or to the feet of the Huron. The choice was clear. Heyward jumped first, hugging Alice to him, while Cora clutched to Uncas. "Now, jump!" Hawkeye shouted as he and Chingachgook jumped, attempting to take Robin with him. But Robin did not move. Her heels dug into the rocky ground, anchoring her small wrist out of the Mohican's grasp before anything could be done. She was frozen with fear. The waters, the darkest of the depth shook her to her core. She had a paralyzing fear of water; ever since she was young she feared that if given the chance, the waters would swallow her up, for good. It was only the shuffling of feet behind her that broke her fear induced trance. Magua and his braves. Before she even thought of jumping once more, one of the Huron's yanked her away from the edge, locking her in his arms as Magua closed in.

"Where are they?" he hissed, his patience having been pushed to madness. Robin merely shook her head, refusing to answer. In anger Magua yelled out a Huron curse and struck her, rendering Robin near unconscious. The last she remembered, she saw him walking away, before she was hauled up over and onto the shoulder of the Huron holding her. Everything went black. The sound of water faded, and the whoops of Huron rang out before dying.

Hours, maybe days passed before Robin woke up, the exhaustion and hunger had got the better of her. Weakly she slowly woke up, barely sitting up before finding her hands bound and tied to a wooden peg, hammered into the hard ground. Blinking for a moment, dazed, she then looked around her, finding she was in some sort of shelter. It was a strange domed dwelling, with arched wooden frames. Layers of tanned pelted covered the whole circumference of the shelter. 'I'm in a tepee? A wigwam?' The thought jerked her up once more, but the length of the rope kept her in an awkward position. There was barely anything inside the dwelling with her. A few pots and baskets, nothing she could use for an escape. There was barely any light; she couldn't even find the door. Or see Magua, until he spoke, mockingly. "Little Bird finally stirs. Magua feared your spirit fled".

Robin made an impulsively jerk, unsure as to where he truly was. That was until his rough calloused hands clasped themselves on her shoulders, shaking her into submission. "Do not fight me, child. You will not win". Threateningly, he placed a familiar cool dagger to her cheek, enticing obedience. There was a long silence between them. Robin dare not speak, not with the blade so close to her throat. He could kill her, so easily. The silence however, seemed to irritate him. "Magua is wise to you, Little Bird. Your trickery does not fool the Huron". The tension in her body, under his grasp, confirmed his suspicion. Again, he shook her violently. "Speak!"

Reluctantly defeated, Robin finally muttered, in a low voice. "Where am I?"

Magua seemed pleased with her small response. The pressure of his hold lessened. "Lenape tribe village. Huron allies". – Which meant little chance of escape or rescue.

Finding her lips suddenly dry, she wetted them shyly with her tongue. Again she asked softly, afraid to even ask. "Why am I here?". Was she to be some sort of sacrifice, spoils of war to be put to work? Or perhaps a prisoner of war, saved for bargaining. None seemed to coincide with Magua's mood. Despite the darkness of the wigwam, Robin could feel the slight scowl twisting on the Huron's face before her. "Grey hair's brood might have escaped me, but not you"

She blinked in confusion. "Grey hair?" Who is Grey hair? He did not answer her. Instead her removed the blade from her throat, and with expert precision, served the rope that bound her to the wooden stalk. With her hands still bound he roughly pulled her up to her feet, grunting a simple, "Up" before forcing out of the hidden flap of the wigwam. The bright light of day stunned her eyes, disorientating her with the surrounding blurred colours and loud activity of the vivid village life. Before she even found her feet she was half dragged through the village, onlookers watching with mild interest as if it was a source of entertainment. Staggering to a halt he then threw her down to the dusty dirt floor, intending to keep her down by placing his foot on her captive hands. Huffing in annoyance she took a chance to adjust her vision, and soon found her-self in the heart of a small gathering. Mostly men had gathered, outside a predominantly decorated wigwam, whilst women and children stayed back, curious but still busy with chores.

"What is happening?" she muttered, not intending to be heard. But Magua responded anyway, almost mockingly, "Judgement, you Christians call it"

I am not Christian she grudgingly thought, tempted to cuss him for all the misery he had caused. But in such a public gathering, she decided against it. Her fur trader friend taught her scraps of Indian culture. Above all else, honour and face meant everything, and insults were not taken lightly. Best to keep your 'head down and nose clean', as he used to say. Before a Cherokee brave scalped him from trespassing.

There were murmurs amongst the crowd, which soon silenced once a figure exited the wigwam before her. Robin recognised the figure as the Lenape chief, simply by the impressive garbs he bore. A rich navy blue shawl strung around his shoulders and over his arm with a large well decorated pouch hung around his otherwise thick stocky neck. Adorned with various ornaments made of stone, shell, animal teeth, and claws, his thick black hair hung loose with porcupine quills and leather stripes. He was a well-aged man, leather tanned skin showing the wrinkles planes of his face. Yet he still presented him-self with power, shoulders drone back, with a menacing tomahawk fixed in his right hand, now resting on his left. He actually appeared to have little interest in Robin, whom was literally pinned at his feet, like a sacrificial offering. Instead the Lenape and Huron exchanging looks of familiarity and spoke in a shared tongue.

"Only one white man? Not even a man, a boy. Has time away from your tribe dulled your skills, Huron fox?"

Magua rebuffed the remarked with practice skill. "In time the others will fall, like the mighty moose. Only through endurance and persistence is it then wrestled down by the wolves. I ask of you to watch over this one. His voice shames even the birds. I shall find use for him, when my revenge is sated and I return"

The chief seemed unimpressed but none the less agreed. "A mere boy barely seems worth the trouble. But I shall honour your request."

With the 'pleasantries' apparently completed the Lenape chief seated himself down before his wigwam, conversing with those nearby whilst Magua began ruffling through her satchel, soon emptying the contents out onto the floor. He seemed uninterested in most of the scavenged junk. On the floor laid a spare equally tatty shirt, a broken compass and dented tin cup. Nothing seemed valuable enough take, until Magua's eyes spotted the bright velvet bag, cautiously hidden under the cover the tattered shirt. When he reached for it, Robin lurked forward viciously. "Do not touch those!" desperately, she scrambled to her feet, only to be quickly rebuffed.

"You command me?" Magua angrily glared at her, chided her silently for her outburst. He had half a mind to strike her then, but his curiosity got the better of him. What did the bag hold, and what did it mean to Little Bird? "What is it?" He cautiously fingered the bag open, peeking inside with reserved wariness.

Robin quickly grew quiet, avoiding Magua's inquisitive gaze. "Cards…" she shrugged dismissively, before quickly adding. "But they are mine"

Magua only scoffed dismissively, tipping the cards into his hands, "Mine now, Little Bird". He took a moment to look at them, apparently puzzled. They were strange, unlike any he had seen before. No two images were the same. The bright colours and images were strangely enchanting with untold visual stimulation, as if each card had a tale behind, a tale he wanted to know. Inspecting one card after another he knelt before her, quietly with firm intent, he probed "What sort of cards? These are not the cards of white men"

Again Robin delayed her response, as if uncertain of her own. Warily she glanced between him and the cards in his grasp, only inches away from her. Licking her lips, arrogances suddenly blossomed. "They are tarot. Only mine to read. Anyone who touches them, without my permission, are cursed!"

"Witchery!" Magua suddenly accused, shooting to his feet and casting the offending item aside, much to the exasperation of Robin. The murmurs suddenly grew, the thought of witchery clearly causing a commotion. Even the Lenape chief shot Robin a look of suspicion. Quickly she corrected her outburst. Pleading her case quickly, she grasped at straws. "Are your shaman's witches too? Through those cards, I tell the future. Only the future, nothing more! Is it no different from the visions you seek for guidance? You judge as quickly as white men!"

Her argument seemed to win slight favour. The crowd calmed, but now the air was buzzing with curiosity. Magua's own interest peaked. Leisurely, he knelt before her, glancing at the cards before jutting his chin. "Read them, to me, here and now. Prove your words, child". Robin had no right to refuse.

Gingerly licking her lips, she calmly reasoned, with a gesture of her shoulders. "I cannot read with my hands tied". After a tense moment of silent negotiation Magua relented, untying her bindings. Robin took the chance to inspect her tender wrists, now almost rubbed raw. Magua's impatient grunt allowed her little time to recover. Reluctantly she begrudgingly asked. "What is your question?" When Magua remained silent, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "The future is vague, if not focused. Ask a question, for me to answer." She made it sound so simple. But tarot was no simple matter. It was an ancient art of divination, passed down through generations, and always followed with persecution. In whispers fortunes were read. Kings, were promised their crowns, and men, foretold their deaths. Robin's grandmother was an adapt fortune teller, her sight so profound, her name was legendary. Though now long since dead, her legacy rested on Robin's young shoulders. And so far she was doing swimmingly… A runaway orphan, stuck in a god forsaken worn torn land, not a prisoner to natives. Fate had the most twisted sense of humour, for those it rarely smiled upon.

Brought out of her thoughts Robin vaguely registered Magua's dismissive shrugged. "The moose hunt. Will the hunt be bountiful?". He chose his question carefully. Magua still had his suspicions. He had to be cautious. He watched as she, with moderate skill, shuffled the cards, muttering to her a small chant of some kind. He barely heard her whispers. "The past. The present. The future"

Disruptively Magua chided. "Magua does not ask for what he already knows. Only the future"

With equal stubbornness Robin countered with a final shuffle, "The future cannot exist without the past. If you wish me to read the cards, then I must read them right". That seemed to silence him, for now. With a gesture she proceeded, splitting her deck of 78 cards into three piles, and taking one card off each stake, laying out for Magua, and those crowding round, to see. The Three of Pentacles, The Wheel of Fortune, upside down, and finally The Sun. Staring intently at the cards, Robin finally spoke, the air of her voice, carrying a degree of strange authority, of which Magua had not expected. "Hunts have been plentiful in the past, but now, the moose are few. There will be a harsh winter coming…" Her teal eyes almost grew dazed with intensity.

Magua impatiently pressed for details, yet he could not deny his inner interest. "Where are the moose?" What she had said had been true. But was it all simple luck, vague guesses? He couldn't decide. Not yet.

After a long silence, she finally answered, tearing her gaze up to meet his. "The mountains. Follow the main river, not the streams. They have gone to higher ground for better feeding, before snow comes and settles. Summer will end quickly this year, much quicker than before" she took a steady breath, preparing to deliver the unfavourable news, "The hunt will not be plentiful. Best try another day, when the sun is high and it is still warm out for the moose to wander. You would be better off hunting small game. The deer are still in season". She recalled Chingachgook brief mention of the dwindling deer. 'Best hunt now, whilst they are plenty and pleasant'. Alone, in the enemy camp, Robin couldn't help but miss the elder Mohican. She wondered where he was now, with his mismatched pair of sons, Major Heyward and the sisters. She hoped they were doing better than her-self. But it seemed fate gave her a small smile of favour. Despite the unfavourable news, a whisper of excited chatter erupted from the gathered masses of the village, though it was soon silenced by Magua's suspicious accusation. "How does Magua know this is no trick? Lead the Huron party astray so you can flee?"

Now it was Robin who dismissively shrugged, collecting her cards to reshuffle and pack away. "Even if your party leaves, I am outnumbered, in unfamiliar lands. The odds are not in my favour", affectionately patting her cards in the velvet bag, she once more muttered. "I am also honour bound by the cards"

With this Magua erupted into laughter, dismissing the seriousness of her tone. "What does a white dog know about honour?"

Robin quickly retorted without thought. "More than you!"

"Watch your tongue, witch, or I will relieve you of it" he coolly rebuffed her, though there was a warning in his eyes. He would not be so forgiving if she continued. They were still in public; he could easily flog her for insulting him. Here she was minority.

Robin quickly explained, reciting the words her grandmother had often recounted to her in her youth. "When taught the art of reading, we vow to always speak the truth. Whatever the cards tell us, we must convey. We are honour bound, to speak the future to those who seek it. If you believe I lie, then my life is yours for payment"

Magua stared down at her, a game of wills in silent play. Kneeling before her once more, knife drawn and pointing under her chin, he whispered with unfamiliar anticipation. "By sundown, I will return. We shall see if your words prove true". With that he grunted in Huron to his underlings, ushering her back to the wigwam, once she had scrambled to collect the rest of her discarded knickknacks. Robin would not see Magua again until later that night.

She was still sleep when Magua entered unannounced. He had half a mind to kick the lazy the child awake for acknowledgement. Instead he settled on the ground nearby, and simply opted to swat her over the head. She jerked awake rather comically to him, drowsily rubbing the sleep from her eyes, before spotting the glint of knife on the floor. Without thought, she asked, "Have you come to kill me?"

Despite the poor light, coming through the open flap of the wigwam, she could still feel the uncharacteristic smile in his voice. "You have proved your worth. No moose tonight. But rabbit and deer good enough. The chief is pleased. We eat tonight at least". Magua roughly pulled her up to sit, having already made him-self comfortable, knife and bowl in hand. "Eat" He stabbed the knife in the broth, by luck spearing a fair size chunk of what she assumed was meat. Deer, she hoped.

Robin cautiously eyed the bowl of meaty stew, certain of both the taste and intentions behind it. Was the meat rotten, did he wish to sicken her? Or perhaps poison, to test her resilience. Despite her hunger, she refuses, shaking her head sheepishly before drawing back. Magua started hard at her, once more offering the chunk of meat off the tip of the blade. "Eat or starve", he almost waved it at her, allowing the aroma to finally hit her nostrils. Victory flashed across his eyes when finally Robin conceded. He fed her like a child, offering the pieces of meat by knife point, before tipping the rest of the mushy broth down her throat. He lacked care and moderation. Robin almost choked numerously from his forcful feeding method, all whilst he muttered how distastefully thin she was. "Only skin and bones. Nothing even for the crows to feed" He clumsily wipes the meaty juice from her jaw, before nonchalantly licking it clean in his mouth. Robin unconsciously shivered. It certainly wouldn't be considered proper civilized etiquette, but then again, she was in a different world now. One where she seemed to be the savage, bound and tied to the Huron as his prisoner. The curiosity of her predicament maddened her. Her fate was in his calloused hardened hands.

Sitting up, as comfortable as she could go, with her hands and feet bound, she asked what little nerve she had left to spare. "What are you going to do with me?" Since they had finished eating, there had been silence. For once it was Robin who was annoyed by this. She could only watch Magua sit before, sharpening his tomahawk by feel alone, as if she wasn't even there, worthy of his attention. With one last assertive slide of flint, Magua looked up, contemplating for a moment before cynically smiling, much to Robin's wariness.

"You truly wish to know?" Hesitantly, Robin nodded, slightly scurrying back when he advanced on his hands and knees. Effortlessly he cut her wrist restrained from her back, but still held them in one of his massive hands. He seemed to inspect the dainty fingers of her hands as he spoke, with a most surprisingly philosophical tone. "Magua can't decide. Scalp you first or torture" He further sneered as Robin's face returned to horror. As he expected she tried to move back, yanking to free her wrists from his clamp like grasp. "Maybe start with these pretty fingers? Take each one into my mouth, and bite them off, piece by piece" He did so, opening his mouth menacing whilst his gaze held Robin's.

Defiantly, Robin grasped for straws, blurting out the first thought that came to mind. Even if it was a lie. "I am not afraid of you"

Narrowing his eyes, Magua unkindly tested, "You should be". There was a tense moment of silence, before he suddenly lunged, tackling her to the ground. Like a wild cat Robin hissed and thrashed, trying to free her-self from the beast on top of her, now tearing at her mucky thin linen shirt. "Stop! No!" she thought for sure people outside heard the commotion, but none would come to investigate. What happened in one's wigwam was their own business. Through her copper locks Robin froze to see Magua raise the knife to her chest. It was then she saw what he was aiming for. Her shirt ripped open, only the bindings covering her breasts showed. The look of Magua's face seemed to have confirmed his own thoughts. With Robin finally still he slowly sliced half way down the section of wrapping until finally, as plain as day the valley of her breasts were visible. Robin feared he may very well cut through the whole of the wrapping, and expose her-self to him, but he did not make another move. Instead, he muttered lowly, "As Magua thought… a maiden, hidden as a brave." An amused grin spread across his otherwise taunt and hard features. His suspicions in the forests were true. The white boy, was in fact a white girl. He almost chided him-self for not recognising it sooner. Quickly recomposing him-self Magua sternly stated, "You are Magua's captive. You will dress as such"

Blushing unknowingly, Robin rebelliously bucked in an attempt to dislodge the large man off of her. "You can't do this to me!" she hated being told what to do, and like a temperamental child, Robin was prepared to shout, kick, and scream until her lungs gave out, before she submitted to another's demands.

The Huron quickly saw the challenging growing within her, and soon sought to put a stop to it. "Magua will do as he pleases, and you would do well to remember that!" Pulling her to her knees he shook her into submission until she quietened, before once more casting her aside to fall. "A squaw will come with clothes. Change, or Magua will send his Huron braves in to help you". No sooner had the words left his mouth did he regret them. The idea sparked a cramp of discomfort in his gut.

"You're bluffing" Robin suddenly accused, so assure of herself. She shot him a smirk of cheeky delight, as if she held a trick he didn't know about. "I read your tarot" she said simply, as if it was meant to mean something of importance. Before a brave entered the wigwam to once more tie her hands, Robin made what little use of her time she could. Her cards of her own future were vague and contradicting, but Magua was as plain as a picture book. "You are a marked man…scarred and tormented by life. As cold as stone and as deadly as the tomahawk you carry. You take what you think is yours, regardless of any obstacle. Like a fox, you protect mere scraps, simply because it's yours by right, and you refuse to share. I may be a lowly captive, but for now, I am your captive. You may not admit it, but it's true. You would rather force your own hand on me, then daring to let another do" she spoke with such uncharacteristic confidence, that even Magua was left speechless. For some reason the fact gave her some sense of assurance, heavens' know why. Taking courage from that, she once more challenged him, jutting her dimpled chin at him. "Tell me I'm wrong…"

After a moment of silence the Huron lashed out, clamping his grasp on Robin's jaw. He forced her to meet his eyes. Now daring her not to look away. "Do not tempt me with words you do not understand." His voice was below of whisper, but the intensity of the words still stung like an open flesh wound. "Make no mistake, Little Bird, you are Magua's captive. Your life belongs to Magua alone. A slave, a sister, a wife. Magua will say what you are to do. And now, child…Magua says change!"

With that the Huron left, viciously slapping the flap of the wigwam shut, not leaving her even a second to reply. A slave…a sister…a wife? Did she even have those options? Despite Magua stubborn assurance of keeping her alive, Robin got an unconscious feeling that her days were soon to be numbered. An uncomfortable feeling she was already aquatinted with.

A squaw soon came with a simple set of clothes, no sooner had she offered them to Robin, did she then turn and leave, lacing up the flap once more, leaving Robin to dress in the dark. At some point during the night, when she restlessly slept, someone –she assumed Magua – had entered the wigwam, and had taken her discarded scrap clothes. All she could remember whilst falling asleep was the distinctive smell of fire and smoke kindling nearby. They had burned her clothes.

A/N – chapter 3 ! hoped you like it, review and rate !