Magua was, year-wise, just coming out of his prime. But on a spiritual level, he felt centuries old. His soul was bitter and tired. Therefore he was completely prepared to embrace death.
But now there were these…these damned kids that came out of nowhere, playing doctors with him. He wished for them to go away and leave him alone. All be damned, he couldn't even die in peace.
His vision was all bleary and unfocused. And was that the same young man who came to fight for Yellowhair on the cliffs? He really should have slit his throat when he had the chance. If he knew he was going to be the one disturbing his final moments, he would have tried to kill him all that sooner.
He still slipped in and out of conciousness, but could remember certain fragments inbetween. After imbibing the first gulps of water in days (with the assistance of unknown hands), he lapsed back into hallucinations, which he guessed was a better sign than the infinite black nothing he was in before. He couldn't perceive what was going on around him in the real world. His senses weren't functioning properly. During one of those feverish nightmares, his left hand subconsciously started feeling around for the knife. That was surprising because at the time, he couldn't even remember what a knife was and that he possesed one, much less where he left it. It must have been instinct. The weapon was later removed from him by the same unseen hands. He couldn't tell when. He had no grasp on time.
He remembered being given more fluid in regular intervals. At some point his ears opened up and he could hear voices around him. Heavily distorted voices, but still. Also, a burning pain let its presence be known in his torso and it was that particular spot that unfortunately got prodded and poked at often. When he finally mustered up the energy to lift his eyelids, things danced around him. Sometimes it was people, others it was just trees.
All too soon for his taste, he could recognize them. It just had to be them, had it? He wanted to groan at his misfortune. At first it was just the dark Munro child and the young Mohican man, but after what felt like awhile, he could also discern the old Indian and his adopted Yengeese son through the crack in his eyelids. For a second there he also thought he saw the Yellowhair.
Yes, Yellowhair. He knew what the Sachem meant when he gave her to him. Take her and start a family again. Magua was repelled by the thought. Not the thought of having a family again, but of having a family with this scrawny kid. Not only was she the daughter of Greyhair (therefore he couldn't treat her with respect even if he tried), but the runt couldn't even take care of herself. How would she possibly be able to take care of children? If the ordeal on the cliffs would not have happened, he would have probably given her to some willing Huron brave to marry. Or if she would have fallen off the cliff. He really wouldn't have cared.
He tried to bring his tired mind to focus on his present situation. What did they want, exactly? Whatever it was, he was sure it was nothing he could give them. Or want to give them, for that matter. They could try getting it out of him by inflicting pain, but torture was an old friend of his.
Whatever it was, he decided to try and postpone the confrontation to another time. To a distant future, preferably. He just wasn't feeling well enough for it at the moment. He was in no condition to even lift a weapon, not to mention a battle of words. The Yengeese were always good at those. The Yengeese were always better at those than him.
And so he kept quiet and to himself, avoiding them by closing his heavy eyes. He didn't have the energy to care if they noticed this or not.