A/N: This was a very challenging chapter for me: writing the Colors of the Wind sequence in a believable way. If you think there's anything I can improve on, please leave a comment!

I really can't tell you why I began to follow him, but I did.

Perhaps it was because I had never seen anyone like him before. All of my people, even the other Algonquian and Iroquois tribes miles down the coast, had the same smooth bronze skin, straight black hair, and piercing dark eyes. But this man was different. His skin was drained of all color, bleached like a bone that has been sitting in the sun. His hair was a fluffy pale yellow, as soft-looking as a duckling's down. His eyes were piercing, too, but rather than a dark brown or black, they were the same dark blue as the ocean he had come from. His appearance was quite startling. Maybe he really had come from out of the sea, and the water had drained all of the color from him, except that blue.

Even though he frightened me somewhat, my heart told me to follow him. I couldn't believe that I had thought before that listening to the spirits was done with your ears. I kept myself hidden so I could observe him better, and as he went further and further inland, I found myself liking him more and more. He seemed to have a zeal for life and discovery that I hadn't seen in any of the young men of my tribe. His eyes sparkled with each newfound trail, and he laughed at any point where it seemed like he was in immediate danger. Just like you, a voice whispered. I wondered how it would feel to go diving off of the cliffs with someone who didn't think I was suicidal or insane.

As soon as I finally caught up with him, though, I realized I'd made a mistake. He jumped out from behind a waterfall, his mouth set in a fierce snarl, what I assumed to be a weapon pointed right at me. I hadn't been that scared in my entire life. But as I prayed to the Great Spirit to please deliver me, his expression changed. He stared at me as though he was afraid I would disappear. Maybe I would have—it was all a sort of dream, with dark grey clouds covering the entire sky, blue shadows laid over the cove, and the gentle mist of the waterfall rising around us. Maybe I had entered a place of the spirits, where no sunlight could enter. The only light came from his yellow hair, a halo that glowed around his head. Maybe he was that spirit, who had summoned me here and was pulling me closer with his ocean blue eyes. An unearthly chill ran through my body, down to my fingertips. But I wasn't foolish—man or spirit, he had just been about to kill me! And he kept getting closer and closer. Before I went any further into waters too deep for my comprehension, I ran.

The man from the sea said something in a strange tongue. I panicked even more. "I don't understand you," I said in Powhaton. I even tried to make the hand sign for it. My father had told me that all of our people—from the Hurons far to the north, to the Seminole far to the south—could communicate in this language, maybe even more that we did not know about. How could this man not understand it?

But the song was back. It swelled up around me, and I could even feel it rushing through my blood. Its drumbeat became the pounding of my heart, and the same shimmering leaves swirled as I took his hand. Is this what you want? I felt, rather than thought. In answer, a shower of purple, pink, gold, and blue rained over us, more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. And, just as I could now understand the language of the world, I understood the words he spoke to me. He wanted to know my name.

"Pocahontas."

John Smith. His name was so strange, so short, with sounds that stayed in your mouth and teeth, nothing deep or wide. But I liked it as much then as I do now. My mind could barely fit itself around this larger-than-life man, who had been so many places, places I had never heard of. He had fought in wars, served princesses, explored distant lands, and now he had come here on a ship (as I learned the clouds and the vessel attached to them were called). His hands and face became animated as he talked, and displayed a wide range of emotions and expressions. His nostrils would flare when he spoke of battles, his eyes floated up to the sky when he mentioned exploring as if he were following that northward star even now. Graceful hands painted me pictures in the air of London, with its bridges and streets and buildings as tall as trees.

Even so, he seemed anxious to learn about my land—our language, landforms, everything. I was probably one of the smarter girls in the village, but I had never before felt so knowledgeable. I taught him a simple sign that, in our language, meant wingapo, and meant hello in his.

I see it even now, our first meeting. It thrilled me to hear everything about this world I never knew existed, until he said that one word. Savages.

I recoiled at the sound of it. It was a word my people did not use even toward our worst enemies, because even enemies are human and have their own way of life. But savages? Ignorant people who are only worthy of being walked on beneath your mockasins? Who could ever deserve such a name? Only a wicked person would use it!

He tried to assure me that he had not meant me, but I could see it in the condescending way he had spoken to me. As if I were only a foolish, ignorant savage to whom he could brag about his superior way of life. As always, my mood changed quickly, and soon I was furious with him. Why had I even come here? Let him go back, let him find his own way through our land. If I was lucky, maybe a wild animal would teach him a lesson in humility.

But I could still see the vibrant young man who I had followed, his arms spread wide to let the whole world in. Perhaps there was something in him that was willing to be taught. I leaped down in front of him, staring straight into his eyes. I felt pulled into them, and my mind wandered in the blue depths. Once again, I heard the song. But now I recognized where it had come from.

When I was little, my mother would tell me the story of how the Great Spirit formed the world. But, as I had never been able to sit still long enough to listen till the end, she began to sing the story. Sometimes she would make the images with her hands, other times she would illustrate by taking me outside and letting me touch each object as it was formed. I knew the story by heart because of that song, but now different words formed in my head. They were strange words, but somehow, I understood them. Would he? I turned around to see if he was following me, and led him into my world.

I showed him my meaning in the same way my mother had—we touched every creation. Could he see the error of his ways? Could he see the lives that had before been invisible to him that were so important to us? I smiled at his astonished grin as he picked up a tiny bear cub, whose mother he had been about to shoot only moments earlier. A wolf howled far away as we looked up at the stars, constellations that I had known all my life now seeming even brighter. As we stood near a waterfall, I felt myself being blown away, and our hands grasped one another as we swirled around and around, diving down the falls. He was trying hard to keep up with me, but instead of the uncertainty I had seen earlier on his face, there was now only pure joy. Running, and swimming, and then drying off in the sun, time passed so fast it seemed like it was all in my mind, and he laid his head down on my hair as I whispered,

And we are all connected to each other…in a circle, in a hoop that never ends…

The sky was dark pink and red, like sunset, as we watched two eagles fly to the top of a sycamore tree. The wind had picked up once more, and I brought him to the cliff I dived from. Arms open, I lifted my face towards the sky. He was solemn, and when the glittering leaves blew past him, he reached out his fingers to feel them fly.

And then we were back where we began, kneeling together on the ground. It seemed like everything and nothing had happened, and I could hear my voice singing low in my throat, almost as though it belonged to someone else.

You can own the earth and still,

All you'll own is earth until…

You can paint—

With all the colors

Of the

Wind…

And as I let the earth run through my fingers into his hands, I knew that he had understood, too.