His face was burned behind my eyelids even as I had clawed at the red-haired boy who had shot him. I heard that silent question pounding in my ears even when John was being dragged away by warriors who had heard the shot. And when I looked down at his face in the water, softer then than it had ever been in life, I could not answer. I could only whisper softly and hope his spirit understood. "You deserved better than a girl who could not love you. You had the strength of the bear. I'm so sorry."

I'm so sorry.

I was still whispering those words as I knelt at the edge of my village. How could I have done this? My mistake had already cost one person his life, would cost another his own, and might even manage to kill my entire village.

"Father, forgive me!" I had cried hysterically.

"You have shamed your father. Take him away!" he shouted, gesturing towards John. The warriors led him roughly to the prison hut, and when I saw his struggling futilely in their arms, I broke down.

Kocoum had loved me, more than I had even known. And I had scorned him, not by ignoring him or coldly rejecting him, but by going against everything he had stood for. And even when he died, his look did not blame me, only asked why? How? How could his last sight be of me kissing a shaganash, as we had come to call these pale people, when he had loved me with all that he had?

And John. I had condemned him to death, too, even though he deserved nothing. He took the blame so that the younger one would go away free, without having to face the consequences of his action. It seemed that I had the power to harm everyone close to me, whether I loved them or not.

Thomas—that was the name of the boy—would most certainly go and tell his fellows that John had been captured. That meant that both sides were preparing for war. I realized that not only might my own people die, but some of John's as well. Why were the spirits torturing me? I must have gone wrong, stopped listening to them at some point, and now they were punishing me for rejecting the gift of understanding. I tore at my hair and held myself tighter, tighter, hoping I could squeeze myself into nonexistence.

Then Nakoma appeared. She must have been watching me, because she didn't look surprised at my tear-stained face. Oh, she had always been such a good friend to me, and yet I had thrown her advice to the wind, thinking that I knew more about the world than she. She took my hand.

"Pocahontas…I sent Kocoum after you." What? "I was worried…I thought I was doing the right thing."

I wanted to be angry at her, but that would simply be casting the blame where it did not belong. Even if she hadn't sent for Kocoum, he might have gotten some inkling that I was in danger, and come searching to find me. It seemed that things were destined to end this way. I assured her that it was not fault.

"Nakoma, all of this was because of me. I destroyed two people's lives, not you."

She tipped my head up, searching my face, and led me to John's tent.

When I lifted the flap, I was almost afraid to go over to him. I knew some of the things done to prisoners of war. Warriors might cut off pieces of the doomed person's skin, and then eat it in front of them. It might not have been as bad as some of the things I had heard John speak of in regards to English prisoners, but any harm was too much for one who did not deserve it.

In the soft glow of moonlight that was streaming through the smoke hole, I could see that he was hunched over from pain and exhaustion. Kneeling softly in front of him, I tipped his head up until it was at eye level with mine.

Tears began to fill my eyes. He looked older, and a hopeless calm that pierced my heart even more than desperation would have had settled over his face. At least they had decided to leave him whole. But when he recognized me, he glowed with relief. I could only cling to him, trying to make him forgive me for what I had done to him, and whispering my own prayer to my mother that she watch over him and Kocoum when they joined her in heaven.

"Don't worry, I've gotten out of worse scrapes than this. Can't think of any right now, but…" He was trying to joke with me about it, but how could I laugh? It was my fault!

"If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened. You know that."

"Pocahontas, look at me. I'd rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you." I was speechless. How could he possibly—but he was speaking once more.

"Pocahontas, when I met you I was empty. Even though I had seen so much and known so much, I was always after more. That's why I travelled, to fill up the emptiness I couldn't seem to get rid of." He leaned over to touch his nose to mine. "I never had a true friend before I met you, much less a true lover, which is why you're worth more than anything I could have found in ten lifetimes without you. So yes. I'd rather die happy tomorrow than live one hundred miserable years without you."

I couldn't believe it. I had found what I was looking for from the beginning—a complementary soul. I felt now like my father told me he felt when he met my mother—here was someone I could grow old with, while we filled each other's life-cups with joys and sorrows. But—no. No. There would be no life! He was going to die tomorrow! I cursed myself silently for giving up everything that might have been good in my life.

"But John, you should be scorning me. I took even that away from you. I don't know how, but I did." It struck me that I didn't even realize how I had caused this mess. Maybe it was so many things that they were impossible to count.

"No, I should be thanking you. You know how arrogant I was when we first met. I don't know how anyone stood to be around me." I couldn't help but laugh at that, remembering that I had wished (momentarily, of course) that a wild animal would attack him, or something equally horrible and unlikely.

"But…what will I do without you?" It sounded so weak, more vulnerable than I had ever let myself be around him, and I thought I knew what his answer would be anyway. You'll move on, being the wise woman you've always been. He had always called me a woman, even though I had only ever thought of myself as a girl.

"I'll always be with you. Forever."

And before I could even process this in my mind, Nakoma was leading me out, but not before I felt him softly kiss my palm. He had promised that his spirit would always dwell with me, even after he died. Could he even do that? I didn't know, and no soft breeze was there to tell me. There could only be one reason why.

I had followed the wrong path.