A warrior had to be good at waiting.

Because it was all in the timing. Too early, and you missed your chance. Too late was worse than too early.

But he wasn't hunting now, and he wasn't fighting. Or he hadn't thought he was.

The pale-haired, pale-eyed child he'd discovered and promised to protect in the last week certainly didn't look like any kind of opponent he had ever encountered. Sitting there in the rock bed with her tangled braid and vaguely sulky mouth. Uncas knew he'd offended her, but how or beyond that he couldn't guess. He was torn between amusement and irritation, not for the first time on this trip. He didn't want to be too hard on her, like the way he thought Nathaniel was being to Cora. Although that was different, because Cora was clearly stronger than Alice and he suspected she could give his older brother at least as much trouble as he gave her.

Maybe more.

Perhaps he'd gotten too confident. After all, Alice was one of the English, and a woman at that. Not only his polar opposite--they were more than worlds apart. He'd thought, at the beginning of all of this, that the hardest thing would be keeping them safe. Now he was starting to wonder if Chingachgook had somehow known. The hardest thing was going to be keeping her happy.

He wasn't sure why that mattered, but he knew that it did.

It was with relief that, in the early afternoon, he finally spotted the crest of the Delaware canoe surging into sight in the distance, and then he plunged into the shallows to meet it, helping to pull the dugout into shore and greeting his relative in the bow, whom he hadn't seen since that spring. "Nimat, my brother."

Machque vaulted out of the canoe and grabbed his forearm in greeting. "Uncas." He was a few years older, had a head completely shaven except for a long scalplock, and was bare-chested.

"How is my cousin?" They spoke in Delaware, which Uncas was not fluent in but had picked up from his visits at the camp, which had lasted weeks at a time when he'd been younger.

"Confined," Machque replied, and when Uncas didn't immediately understand the context of this he added, "My second son is on his way. Perhaps a daughter."

They pulled the canoe up to the rocks and set the paddles down. The stern paddler was not immediately recognizable to him, but they exchanged brief courteous greetings anyway and he realized it was Machque's younger brother, who seemed to have had grown at least a foot taller from the last time Uncas had seen him.

Machque turned back to Uncas. "Where's the Yengee girl?"

He indicated Alice in the distance with a jerk of his head. He felt oddly protective in that moment, looking back at her, and was relieved that the other man did nothing but grunt in appraisal.

"Better get her in the canoe," Machque said, surveying their surroundings. "This place may be overrun with French dogs before long."

Uncas went to get Alice, who had a look of extreme apprehension on her face, as she saw the new arrivals, but she willingly came with him. He took over the stern position and put her right in front of him, instructing her quietly to sit still on the bottom of the canoe and not move more than necessary. Machque and his younger brother took their places in the front, kneeling with the ease of those long accustomed to such positions, and they pushed away from shore.

The extra weight was more than compensated for by the fact that they were now going downstream, and since Uncas was fresh, they were able to maintain a good speed. The canoe had been built slim for greater maneuverability, but it sacrificed stability in exchange. As they paddled, the canoe inevitably lurched from side to side, and Uncas heard at least one squeak of fear from Alice as they rounded bends in the river and the canoe sagged to one side.

It was good to be moving again, even if they weren't going as fast as he could have gone on land and on foot. It was good to feel the canoe obey them, to adjust its progress with subtle motions of their paddles and bodies. It was good to be in control.

***

Two more nights passed before Nathaniel and Cora arrived near to the scene of the attack on what had been Fort Oswego.

The river, which bypassed the fort and went up into a lake at which Oswego had been at the base of, was occupied with a few small ships and many Indian canoes of varying origins. They had to make their approach cautiously. Cora had been able to tell where their destination was from miles away, from all the smoke.

It had been completely overrun. There was a small number of French troops still moving around the valley, but it seemed that the majority had already moved out, along with whatever English prisoners had survived the attack. The remains of the fort and surrounding area smoldered, a giant canker on the wilderness.

Nathaniel and Cora surveyed it from far away on a promontory. Cora had imagined they would be able to get closer, but she could see now that it wouldn't be possible. Not if they wanted to remain unnoticed. There would be no way to guarantee their safety if they ventured down into the lower-lying lands from here.

"Well," Nathaniel said at last, after they had stared at the distant scene in silence for some minutes. "French victory all right."

His tone was strange and she wondered if he were being sarcastic. She said nothing, merely hunkered behind the large rock they were keeping behind and thought about the ache in her legs, the ache of every bone she possessed. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to feel upon the sight of the overtaken fort. It wasn't as if she'd seen her father's body. It wasn't as if she had any concrete proof he was dead. But the devastation was undeniable, and she felt strangely calm for having seen it.

"What is next, Nathaniel?" she asked quietly. I have nothing. I will do as you say. I have nothing.

"We go back to the camp of my father's people. Your sister will need you now, more than ever."

And after...? she wanted to say, but he did not expand on that, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps tomorrow, or even next week, was just as good as today when it came to deciding on her future.

But she didn't think the passage of time was going to make any of her remaining options appealing. She didn't even know what options she had. Two single women in a foreign country that was currently in the middle of a struggle for power neither of them understood...

"When we get there," Cora said, trying to make her voice steady, "do you think we could make some more tea?"

Nathaniel shot her an odd look and then he chuckled in appreciation and gave her a very older-brotherly slap on the back, nearly knocking her off her feet. "That's the spirit, Miss Munro."

Except I wasn't really joking...she thought.

***

The dugout canoe scraped against the pebble beach, along which several others of its kind were lined up. Alice, who had curled up in the bottom of the canoe, came upright with a start, shaken out of the fatigue-induced trance she'd been in. Dogs barked in the distance.

She looked around her. The river had narrowed into one much smaller, perhaps only a tributary, but off to their left she could see it opening up again into a small lake. The shore was heavily wooded, though there was a narrow gap in the trees and beyond them, thin spirals of smoke curled upwards, blending into the pale blue sky of late afternoon. They had come to the camp.

Swallowing her nervousness, she climbed out of the canoe, which the two Delaware men promptly pulled up high on the beach and stowed, and followed them up the path into the woods. She didn't know what she expected to find, and the sight of the camp as they entered, while it seemed more primitive than she'd hoped, there was at least nothing alarming upon first view. Several dozen small dome-shaped huts, that looked to be constructed of natural materials such as wood and deerhide, were scattered about the area. There were tiny patches of various vegetables around many of the huts, and a few outdoor fires. Small children, mostly naked, played in the dust. There were some older women tending to the gardens, and while everyone stared as Alice, Uncas and the two Delaware walked past, she didn't sense any open hostility. She could smell some kind of food cooking as they walked past the fires, and though it was an unusual smell, she was hungry. Somewhere, a baby cried plaintively.

Uncas had a firm grip on her hand, and when he cast a quick glance at her face she tried to smile, but she wished Cora were there.

"How's your foot?"

"I can walk." She was walking.

"I'm taking you to my aunt," he said. "My father's sister."

"Mightn't I eat first?"

"Of course, you're hungry." He called out to one of the women they passed and to Alice's chagrin she leaped up, disappeared into one of the tiny shacks and came back out bearing a piece of yellow bread, which she offered to Alice.

"Eat it for now," Uncas said. "There will be more later."

She was hungry enough to devour the small chunk of bread, which had a sweet taste, and had just managed to swallow the last piece when they stopped in front of one of the wikwams--she had just remembered Uncas' name for them--and had to crouch down to enter.

Chingachgook's sister was well into middle age and had a creased, solemn brown face which did not alter much in expression when she saw Alice. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, which was covered in rush mats, and there was a small fire burning in the very center of the structure, its smoke being conducted upon through a hole in the ceiling.

Uncas's aunt seemed pleased to see her nephew, if not effusive, and the two of them talked for a short time while Alice waited, awkwardly, by the door. She had to kneel because it was the only position that seemed halfway decent. The shelter was too short to stand up in, and she refused to sit cross-legged. The flap that covered the entrance to the wikwam had been left open, and a few people gathered around, looking in at her curiously. They would not meet her eyes, or smile, but seemed to be perfectly comfortable with staring at her. Alice felt her cheeks flush.

Uncas said her name at one point, and she looked back at him.

"Ah-li-su," the aunt repeated.

"It's hard for her to say," he explained, giving her an apologetic grin.

Alice smiled back wanly but she was wondering when the promised food was going to be coming. She was ravenous, and the irritation she felt at the Indians peeping outside was only fueling her hunger.

The older Mohegan woman might have read her thoughts because she looked at her for a short time, then made eating gestures, and before long, more food was being pushed into her hands, this time from a younger girl, about her own age, who came into the wikwam. There was a wooden bowl of some kind of warm bean soup and more of the yellow bread, both of which Alice consumed quickly, using her fingers and not caring if they were watching her manners or not.

Uncas' aunt was, in fact, satisfied that she had eaten it all. "Nephew. Her clothes are in terrible condition. Tell her we will give her new ones."

"I don't think she would take them, Aunt. English women are very particular about what they wear."

"You must insist. That dress is filthy. At least make her take it off so it can be washed."

He stifled a laugh at her directness. "Alice?"

"Yes," Alice said, trying to be polite. It was easier now that she had a full stomach.

"My aunt says...my aunt wants you to put on some clean clothes."

Alice looked so horrified he wondered for a moment if he'd inadvertently said a word that had a different meaning for her than it did for him.

"My cousin, who was just here, her second daughter. She's about your age. She can give you something else to wear," he hastened to explain.

Alice seemed to be struggling with her answer for a full few moments before she said, "That is all right, I am fine."

Uncas relayed this back to his father's sister. "Perhaps later."

"As for you," she said, turning her full attention on him, "when are you going to give my brother some grandchildren?'

"Perhaps...later," Uncas repeated. She had asked him the same thing this spring and he'd been waiting for it.

"It is no joking matter," she said severely. "Your cousin is two winters your junior and she is already on her second."

"Yes, Nohkumihs." He angled his head deferentially.

"It is your father I am thinking of. As you should be. Your personal desires have little to do with it," she lectured.

"Yes, Nohkumihs. I am a bad son."

For a moment her features softened, and she almost seemed to be about to say something indulgent, then they firmed again. "I have no son, bad or good. So I must keep a close watch over my brother's."

"Uncas," Alice murmured, touching his arm. "I am very tired."

She had faint circles under her eyes, and her skin was almost translucent. "Lie down," Uncas suggested, patting the mats beside him.

Alice looked askance at him. "Right here?"

"Where else would you lie down?"

"I mean...I thought...Mightn't I have my own wikwam?"

He swallowed a laugh. "All of the wikwams have families in them, Alice."

"But I thought--"

"The only way you could have your own wikwam is if you had a--" he started to say husband, then amended "--family...to share it with."

"Oh." Alice looked deflated.

"My aunt is glad to have you stay here," he assured her. "It is the way of my people. She would not understand if you wanted to sleep somewhere else."

"But--"

"Alice." She really was a child, he thought. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

"No," Alice said, shocked, even though it had been virtually what she had been doing for the past few nights. "Where are you going to sleep?"

He rose up on his knees, preparing to leave. "At my cousin's husband's, if she is not there."

"Uncas..." Although Alice wanted to be alone, being left alone with this strange Indian woman was not what she had in mind, and suddenly she couldn't help thinking it would be better to be with someone she knew, even if he was an inappropriate gender. "Does anyone else here speak English?"

"No," Uncas said, and with a smile that he intended to be reassuring, but which Alice misinterpreted again as somewhat patronizing, he withdrew.

***

Something sharp was poking Cora in the back as she shifted position, trying to get comfortable on the ground. Nathaniel had told her to rest for a couple of hours--it was the middle of the night and he seemed to have eyes like a cat's, but she had just been stumbling consistently into things for the last while. As hard and uncompromising as the forest floor was, it was almost always preferable to moving.

She closed her eyes, but found that sleep would not come, tired as she was. Nathaniel was keeping watch a short distance away, his rifle propped between his knees. The waning moon shed a little light on his face, but not enough to see his expression.

"Nathaniel."

"Mmm."

She had originally been going to ask him something about the camp, but she found herself suddenly saying, "How did you come to live with Chingachgook?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he didn't mean to answer. Then he said, "He rescued me from a burning cabin."

"Your parents'?" Cora held her breath as if the mere expulsion of air would erase the intimacy of the moment.

"They never saw the danger in living here, only the beauty." Nathaniel picked a strip of bark from the felled tree he was straddling and flicked it with a long forefinger. "For a while I blamed them for it, but this country was not theirs. I often forget that."

"So you were born here." He was American by birth, English only by descent, she realized.

"Yes. In the same cabin."

"When did...it...happen?"

"I was four." Nathaniel rose, restless.

"I'm so sorry." She imagined the little boy he must have been.

"Well," he said after a while. "You and your sister find yourselves in much the same unfortunate circumstance."

"But we are not young children."

"I suppose."

Cora stared up at the canopy of sky above her, framed by tree tops. A few stars were barely visible in the center; she could see them only when she did not look directly at them. The air was cool and sweet in her lungs, now far enough away to be free from the acrid smoke tang that had hung over the scene of the fort. It was easy enough to see the beauty, as Nathaniel had said, in living here, though it hadn't initially been. She wondered how his parents had been able to view it from the opposite perspective.

"Your mother must have been very strong," she murmured. "I never thanked you for giving me her comb."

"I have little enough to give anyone," Nathaniel said, but matter-of-factly. "It should belong to someone who can use it."

"I haven't used it at all, lately." Cora's observation was rueful.

"You do look rather the worse for wear."

She was too tired, and in too mellow a mood from their serious conversation to take umbrage at this. "You enjoy teasing me," she murmured.

"I confess that I do." Nathaniel sounded amused. "Do you mind?"

"Not right at this moment." Cora surprised herself with her honesty, which compelled her to add, "In fact, I hardly know what to say to you when you are being serious."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"In that case let me be serious. There is something I also should have said to you. Back at the willow tree."

That moment came suddenly rushing back into Cora's memory, and she was infinitely glad of the cover of night. Was he really going to mention the kiss? She had hoped that it would never come up as a topic of conversation.

"I would rather you didn't, Nathaniel," she said hastily. "I am sure there is nothing you have neglected to say to me."

"What I meant was that I should have apologized for my actions. While I don't regret them, I also don't wish to cause you any...needless inconvenience."

"You have not inconvenienced me." Cora squirmed in the darkness. The rock that was digging into her back could not be endured any longer. She sat up, suddenly thoroughly irritated at both her physical and mental discomfort, and sighed in mingled frustration and fury.

Nathaniel heard the sigh and knew she was very close to reaching her limit. It had been a long few days, and she deserved a proper rest, which unfortunately he couldn't yet provide. "Come over here," he said. "There is a mossy patch." He indicated the ground beside him.

Cora made her way over, sinking down into a heap of skirts at his feet with a fatalistic air. Nathaniel set his bag down to make a pillow for her head. "Here. Try to get some rest. We'll head out again in a couple of hours."

He watched, and waited, until her breathing finally slowed and he knew she was asleep.