Twilight came upon the forest the way it always did, slowly and then all at once. Alice felt as though she had been walking for centuries. Her head ached painfully, and her stomach felt empty and nauseous. Even to her own ears, her breath sounded frightening. A death-rattle, she thought. This is not breathing. This is dying.
Noting her exhaustion, Uncas felt a pang of guilt. Indeed, he had been noticing her exhaustion for hours, the way she stumbled and tripped in her impractical slippers, the way her eyes seemed dazed and glassy even as he tried to speak soothing words to her. She moved like a ghost, one foot after another, not seeming to mind where she went or why. Uncas had the sensation that she was following him blindly, that she was following him as a sheep would follow a shepherd, even to the altar itself.
Despite this, he knew they could not stop yet. Since they had left the clearing, his only purpose had been to move as quickly and quietly as he could. He was thankful for how gentle Alice's footfall was. Though she was not as silent as he, a trained hunter from infancy, she had a delicate step that was no doubt the result of years of dance lessons and quiet nights in carpeted parlors.
But now as night was falling, he knew it was nearly time to stop.
"There is a place we can stop up ahead," said Uncas, moving closely behind Alice and speaking lowly. "I know it well. It is just a few miles more."
Alice's face crumpled.
"A few miles?"
"Is that possible for you?" he asked, realizing he was being a cruel taskmaster.
"Certa-certainly," she said panting, not wanting to slow him down any further.
He put his hands on her smooth bare shoulders and halted her. "Nay, nay," he breathed. "Come. Come to me."
She turned to him questioningly. Without a word, he swiftly lifted her slight body into his arms, noting that she felt lighter than she had even the night before. Alice made a small cry as he fixed her in his embrace, and for a second, he thought she might bolt. Instead, she shook for a minute, and then settled, resting her soft hair against his chest.
"I will take you there," he said simply. "Rest, now. Rest, mouse."
She merely panted in response, her breath uneven and heavy. She had truly pushed herself as far as she could, he said, feeling worry and pride wash through him simultaneously. What a strange girl she was, mysterious and unreadable in so many ways. He remembered what her sister had said about her, and a frown creased his black brows. Throughout the day, the words have surfaced his mind, and images as well—images of a loud, dirty city, a city filled with whites and their evil ways, a land where Alice was adrift and mistreated and alone. The picture of this beautiful girl as an abused prisoner in a convent filled him with rage. How he loathed her father! What man would treat his own kin this way? How could he lock her away from the world and her family when it was so clear that what the girl needed was tenderness and nothing more?
"What are you thinking?" asked Alice, surprising him with the first question she had asked him in hours.
He tried to erase his frown. "Nothing of import," he assured her, but even to his ears, his tone sounded artificial.
"Please tell me," she said, anxiety washing her face. "I desire to know if something is wrong. Please do not protect my feelings."
"It's nothing, Little Silver One," he said, and then realizing she was afraid, said, "There is no one tracking us as far as I can tell. We are safe."
"Oh…" She said in confusion. "That's not what I meant. I wanted to know if I have done something to upset you."
He looked down at her in bewilderment. "Upset me?"
"Yes."
"Your life is in danger and you are worried if you upset me?" he asked, unable to hide a smile at that.
"I care not for my life," she said airily.
Her careless manner incensed him. He stopped walking abruptly, and pushed her roughly out of his arms.
"What is the matter?" she asked, worry darkening her eyes. "I have upset you! I knew it."
"Don't say that, do you hear? Don't you ever say that!" he said. "What a cruel remark to make!"
"Cruel?" she cried, tears escaping down her flushed cheeks. "What cruelty have I committed to you? Surely I would never do so intentionally!"
"Ah, Alice," he said, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears. "No, you are not intentionally cruel. You never could be so, I am sure. But please do not say that you care not for your life. Do not ever say that. Or think that. Do you heed?"
She nodded slowly, tears still streaming down, her body slack and soft from the exhaustion of the day.
He collected her fully into his arms again, easily taking on her weight.
"I cannot bear to think of such a world without you in it," he said, breathing his words into her silver blonde hair. "So please do not say these things. I think of nothing now but your life and how to keep you safe."
She looked up at him and smiled, understanding dawning on her face even as the tears still shone there. "I am sorry, Uncas," she intoned. "Forgive me."
Without realizing what he was doing, Uncas instinctively leaned down to her and collected the last of her tears in his mouth, kissing and licking away the salty liquid with a patient animal-like intention. When he realized what he was doing, he pulled away in alarm, expecting the English girl to be horrified. Instead, she looked like someone who had just seen the ocean for the first time—awed and moved beyond reason or expression.