"Get up, get up," Nathaniel heard a voice say roughly. He felt his shoulder being shook violently. He moaned in annoyance, pain slicing through his head like a knife.

"No more, no more," he moaned. "Let me be."

Sleep was the only place he was safe from the pain, although it could hardly be called sleep, as he was merely floating on the edges on the unconsciousness.

"Now, my son," the voice said urgently, sounding familiar this time. "Now! You must rise."

He peeked half of an eye open, his left eye, as the other one was still swollen shut. It was hard to see through the haze of his vision and the black of night, but he saw a figure that reminded him of his father.

"You are dreaming," said Nathaniel to himself, laughing aloud. "It cannot be Father. I am going as mad as the Silver One."

"It is not a dream," said Chingachgook, shaking him even rougher. "And keep quiet, you will wake the whole camp!"

Nathaniel laughed again. "You sound just like him, spirit. But leave me—I would sleep."

He heard a harsh sigh and then felt the ropes around his wrists loosening. After three days of being tied to the pole, Nathaniel's skin and tissue had embedded into the twine, and he nearly howled in pain as the ropes went slack.

But then a cloud moved past the moon and Nathaniel's vision sharpened in the new light.

"Father!" He gasped. "'Tis you! 'Tis you! But…how? How?"

"Hush," said the old man, pulling his son unsteadily to his feet. "I will explain later. For now, we must move as quickly and quietly as we can. There is a boat a few miles away. We must get there."

"But I am guarded," spluttered Nathaniel, coming more clearly to his senses and fearing for his father's safety.

He turned then, to point to the two muscle-bound Huron, Mechon and Lamatan, who had stood sentinel over him every night. Then, he gaped. Mechon's throat was slit from ear to ear and Lamatan's was as well, except his head was almost entirely removed.

Chingachgook say his son's expression of horror. "Your brother," said the man softly. "Now move your feet."

"Uncas?" he asked in confusion.

"He is retrieving Alice. We will meet him by the boat."

Nathaniel paused mid-step. "By himself? He shall never be able to!"

Chingachgook grunted. "You know not what he is capable of. I myself have seen him do things these past three days I never would have thought possible."

Nathaniel understood. He remembered the state of Alice as she shook bleeding and broken in his lap, and he understood.

"Cora?" asked Nathaniel suddenly.

"Safe and waiting for you," Chingachgook said. "But you must move faster if you want to get to her."

"Aye," he replied, renewed vigor churning through him. "Lead me. I am ready."

oOOOo

Uncas wiped his hands impatiently on his brown pants. So much blood, he thought. It rained down on him but it was never enough, it never filled the hole inside of him. And now it was slowing him down, making his hands slick and sticky as he tried to work his instruments of death.

Again, he wiped his hands vigorously and adjusted his tomahawk in his hands. All day he had waited for this moment. He had seen the tent where Magua's men had carried Alice, but it was from a great distance and he could not see her face. All he could see was that shining blonde hair, swinging loosely in the air as her body was lifted upwards.

As he saw her carried so crudely, he wanted nothing more than to charge into the camp and deliver bloodshed to all of them, even the children. But he knew he had to wait for nightfall if he wanted a chance of success.

And so he had. Hour after hour, second after second, not knowing what was being done to Alice, not knowing what cruelty she was suffering as he crouched motionless and mute. He aged beyond years that afternoon, he altered beyond recognition.

And now: It was time.

Silently, he lifted the flap of the tent and entered, his broad body as light as air as he moved like a hawk swooping down on his prey. A young woman sat weaving a basket before him, and her mouth fell open as she saw him.

He did not need to say a word. She took one look at his expression and his blood-soaked attire and her mouth clamped shut. With trembling fingers, she pointed towards the back of the tent. He walked past, as if to bypass her, but as she began to stand, he came behind her and twisted her neck. For a moment, the pair stood there, her gasping for air, him with an air of disinterest. Finally, she fell unconscious to the floor in a heap.

He moved with rapid step towards the back of the tent. He saw a huddled mass on the floor and instantly knew it to be Alice. Before he could move towards her, he felt a movement behind him. Again, with disinterested irritation, Uncas turned to face a middle-aged Huron. Before the man could even firmly grasp his weapon, Uncas sent him to the floor with one slash of his knife, blood spurting across Uncas's handsome face as the man's jugular bubbled and frothed.

Barely noticing the warm liquid, Uncas walked to where the trembling figure lay on the floor. He pushed the blanket aside. For the first time since entering camp, the warrior nearly was felled. There was his Alice—his Alice, yes, but beaten and abused beyond recognition. Her eyes were open but unaware, staring into nothingness as her breath came in quiet, painful gasps.

Pushing aside his feelings, Uncas's eyes narrowed. He carefully lifted her weight into his arms, feeling as he did so that his very touch caused her to wince. It seemed every part of her body was laced with some bruise or burn, as though there was nowhere he could place his hands that would not send waves of new pain through her body. Again, he found it difficult to concentrate, difficult to move. But he knew he was running out of time, knew that he needed to get to his father and brother as soon as possible, before the camp woke up and noticed her missing.

So, forcing himself to grip onto her body and ignore her trembling, he strode silently out of the tent, daring Magua and the world itself to separate him from his beloved.

oOOOo

Walking in almost total darkness to the boat was no easy task even for a strong man, and doing so with two wounded and bewildered people made the journey nigh on impossible. Chingachgook was saddled with the more challenging task, as it was becoming difficult to keep Nathaniel conscious and on his feet after he had lost so much blood. Uncas knew it would easier for Chingachgook to carry feather-light Alice and for him to manage his brother, but the thought of relinquishing her from his arms, even to his own father, made him ill with rage.

Throughout the nearly two hour walk, the foursome was almost entirely silent, saved the occasional words of comfort Chingachgook whispered to his son. However, as they neared the boat which was bobbing gently in the moon-streaked water, Alice suddenly seemed to awaken out of her pain-induced daze.

She started like a frightened animal, nearly leaping out of Uncas's strong arms, but he reacted swiftly and fastened her securely back in his grasp. She looked around violently, and seeing Nathaniel before her, she cried out.

"Nathaniel, where are we? Nathaniel, where is he?" she exclaimed. "Why won't he come?"

Uncas frowned in dismay.

"Who does she speak of?" asked Chingachgook.

"Her father, perhaps," said the Indian gruffly, setting her gently down into the waiting boat.

But then the girl sobbed, "Uncas, I want Uncas. Uncas…why won't he come?"

Confused, Uncas wanted to respond and wrap her in his arms, but he was too busy helping his father get Nathaniel situated beside her.

"She is insensible," said Chingachgook, "We must get to her a healer."

Uncas grunted and sat at the back of the boat, wrapping his blood-stained callused hands around the oars.

"She is safe now, son," said his father comfortingly. "It's over."

Uncas frowned across the black cold water. "Nay, it's only just begun."

And with that, the boat spurred forwards, leaving everything and nothing behind at the same time.