I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

Still don't own Eric Schweig.

The Dragonfly Woman and The Turtle Man

Once More

He is leaned lightly against the rough bark of a sturdy ash, not quite hidden and not yet discovered.

Watching her as she floats.

Keeping her safe.

And remembers a time, seeming so long ago, when he first gazed upon her near the water.

He and his brother and father escorting her, her sister, their English soldier, to the fort of their father.

Alice having, only a short time before, vehemently admonished him over the release of the horses.

Uncas having pulled her back for safety, wide, doe-like eyes turning up to his.

Knowing him for a red-skinned, merciless savage.

And Uncas the Mohican had not worried himself upon it.

She was a breed apart and would make no sense of him, nor he of her.

And yet he had nevertheless found his eye drawn to her trembling form aside the rushing waterfall as she waited to climb.

This fragile thing, this unprepared girl.

How, even in her fear and uncertainty, she had taken the breath of a moment to pause.

Gaze upon the wildness of the waterfall, the rushing, crashing waters, the untamed nature of such a wild and beautiful thing.

Her with her yellow hair, her pale skin.

Curiosity and bravery peeking out even in the face of a wilderness and danger she had never known before.

It was the first of many times he would consider her further in all her ways.

Even as he marveled, as time went along, at the changes she wrought within herself.

Now, for instance.

The girl beside the rushing waters would not have floated so bare and free even in such a secluded spot as this.

Neither the girl who found herself within his practical embrace in the long ago midnight burial ground.

The girl beneath the waterfall.

Even the burgeoning survivalist squeezing the squirrel's bladder or cleaving the weasel in two.

Doubtful still the guide who carried the survivor and babe throughout the wildlands to the fort.

The cave explorer deep within the underground recesses.

Evolving, yes, but still not those.

Perhaps the lover who first rocked with him under the moonlit night sky.

And the corner of Uncas' mouth turns up.

Perhaps her.

She was very bold.

And whilst he is considering all these rememberances, the woman floating in the water moves, she has caught sight of him.

Shifting her weight, putting her feet down.

And righting herself to standing, chest deep in the water.

Dragonfly barely peeking upon her skin.

Cheeks coloring so prettily, smile coy and slyly demure.

"You are watching me, sir."

He smiles back and she addresses him again.

"As you did long ago, are you not?"

The time she speaks of, the abandonment of her binding.

The confession he made much later.

He does not deny the truth of this.

Only acquiesces.

"I will always watch you."

And she glances downward with a chuckle before returning her gaze to him.

"I am not as I was. You mayn't recognize me."

And not for the first he thinks . . .

"I think you've been doing a bit more than holding hands with the younger Miss Munroe, brother."

. . . of the amusement his brother will have at his cost, when next they meet.

"I think you are one to speak so, brother."

And Uncas smiles.

"I will always know you, Nëwicheyok. You are of my spirit."

Alice, who still is not yet ready to claim this new beauty of herself.

"I am very round."

And he will not be moved.

"You are with child."

And she is not very round, not all of her, no matter her assertions. All of the moreness of her resides in her breasts and belly.

That round, protruding belly that keeps safe the child that grows so strong and of good health within her.

Many a time he has wondered at the marvel of it as they lay by the evening fire, before the Honored Mothers took her with them for final preparations.

His hand on her belly, upon her allowance, a foot he muses, perhaps the head itself, moving and pressing against his palm.

That she may create and nourish a new life, a new spirit, with her very own body.

She is a wonderment to him, her and the child within her.

That he is a part of it at all brings him great joy.

And Uncas the Mohican will brook no argument . . .

"You are just as you should be."

. . . to the contrary.

She has brought herself carefully to shore, this woman he loves.

Taken his hand for the final steps.

And he has helped her dress.

This Alice, this new Alice who would stand bare in the light of day . . .

"Thank you, sir."

"You are welcome, Miss."

. . . is an attraction to him, desirous and alluring, no matter her advanced state.

Arising within him a need, a calling to her, the desire to join their bodies.

Though he will speak not of this to her.

Even as she brings her lips to his and unknowingly entices him further.

"I must return to the Honored Mothers. They will worry."

For at this moment the desires of his flesh are of less import than what surely must be the taxing of hers to create a new life.

She could be injured, the baby.

And so he is content to wait to rejoin their bodies together once more . . .

"Will you walk with me? I am rather more unsteady than I have been."

"Yes."

. . . when she is of ability once more.

"I will carry you if you like."

She squints her eyes at him, words slightly teasing.

"I am no invalid schoolgirl, Nëwitaemàk."

Sighs heavily.

"Only very large and cumbersome."

Gifts him with another beautific smile.

"Will you walk with me?"

Which he cannot help but return.

"Yes, Nëwicheyok. If that is what you wish."

And so instead of stealing away, . . .

"'Tis."

. . . Uncas the Mohican walks his very pregnant wife.

"Then we will go. I would not have the Honored Mothers beat me from the village."

Along the path . . .

"No, nor would I."

. . . she has chosen.

"I have missed you by my side these days, Nëwitaemàk. I have missed your warmth."

He is with her, walking by her side, slow and strong.

As if taking all the time they may before she is delivered unto the Honored Mothers again.

"I have missed yours, Nëwicheyok."

And away from him.

And she is grateful for it, this time.

She does not wish to be parted from him.

It dissatisfies her spirit.

She would much rather return to their shelter, the hut, the wigwam he made for them in the fall.

The home to which they'd returned to in the spring once the snows melted.

Alice tending the inside space.

"I think a family of raccoons might have passed the winter here whilst we were away."

As Uncas . . .

"I believe a squirrel may have nested here."

. . . rethatched the roof.

Until their humble abode was once again to their liking.

"Nëwitaemàk?"

And they could reclaim their privacy once more.

"Naxuhàni ok kwëlaha natas'hìkakw."

I am alone and wish for your company.

"Nulhatenami mil natas'hìkakw."

I am happy to give my company.

So she misses this between them, wishes it could be this way now.

But she understands the necessity, the precaution.

The wild is no place for an imminently expectant mother.

And Uncas, though a good man, . . .

"I am to go hunting at sunrise."

. . . is still but a man.

"The village needs meat."

Unable to help her bring forth her child.

"A na, Nëwitaemàk."

Go then, my husband.

But of use in his own skills . . .

"Tëki ahkulsin."

Return safe to me.

. . . to provide for it when it is come into the world.

"Wanìshi ahtu lehëlexeokàn òk may lël wixkwèptu kënichanëna ahkulsin kshësu xèli kishuxunk."

Thank the deer for its sacrifice and tell it we will wrap our child safe in its warm fur for many months to come.

And thusly . . .

"Ktaholël. Alice."

"Ktaholël. Uncas."

. . . they are parted.

Once more.

Oh, I am so happy to see you all back! Thank you for coming back for this new tale!

Thanks especially to MohawkWoman, DinahRay, blanparbe, Gracious Guest (your English is very good and I am just glad you are here), MedincineGal815, KuBu14, and Conbird for so graciously reviewing the first chapter.

See you all further along in the week. I think Alice may be getting ready to crank this kid out.