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Grief comes to everyone, for death is the inevitable part of life. Yet as harsh and unforgiving as life can be, neither Uncas, nor Alice, have known much of death, and grief, until they met.

They never know when the grief will come. They never know how strong it will be. Will it be a drift of melancholy at a familiar memory, or a wave that sweeps them under, lost for hours, or even days, at a time?

Sometimes, Uncas will see Alice with her back to him, her hair pinned up, tending the fire, and suddenly see Alexandra ladleing out stew. Or Alice will find herself unconsciously humming a Scottish lullaby from her childhood, and catch a glimpse of her mother's blue eyes hovering above her.

Alice knows of his grief when Uncas will abruptly leave for the woods, after coughing, and gutturally clearing his throat to keep tears at bay. She knows he won't go far, for he would never risk her safety, but she understands his need to be alone.

Uncas knows of her grief when Alice drags her chair outside of their little cabin, and sits for hours, staring at the woods with unseeing eyes, or never rises from their bed of furs in the morning. He will leave her be, but not for long.

Their losses have been many. But, they are learning from their losses. They are learning to look to each other for solace, for comfort.

Tentative touches, clasping hands, Uncas holding her closely in his arms, Alice winding her arms around him from behind to press her cheek to his back, all are as good as medicine for their hearts.

They are realizing that confiding in each other brings an easing of their grief.

And they talk much. Some losses are as wounds that have long scarred over. They tell each other of their mothers, what little they know of them. They were both so young, when their mothers died. The memories are vague; the music of their voices, their scent, times of comfort for skinned knees, being held in soft arms, lullabies at bedtime.

This is a more gentle grief.

Leave Me Not

When Alice caught her first glimpse of Nathaniel, doggedly walking through the gauntlet of the Huron camp towards them, her heart raced as she eagerly searched for Uncas behind him. Confusion at not seeing him slowly turned to horror as the realization came that he and his father were dead, the price paid for taking on the protection of two lost Yengeese girls. "I know you would come for me," was the anguished whisper from the ruin of her heart, for she knew that he would never willingly abandon her to this fate.

Mohican men always come for their women.

Alice paid little heed to where Magua's men were taking her. The devastation inside her simply left her with no room to care. She was lost, bereft without him. When Uncas appeared, fighting his way to her, the quick blaze of incandescent joy at seeing him alive slowly turned to horror as Magua oh, so casually, shed his blood. "Why did you come for me?" was the anguished cry from the new ruin of her heart, though she knew that he would never willingly abandon her to this fate.

For Mohican men always come for their women.

Autumn

"Summer makes me drowsy, Autumn makes me sing." ... Dorothy Parker

Alice loves Autumn, especially the beginning of the season. The trees start to look a little dry, and then they begin their magical transformation to vivid colour. The air, while still warm, is somehow crisper, the nights become deliciously cool. And the sky, oh! the sky, is such a vibrant blue.

Taken as a whole, the days are akin to taking a big gulp of hard cider, leaving one a little breathless, but so very refreshed in spirit.

And there is much to do. Along with her normal, daily tasks, there is the produce of her garden to take in, dry and preserve, as Uncas showed her. Alice will forage in the woods around their little cabin, bringing back nuts and berries, roots and greens, just as Uncas taught her. She will cut venison from deer Uncas has brought back from hunting into thin strips, and dry it for later use.

As their larder gets fuller, the season gradually changes. The air carries a distinct chill, even during the day, and many times there is no vibrant blue sky, but low clouds overhead that scud by with the wind. The leaves fall lazily during the nicer days, and swirl in a sort of dance on the windy ones.

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(Draft) To Sleep, Perchance

The distant thunder of a just-passed storm is melodic and soothing, as it sounds in the little cave where they find themselves. The air carries the freshness of newly fallen rain, and their fire crackles, the flames beginning to die into glowing embers.

Alice lays next to the fire, worn out from it all. She should be able to sleep; and yet, she can't. In truth, she hasn't slept well, if at all, since the cliffs two days ago.

They'd been moving through Huron lands, as fast as they could, finding shelter and taking rest only when Uncas was unable to endure any more.

When Chingachgook stated they'd finally left those lands behind them, the relief of their little party was palpable. Seeing the threat of rain, they'd made camp in this small cave.

They'd immediately set about making Uncas as comfortable as possible. Laid on a bed of quickly gathered, blanket covered pine boughs, he drifts in and out of consciousness, coming to awareness when the pain is too much.

Cora and the men hover over him, doing what they can. They change his dressings, clean his wounds, give him water, try to bring his fever down, give him willow bark tea for pain.

As she had been for much of the journey, Alice has been relegated to the background, unable to help, because they don't seem to feel that she *can help. They know that she has no healing knowledge, no nursing skills. The most she had been allowed to do was hold tight to his unresponsive hand as Cora closed his wounds, stitch after stitch after stitch, back at the cliffs.

She'd followed closely behind as they'd moved through the frontier, hovered anxiously in the background when they'd stop to give Uncas a moment's respite from being carried on the makeshift stretcher over the rough, uneven terrain. Cora would absently tell her to sit and rest, as she would move to check Uncas' wounds.

Now, she lays next to the fire, her place carefully chosen to give her the best view of Uncas' resting spot that she can manage, and she dutifully tries to sleep.

Alice searches for a comfortable position. She pulls her blanket up to her chin, pushes it back down to her waist, tosses and turns for what feels like hours, and then finally gives up with a sigh.

As always, when she can't sleep on their journey, Alice's eyes are drawn to him. She watches his fitful sleep, and wonders if Uncas is getting any decent rest at all.

Chingachgook must be of the same mind. He leaves his position at the entrance to their cave, having taken the first watch, and moves to his son's side. He frowns at Uncas' restless sleep, and reaches for the cup of willow bark tea that is being kept warm by the fire.

Lifting up his son, Chingachgook props him on his shoulder, and rouses him just enough to get him to drink, before carefully laying him down again, hopeful that the remedy for pain will allow Uncas to sleep more deeply. With a sigh, he moves back to the entrance of the cave to continue his watch.

Uncas falls back into uneasy slumber, and Alice falls into watching him again, laying her head in the crook of her arm.

She thinks about when they first met, smiling ruefully to herself when she remembers her outrage at him for driving off their horses. The clasp of his hands on her upper arms had confused her, and watching him walk away from her - all loose-limbed, effortless grace - brought heat to her cheeks.

Uncas was never far away. He'd brought up the rear of their little party, alert, watchful, backtracking at times to assure they weren't being followed.

Her initial askance at being more or less unceremoniously placed into his care, given her slowness on the trail, had quickly turned into appreciation for his ready, thoughtful kindness towards a woefully inexperienced Yengeese girl.

He'd kept watch over her. His assistance was quiet - a quick hand when she'd stumbled, help over barriers of fallen trees or loose rocks. His hands spanning her waist as he swung her easily over ravines, without so much as a by-your-leave, had left her breathless.

He'd held her closely in his arms at the burial grounds. She doesn't remember her fear, she remembers his heat.

He was by her side as he and the rest of men slowly pushed the canoe across the lake to the fort. When he saw her struggling up the ramp to the sally-port, he'd quickly reached for her arm to help. Taking that cue, Alice laid her arm across his, twisting her fingers into the wet sleeve of his shirt.

When she'd had to let go, she'd felt slightly bereft.

The time in the Colonel's quarters was short, before she was hustled off with Cora. It was the first time she'd been without Uncas' presence since their journey began.

The surrender of the fort brought relief, along with new anxiety. Alice knew there should be nothing to fear. It was all over, except for the journey to Fort Edward. But she feared, anyway.

Doubled up with her sister on one of the few horses, she didn't want to be there, with the officers. She wanted to be back with the other denizens of the fort, back where Uncas was; she wanted to be with him. She did *not want to make this journey without him.

"He's too far away," she fretted, and she buried her face in Cora's shoulder, fearful and uneasy.

The first attack by Huron rushing in from the woods, the first volley of shot, the sickly sound of tomahawks cleaving flesh, the screams and moans of the wounded, immediately propelled Alice back to the horrors of the George Road, and she was lost.

At the first killing of a man in front of her horrified eyes, unable to bury her face in her sister's arms this time, she retreated into her mind to hide.

Cora commanded her to run, Chingachgook lifted her up from the ground, and she ran. Chingachgook guided her to the canoe, and she climbed in, then out again. She was led into the cave behind a waterfall, and she followed.

All as if she had become like one of the dolls she played with as a child. No thought, no feeling.

(Draft)

Alice doesn't know how she's missed it, and berates herself for her lack of attention.

She's been standing close to her father in his quarters, and her entire regard has been fixed on him. He looks drawn, and tired, and angry.

For a moment, she forgets how dire their situation is, as she frets at the weight of responsibility that so obviously wears him down, not really listening to the conversation swirling around her.

It isn't until she hears Uncas' voice, asking for some food, that she turns to him, and meets his gaze for the first time since they entered her father's quarters.

Before leaving Albany for Fort William Henry, she would have blushed at his straightforward regard, and looked quickly away. But, she was a different girl two days ago.

She almost misses her father's curt response to his request.

"I'm indebted to you. And get your side sewn up, young man."

Her lips part with a breath of shock, and her eyes widen. Alice's gaze moves quickly over his frame, finding what she'd missed with her lack of attention. The shirt on his left side is ripped, the dark, plum colour is wet and dark with blood.

Words of an Unexpected Love

#01 - motion

Seeing their scout's impassive face and hard, emotionless eyes, a chill shivers it's way down her back; Alice can't help but feel that something dark is being set into motion, something there is no coming back from.

#02 - cool

It looks so invitingly cool, rushing by, and she is so very warm; unpinning her linen cap from her hair, Alice plunges it into the cold water, wrings it out and wipes her face and neck, sighing in sweet relief.

Scars

They both carry them, etched into their skin, vivid reminders of this war that they have barely escaped. Souvenirs, of a terrible sort.

Hers are more visible than his, being on her wrists, courtesy of having them tightly bound by Magua's ropes. The blood, broken skin and hideous purple bruising eventually gave way to scabs, and then to a dark discoloration.

Chingachgook's salve, pulled from his journey bag, helped tremendously with the pain. Alice's eyes closed in sweet relief, the first time he applied it, before wrapping her wrists with clean cloths.

His are raised, deeper, and far more numerous. Uncas' chest and arm bear the marks of wounds that nearly took his life. The lines are jagged, the most horrific one an angry slash, painful to see. They also are a testament to Cora's careful stitching, and the blistering of cauterization by the men, when the bleeding wouldn't stop.

They'd fled the Huron lands as fast as they were able, given Uncas' desperate condition. It was a close thing, their journey, almost losing him more than once along the way, before ending up at a small, nondescript trapper's cabin that the men knew of, in the middle of nowhere. It was there that they began the long, arduous passage to healing.

They have begun to fade now, their souvenirs of battle. Hers have lightened, his have gone from red, to pink, to raised whitish lines.

The discolorations on her wrists speak to Uncas of her endurance, as he runs his thumbs over them. This young, sheltered English girl ("Scottish girl, thank you very much!") survived, and now thrives.

The ridges and lines on his chest tell Alice of the depth of his devotion, as she traces them with gentle fingers fingers, in the warm darkness of night.

And they cherish each other's scars.

Ring

She always knew that they would never be able to marry, not in any conventional sense of the word.

Slipping alone into Reverend Wheelock's small Moravian church one day, Alice and Uncas recited the traditional vows to each other, holding hands tightly, his eyes filled with tenderness, hers with tears.

And Alice was content. Their marriage would never be recognized, never be considered legal, never be considered a marriage at all really, but it was everything she could have ever wanted.

Uncas knew of the white custom of a wedding ring, and offered to procure one for her, but Alice rejected the notion. Instead, she asked him to slip one of the coppery bands he always wore on his left arm onto hers. They were a part of him, she said, and she wanted them to become a part of her.

It was a little big on her, the one she chose, so Uncas moulded it a bit to help it fit better on her smaller wrist, Alice's smile as bright as the sun as he did so.

In her quieter moments, she will sometimes twist the band around on her wrist, the metal gleaming in the sun, or brush gentle fingers over it, and think of the day Uncas placed it there. It is the intrinsic piece of him that is now hers. Her unconventional wedding ring.

#Uncas-Alice #the last of the mohicans