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The first thing the young Mohican became aware of was a lack of pain. He wasn’t sure why that seemed so strange to him but as his eyes fluttered open to dappled sunlight, the thought floated away and he knew only peace. The green canopy overhead and surrounding bird song were familiar in the most comforting way so that, for a time, he simply lay there basking in it.
By and by though, he sat up and looked about himself. These woods were unknown and he had no recollection of how he had come to be there but it did not bother him over much. The trees themselves were the kind he recognized and the landscape similar to that of his people’s land. He stood presently, for nothing else to do, and began walking. He touched the trees as he passed and tilted his head back, listening closely to identify the birds that filled the air with their music.
Curiously, he felt no need for caution or to inspect the ground for signs of other life as had always been his habit. Instead, his unmoccasined feet carried him boldly forward without worry or care. A snap to his right did bring him to a stop though, as there appeared a large buck with antlers branching and curving from his head. A fleeting thought of hunting was brushed away, for of course, he had no weapons with him. And why should he?
The creature looked him steadily in the eyes. It seemed to clearly speak a challenge to him and excitement welled up inside the young Mohican spilling out in a loud whoop as the buck bound into the trees. The man leapt after it with delight every muscle flexing and springing as he sprinted effortlessly over the brush and foliage in chase. As the sunflight flickered over his copper skin, they jumped over boulders and babbling streams. Laughter burst from him, ringing deep and true through the woods.
They played this way for what could have been minutes or an age, the deer sometimes slowing to allow him to almost catch, sometimes disappearing completely to leap out again moments later and continue their romp. However long it was, the man’s legs had yet to tire and, when he slowed to a stop at the smell of something new on the breeze, he found he did not even need to catch his breath. His eyes slid shut as he tried to identify this new delicate sweetness. Floral, but unfamiliar with a wildness underneath.
A nudge on his arm drew him back and the liquid eyes of the buck looked from his own to a point beyond. The Mohican turned. There through the trees the sun shone brighter. The animal beside him nudged him once again and the young man’s hand came to rest on its back. They began walking together. He soon became aware of the sound of rushing water and the scent grew as they approached what he could see now was an open glade.
His companion paused at the treeline to look up at the young Mohican before stepping out of the shadows, leaving the man to stand on his own. His eyes drank in the scene an almost perfect half circle meadow covered by unfamiliar flowers in hues of purples, magentas, and dotting yellows. Bisecting the circle was a crystal clear river that cascaded from a cliff perhaps twice his height on the far left and pooled invitingly at the bottom before flowing leisurely into a craggy, beautiful wilderness.
But all this faded into the background as the young man took in the occupants of the glade. A doe lay to the side, head up and alert with his recent companion now settled beside her, but in the very middle there lay one like him. And yet, not like him. A girl lay curled on her side, half hidden in the tall flowers of the meadow, so that he couldn’t make out much of her features though she was facing him. She seemed to him, asleep.
One delicate arm curled down in front of her body revealing skin pale like a birch tree or the light of the moon. His eyes drifted upward over the hint of a rosy cheek and hair the soft golden brown of autumn leaves. A part of him longed to go to her, even lie down beside her but instead the man crouched down on his haunches to watch and wait. For what, he wasn’t sure but he knew the last thing he wanted was to disturb her rest. The peace of this place, this moment.
Time passed and the young Mohican continued to take every detail he could. At some point his gaze snagged on an irregular chunk of honeyed hair visible just below the ear before disappearing behind her neck. An insane urge seized him and made his fingers itch to touch it. He shifted one bare foot back at that realization, unfortunately landing on a thick twig which snapped cleanly under it.
He froze again just as a little head shot up and he realized that the young woman had a fawn snuggled at her breast. Her hand moved to sooth the small creature and the Mohican held his breath. Slowly, as if she was just being given life, the pale girl raised herself up into a sitting position and looked around.
At the sight of her face, the young man’s heart gave a strange squeeze he couldn't help but wonder at. Her eyes were golden brown in the sunlight and seemed to drink in everything with wonder but they did not see him. Not yet.
Conscience of the little body that had huddled to hers, her attention was drawn downward as she lifted the spotted baby onto her lap and ran her slim pale fingers over its back to soothe it.
The Mohican was overcome with longing to be the one she touched so gently, to simply be in her presence; yet he also felt that he would be content to simply sit and watch her for a millenia. And for a while more he did. As if caught in a spell he watched as the young woman plucked a flower and then ran it over the little deer's nose before weaving it with others until she was placing a ring of pale purple around its neck.
By and by she stood, the little fawn wobbling after her, and went to the pool at the base of the falls. He couldn’t see with her back to him but he stood slowly to try and get a better view. Was she getting a drink? Simply playing with the water? His own lack of thirst suddenly struck the Mohican, especially after his sprint through the forest. And while not needing it, he couldn’t deny the water looked cool, clear, and refreshing. Tasting it, he thought, would certainly be a pleasure and yet he would have to step out of the trees to do so.
The young man wavered. He hadn’t felt afraid of anything since waking in this wood and, while he wasn’t exactly afraid now, there was something like trepidation at the thought of making himself known to her. Yet more than a drink, more than anything else in the world, he wished for her eyes to meet his own. Closing his eyes he searched as he was so used to doing before this place. Sometimes the answer came from within, sometimes like a voice on the wind carrying the wisdom of his ancestors and the Great Spirit. Go to her . It seemed to say, She waits for you. Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped out from behind the trees, just to the edge of the shade they provided.
Ears flicked as three pairs of soft, liquid black eyes turned to him but the deer made no other movements. The ever-present bird song quieted, and even the river itself seemed to hush as the young woman slowly stood. The air held still as she turned and found him standing in the shadow with her soft gaze.
Searching her eyes for any sign of fear he found only curiosity and stepped out of the shade of the wood and into her sunlit glade. Each movement he made was measured, as if she was the little fawn that stood by her feet; he did not want to cause her even the smallest amount of distress or warriness. When he was a mere arms length from her, he stopped.
Her eyes then moved from his to roam the Mohican’s face at which point he allowed his own to drink her in. His eyes traced the shape of her brow, nose, cheeks, finally landing on the hair that had nearly driven him to distraction earlier.
It was a braid.
Almost unconsciously, his hand came up as if to touch it, halting halfway once he realized, and his eyes once again sought her own. Hers were filled with curiosity and wonder that made his breath catch in his throat. He wondered how his own eyes looked to her for surely he had never been more in awe of anything in his life.
A final step forward and his fingers raised to touch the plaited hair with reverence. The strands were like softest down feathers but the familiarity of them and of this moment struck him deeply, awakening a knowledge both somber and beautiful in his mind. Pale delicate fingers covered and interwove with his own copper over the braid.
Looking once again to her beloved face he found it changed. Recognition had replaced curiosity and, underneath the wonder, shone an emotion almost too beautiful to name; love.
Hands moved to first cup cheeks, and then around necks and backs as they sought to hold tight that which was most precious in this paradise of rest. He leaned down resting his forehead against hers.
“Alice.” He whispered. Her resulting smile was like a bright sunrise, overshadowing everything in the meadow and basking him in her glow. And her voice when she responded, though barely a sigh, was sweeter than any sound he’d yet heard and full of that joyous emotion he knew he would treasure for eternity.
“Uncas.”