Fic: 'Last of the Mohicans', Gen, PG, "On the Trail"
Title: On the Trail
Fandom: Last of the Mohicans (movieverse, AU)
Rating: PG, gen
Story Notes: written for the Feb 2008 choc_fic challenge, using the prompt Magua & Alice, an AU where Alice lives. Other notes at the end. Beta by se_parsons. 750 words.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to other people, not to me. No money is being made, no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: He could not blame his men for their ignorance - none of them had striven with Chingachgook, or knew the strength of heart of the Mohawk and his sons.
***
Late noon was slipping into dusk when they lost the fifth man.
Magua had no more warning than the rest of them - there was no warning, only a single rifle shot, and a bitten off cry as Grey Dog fell from the trail to thrash in the brush below. The rest of them scattered for cover, except their captive, who stood gawking about until Magua reached out and jerked her feet from under her.
Their pursuer had been silent for hours, and the others in Magua's band had begun to mutter amongst themselves, wondering if Long Rifle had abandoned the chase. It had been four days, and the town at Lorette many miles behind them. Surely with both le gros serpent and his son dead, the white Mohawk would lose heart, and recognize the hopelessness of his pursuit. What could one man do against ten?
He can kill us one by one, Magua thought bitterly. He can do that.
He could not blame his men for their ignorance - none of them had striven with Chingachgook, or knew the strength of heart of the Mohawk and his sons.
None of them bore the marks of Chingaschgook's ax. Magua did - and now Monro's daughter beat at his bloody shoulder as he dragged her further from the trail. One fist hammered into his wound, and Magua set his jaw against the pain, before forcing the white girl into the shadow of a moss-thick fir.
Monro's daughter screeched as she fell, and when Magua tried to quiet her, battered at Magua's arms, and bit at the hand set over her mouth. "Silence," he snarled at her, and followed it with a slap to her face when she did not obey. That cowed her, and she lay still, chest heaving, eyes darting everywhere, but without purpose.
The rifle shot had been from far off. There was no one here to see her, and no rescue at hand. Still, the thought came to Magua - We will not escape.
It was the fourth time since sunrise that he had considered this, and never was it harder to dismiss. Long Rifle will not stop pursuing us, and we will not escape.
Four days of climbing steep hills and struggling through intense brush, and Magua was exhausted. Sweat ran down his flanks, soaking his leggings and turning the leather into a sodden chain around his knees. His breath came hard, and his men were far worse - they gasped on the uphill climbs, muttered sourly when they stop to rest. Magua had left Lorette with fourteen of the strongest and most cunning of the Wendat warriors. All of them battle-tested, all of them stout of heart.
And now they were nine.
It was the captive, Magua knew. Monro's daughter had been weak and lazy all the days of her life, and she would neither run nor walk fast. The little courage she had shown on the first day quickly disappeared, and it is as though she never thought to defy Magua nor take from him his victory with her death. Now, beat her though he will, she will not move with any speed unless dragged by her lead.
Almost, he wishes he had let her fall, follow the warrior son of Chingaschgook from the cliff. But that would have been too fine a death, too easy a passing.
This, this was to replace Hawk Aloft in Magua's heart. He turned his head and spat. The sachem was a fool. Magua would take Monro's daughter to Junundat, to the Wendat at Sandusky, and there she would burn in the fires of the people. That would be a fitting monument, to the wife and the children that Magua had lost.
If we do not die on the trail.
Magua's mouth twisted and his hand clenched on the white girl's shoulder. She whimpered, but he paid her no heed. Instead, he stared across the hillside, trying to glimpse their pursuer. The light was fading, and night would soon hide all of them.
When the darkness was thick under the trees, Magua rose to his feet, pulling the white girl with him. "Up," he said. "Get up, or Long Carbine will find us burrowed in the leaves like insects." One by one, the remaining warriors came out of hiding, one with Grey Dog's belt and ax.
"Take her," Magua spat, throwing the captive's lead at one of them.
"We go on," he said, and led the way forward.
***
Author's Notes 1: 'Huron' was a French name given to the people who (according to my sources) called themselves 'Wendat'. It seemed most correct to use that word here.
Author's Notes 2: This has been the most frustrating piece of fic I've worked on in two years. It's my own fault, for biting off more than I could easily manage, and I regret missing the original choc_fic deadline. This is the fourth, shortest, and least ambitious, version of the story. (I have several thousand words in my harddrive.) It is also the story I've done the most research on in the last few years, almost none of which showed up in the story. All errors - of both fact and writer's craft - are my own. Concrit welcome.
The most frustrating part is that I think there is far more to Magua's story - about his lost family, about the reason the Sachem told him to marry Alice, about his drive for revenge. I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to capture that story.
Fandom: Last of the Mohicans (movieverse, AU)
Rating: PG, gen
Story Notes: written for the Feb 2008 choc_fic challenge, using the prompt Magua & Alice, an AU where Alice lives. Other notes at the end. Beta by se_parsons. 750 words.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to other people, not to me. No money is being made, no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: He could not blame his men for their ignorance - none of them had striven with Chingachgook, or knew the strength of heart of the Mohawk and his sons.
***
Late noon was slipping into dusk when they lost the fifth man.
Magua had no more warning than the rest of them - there was no warning, only a single rifle shot, and a bitten off cry as Grey Dog fell from the trail to thrash in the brush below. The rest of them scattered for cover, except their captive, who stood gawking about until Magua reached out and jerked her feet from under her.
Their pursuer had been silent for hours, and the others in Magua's band had begun to mutter amongst themselves, wondering if Long Rifle had abandoned the chase. It had been four days, and the town at Lorette many miles behind them. Surely with both le gros serpent and his son dead, the white Mohawk would lose heart, and recognize the hopelessness of his pursuit. What could one man do against ten?
He can kill us one by one, Magua thought bitterly. He can do that.
He could not blame his men for their ignorance - none of them had striven with Chingachgook, or knew the strength of heart of the Mohawk and his sons.
None of them bore the marks of Chingaschgook's ax. Magua did - and now Monro's daughter beat at his bloody shoulder as he dragged her further from the trail. One fist hammered into his wound, and Magua set his jaw against the pain, before forcing the white girl into the shadow of a moss-thick fir.
Monro's daughter screeched as she fell, and when Magua tried to quiet her, battered at Magua's arms, and bit at the hand set over her mouth. "Silence," he snarled at her, and followed it with a slap to her face when she did not obey. That cowed her, and she lay still, chest heaving, eyes darting everywhere, but without purpose.
The rifle shot had been from far off. There was no one here to see her, and no rescue at hand. Still, the thought came to Magua - We will not escape.
It was the fourth time since sunrise that he had considered this, and never was it harder to dismiss. Long Rifle will not stop pursuing us, and we will not escape.
Four days of climbing steep hills and struggling through intense brush, and Magua was exhausted. Sweat ran down his flanks, soaking his leggings and turning the leather into a sodden chain around his knees. His breath came hard, and his men were far worse - they gasped on the uphill climbs, muttered sourly when they stop to rest. Magua had left Lorette with fourteen of the strongest and most cunning of the Wendat warriors. All of them battle-tested, all of them stout of heart.
And now they were nine.
It was the captive, Magua knew. Monro's daughter had been weak and lazy all the days of her life, and she would neither run nor walk fast. The little courage she had shown on the first day quickly disappeared, and it is as though she never thought to defy Magua nor take from him his victory with her death. Now, beat her though he will, she will not move with any speed unless dragged by her lead.
Almost, he wishes he had let her fall, follow the warrior son of Chingaschgook from the cliff. But that would have been too fine a death, too easy a passing.
This, this was to replace Hawk Aloft in Magua's heart. He turned his head and spat. The sachem was a fool. Magua would take Monro's daughter to Junundat, to the Wendat at Sandusky, and there she would burn in the fires of the people. That would be a fitting monument, to the wife and the children that Magua had lost.
If we do not die on the trail.
Magua's mouth twisted and his hand clenched on the white girl's shoulder. She whimpered, but he paid her no heed. Instead, he stared across the hillside, trying to glimpse their pursuer. The light was fading, and night would soon hide all of them.
When the darkness was thick under the trees, Magua rose to his feet, pulling the white girl with him. "Up," he said. "Get up, or Long Carbine will find us burrowed in the leaves like insects." One by one, the remaining warriors came out of hiding, one with Grey Dog's belt and ax.
"Take her," Magua spat, throwing the captive's lead at one of them.
"We go on," he said, and led the way forward.
***
Author's Notes 1: 'Huron' was a French name given to the people who (according to my sources) called themselves 'Wendat'. It seemed most correct to use that word here.
Author's Notes 2: This has been the most frustrating piece of fic I've worked on in two years. It's my own fault, for biting off more than I could easily manage, and I regret missing the original choc_fic deadline. This is the fourth, shortest, and least ambitious, version of the story. (I have several thousand words in my harddrive.) It is also the story I've done the most research on in the last few years, almost none of which showed up in the story. All errors - of both fact and writer's craft - are my own. Concrit welcome.
The most frustrating part is that I think there is far more to Magua's story - about his lost family, about the reason the Sachem told him to marry Alice, about his drive for revenge. I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to capture that story.