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Prologue: The Elk Slayers

Through the trees the wind blew, winding itself about the atmosphere, bustling through the leaves, through the branches; reaching its clutches to the dirty bed of the forest floor. A fast but steady hove hit along with it, it's sound muffled by the soft mush of mud and slick grass.

An elk pushed itself through the brush of trees and forest plants; it's body a gigantic blur of brown fur and horns. A loud snort escaped the creature from the effect of its labor; it's sound reverberating in tune with the cries of distant birds. A deep and very distant rustling echoed beyond the beast, alerting it to the pursuers that were slowly gaining and still pushing themselves forward.

Not far away, a moccasined foot slammed into the shallow pit of soil, it's sound creating a muffled rhythm as the second step followed. Breathing heavily with legs running swiftly, a flintlock musket in hand and a long-handled tomahawk tucked within his belt, Uncas pursued his prey. His gaze remained alert; for beyond his range he knew both his brother and father were also in hot pursuit of the elk.

Uncas, moving fast for his twenty-five years, glanced quickly around him for a sign of their presence, his moving limbs not even hesitating for the briefest of moments during his silent search. A thick film of sweat began to stick to his skin, making the material of the calico shirt hug ever more tightly to his muscular torso and the thick long strands of raven black hair cling to his broad shoulders and back neck.

Unfazed, Uncas continued, his reactions undulated as he carefully avoided scattered roots and tree stumps blanketing the earth below him. His ears immediately began to pick up soft rustling from his side and his eyes followed in time to see his white brother, Nathaniel, emerge parallel to him.

His appearance was more deeply disheveled than Uncas' own, but despite his weariness, Nathaniel surged forward, a look of pure determination set on his face as he clutched the long rifle more closely to his naked chest. Tied to his brother's waist was his shirt, the material of buckskin, which was completely torn and soaked with perspiration. The loose shirt didn't provide a burden to its carrier, nor did it create much difference in his speed and movements. The duo raced in tune with each other, each running over useless boulders, over forest streams, fallen trees, and down across the deep ravines.

Nathaniel gradually slowed his pace, as did Uncas, stopping as a coat of tan fur caught his eye from many yards ahead. Spotting the elk had been fairly easy; though the forest was heavily canopied, there was little brush blocking the area.

Rifle at his shoulder, Nathaniel prepared to fire and aimed it nearly a half inch off target. Nathaniel's face, as well as Uncas', mirrored little surprise as the elk leaped in fright from the sharp crackle of the rifle. As the creature leaped, the shot intercepted him with a deadly impact, causing the animal to fall heavily dead onto the soiled ground.

Nathaniel carefully stepped aside for their father, Chingachgook, as both men approached the fallen elk in silence. Taking out his blade, Chingachgook settled his gaze firmly on the dead creature before them, uttering in mohican, "We're sorry to kill you, Brother. We honor your courage and your strength."