Colours of the Wind - Chapter Three
Author: emocezi
Title: Colours of the Wind - Chapter Three
Wordcount: 2608
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kocoum/Thomas
Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: Finally got chapter three down. As you can see, I've added some lovely drama that will hopefully bring Thomas and Kocoum closer together. Their still being stubborn and ignoring each other and I'm still wanting to slap them with fish.
In another note, I'm planning to bring John in soon as Thomas has been gone for approx two and a half months, and all John has had to go on is Pocahontas' word that his friend is safe.
And in a new note. Look at the magic that coffeenbiscotti drew me. I asked for 'long haired Thomas'. I love his grumpy/stubborn/annoyed face. The long hair is because, being in the village, the people of the tribe wouldn't let him cut his hair, as the cutting of hair in most native tribes is used to signify the death of a family member/loved one.
Previous Chapters: ONE, TWO
After the first week it had become a bi-weekly tradition for Thomas to accompany Kocoum and the other braves down to the lake to bathe. For Thomas, the chance to bathe more then once a month felt extravagant and he made sure to take advantage of keeping himself clean, knowing that when winter hit, the chances of bathing almost daily would vanish.
At first Thomas had been shy, not wanting to undress in front of the group. But after the first couple times, he realized none of them were paying attention to his nudity. No one mocked his paleness or the freckles that dotted along his flesh in random swirls and patterns. No one pinched at his flanks, joking that they needed to fatten him up. And no one called him fire crotch.
It was a relief to not be the center of attention like he'd been at the fort. Every man Ratcliffe had brought on the expedition to the new world was bursting with muscles and body hair. Thomas couldn't grow hair on his face let alone his chest, and even when Ben had given Thomas some of his rations, he'd never been able to put on any extra body weight.
At first Thomas had hung back from the group when they walked to and from the lake, but after a couple of trips one of the braves, who had introduced himself as Ahanu, had started hanging back with him, at first to keep him company. And after that, he'd started teaching Thomas the language, starting out with a couple of words for what they saw on the path, and graduating on to complete sentences.
Two months had passed since Thomas had come to stay in the village and he was starting to adapt. His grasp of the language was expanding in leaps and bounds, and he was able to carry on a basic conversation, face scrunched up in concentration as he attempted to wrap his mouth around the foreign words and their pronunciations.
During the first few weeks he'd expected the company men he'd sailed with to figure out that he'd gone missing and send out a search party for him. But with every day that passed he had come to realize that they wouldn't risk a party for someone like him. He was useless in their eyes, couldn't handle a rifle, couldn't wield a shovel, couldn't even pan the rivers for gold hidden in the silt.
It had given him a couple of rough days after the first month, and it was about that time Ahanu had started talking to him, trying to make him feel less like a stranger. For that, Thomas would be forever grateful.
After Ahanu had started talking to him, the other braves seemed to come to the conclusion that Thomas wasn't as bad as they had all previously thought. They hadn't warmed up to him overnight, but over the next couple of weeks, a few more of them started hanging back when they walked to and from the lake, helping him with his accent and pronunciation of several words.
He was far from being fluent, but at least he could communicate how he was feeling far better then he'd been able to that first week. Not that he spent much time talking to Kocoum. The brave was only around him during the morning and night, when they shared his hut. Otherwise they both found things to occupy their time on opposite sides of the village.
Thomas had become fascinated with the village woman and their weaving. How they were able to take everything from tree bark to long blades of grass to weave baskets and mats large enough to sleep on. He'd stayed back watching them for a week until Awenita had called him over and started teaching him the basics.
No one in the village, man or woman had seemed shocked that he wanted to learn something that would have been considered woman's work by the men of Virginia Company, instead they had warmed up to him, and he was picking up the language far faster while he sat and listened to them chatter on about their husbands and children, carefully struggling with the lumpy misshapen basket that was slowly forming in his lap.
XxX XxX
A few days passed before Thomas learned why the woman of the village were weaving their baskets into intricate works of art and colour. He kept hearing the same word coming up in conversation and finally got up enough courage to ask about it.
Awenita carefully explained that another tribe had arranged for a meeting with Alawa for a naming ceremony as several new babies had been born that spring and Alawa was the only shaman for three tribes. While the ceremony was going on, this tribe would be hosting the visiting tribe, and would offer the baskets, mats, and beautifully crafted leather skins as trade items for what the other tribe would be bringing with them.
Though there were other items being made that would be given exclusively as gifts to the parents of the newborns. Delicately carved wooden statues meant to guard the children from evil spirits and blankets woven from the finest cedar bark threads were among them.
It was a tradition that surprised Thomas. He'd come a long way from believing that every Indian was a savage, intent on killing everything that crossed his path, but he'd never expected such a rich and unique culture, one that was always surprising him with something new to learn.
XxX XxX
Two and a half months of sharing a bed had shown Thomas that Kocoum wasn’t as fierce as he looked in the light of day, and he woke up every morning wrapped in the brave’s arms. The only thing that had changed between the first night it had happened and the morning of the naming ceremony was that Thomas had no reservations about driving his elbow into Kocoum's stomach. Kocoum grunted, his grip loosened and he rolled over with a soft snore, leaving Thomas free to climb out of the skins that made up the bed..
When it had first happened Thomas written it off as a one time incident and kept it to himself when he'd managed to extract himself from Kocoum's arms. But it kept happening every single night, and Thomas had come to realize the brave was simply gravitating to any warm body that shared his bed.
Kocoum had never confronted Thomas about the sharp elbow to his midsection every morning, but Thomas figured the warrior knew why it kept happening. He also figured Kocoum was just to embarrassed to talk about it, which was fine with him. That was bound to be an awkward conversation that neither of them wanted to have.
The most Kocoum ever spoke to him in the morning was to grunt, or give him a chore to take care of. Something small like airing out the skins on the bed, or picking up firewood. And ever since Thomas had unwittingly shown that he could skin and dress small game faster then anyone else in the village, he was busy every night when the braves would bring home the days catch for the evening meal.
Today however, Kocoum had given him no instructions and simply left the hut, barely glancing at Thomas who was shrugging into the leggings and vest he'd started wearing the month before. It seemed simpler to wear the same sort of clothing the other members of the village wore, and they were certainly more comfortable then the clothes he'd brought with him from Europe.
He shook out the heavy bison skin that made up the bottom of the bed and left it to air out on the drying rack outside the hut before heading to the hearth where the women were working on their weaving. His first basket was almost done, and as ugly as it was, he was proud of it.
XxX XxX
Ahanu watched Thomas leave the tent he shared with Kocoum. He walked with far more self confidence then he’d had when Kocoum had first carried him in from the forest, like a war bride captured from a neighbouring village. His hair was growing from the odd style he’d first had and it was long enough to tie most of it back with a leather thong. And his skin was gaining enough colour to keep him from looking sickly.
Paired with the deer hide leggings and vest, the paleface was starting to look more and more like he belonged here in the village. And when ever he walked by Kocoum’s side, an occurrence that rarely happened, the two made a striking pair.
The brave kept watching Thomas, having made up his mind weeks ago that the boy needed someone to watch over him, and if Kocoum was going to keep acting like he had a live coal up his butt, then Ahanu would take the job. He’d already been able to teach Thomas a quarter of the language, and was constantly being surprised at how fast the paleface picked up words, paroting them back to his teachers with surprising accuracy.
Ahanu waited until Thomas was seated amongst the women before he headed to meet with Kocoum and the other braves. Powhatan had wanted them all there when he met with the village chieftain, a subtle show of the strength his village held.
XxX XxX
“I need a Thomas.” Ahanu commented while he stood by Kocoum, waiting for the chieftain's to walk by on the way to the ceremony of peace. Kocoum glanced at him oddly but stayed silent. It was a good sign. “To air out my bed, and keep me warm at night, and skin my rabbits, and weave me baskets.” Kocoum snorted quietly and Ahanu pressed further. “Lend him to me.”
“No.”
“Why not. It’s not like he’s important to you.”
“He isn’t mine to lend.”
“He’d listen to you if you told him to go with me.” Kocoum snorted again, a little louder this time.
“He is stubborn.”
“That’s because he doesn’t like you. You’re a terrible husband.” Ahanu offhandedly commented, making sure the lacing on his spear was tight. “His hair is getting longer, it looks nice.” Kocoum stayed silent and Ahanu shuffled a little, wondering when this was going to end. “Seriously. I can’t wait to see it when it gets longer.”
“Shut up.” Ahanu smirked at the scowl that crossed Kocoum’s face.
XxX XxX
A shadow fell across Thomas and he glanced up, surprised when he didn’t see Kocoum’s face scowling down at him. Instead it was a new brave, one he’d never seen in the village before. It wasn’t hard to figure out he was from the visiting tribe. Thomas offered a small smile in greeting and turned his attention back to the basket.
“You’re making it too tight.” Thomas froze at the words, his head snapping back up as he gaped at the brave who was leaning down to study the basket in his hands. “That’s why it’s lumpy.”
“You...you speak English?”
“Of course.” He paused, then held out his hand, grinning when Thomas took it. “I’m Samoset.”
“I’m Thomas.”
“It’s nice to meet you Thomas, would you mind if I sat beside you.” Thomas shook his head and ducked his head when Samoset sat beside him. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at the brave, wondering why he was sitting with the women instead of with the other men. “May I ask what you’re doing here in the village?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time to listen.” Samoset smiled, reaching out to adjust the way Thomas was holding his basket. The redhead blushed and stared down at his hands, trying not to look at the brave sitting beside him.
“I was out looking for my friend and someone snuck up behind me and hit me in the back of the head. And when I woke up I was being carried into the village, like an animal.” Thomas shrugged, missing the odd look on Samoset’s face at his words. “It took me a month before I realized they weren’t going to scalp me.”
“None of the tribes in this region practice scalping.” Samoset said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “It’s mostly the tribes that live on the plains, they take hair for trophies.”
“Oh.” Thomas blushed again, though this time from embarrassment. Samoset patted Thomas on the shoulder and went to rearrange his hands again. This time Thomas pulled his basket out of reach, his expression changing to one of stubbornness and indignation. “Stop it.”
“I’m just trying to help.” Samoset smiled and settled back down to watch Thomas.
“I don’t need help. I can do this myself.”
“Thomas?” The redhead looked up at Kitchi, one of the younger braves that shadowed Kocoum. He always had a smile for Thomas, and had spent the better part of an afternoon helping Thomas with his accent. “Are you okay? Should I get Kocoum?”
“Um..no Kitchi. That’s alright.” Thomas smiled at the young brave, ignoring Samoset next to him. Samoset waited until the young one had gone before he turned his attention back to Thomas.
“Is Kocoum the one who brought you here?”
“Uh...yes.”
“And do you share his tent?” Thomas couldn’t help the low flush of shame that crawled along his cheeks, nodding quietly. He kept his attention focused on his basket, nearly finished with it. “He must be like a buck in springtime.”
“What...what do you mean?” Samoset made a motion with his hands that couldn’t be misconstrued as anything but sex and Thomas went red. His ears burned and he nearly dropped his basket, scrambling to his feet. Samoset watched him, an odd expression on his face.
“So he has not taken you yet?”
“What? No!” Thomas yelped, stumbling backwards a couple of steps. His back connected with a firm surface and he whirled to find Kocoum standing behind him, his eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Thomas swallowed and stepped to the side hiding behind Kocoum and using him as a shield against Samoset. It seemed Kitchi had decided that Kocoum was needed
“Why were you not at the gathering?” Kocoum asked the brave who cocked his head, a smirk on the corners of his mouth.
“I saw a timid mouse and wanted to say hello.” Thomas narrowed his eyes and scowled, just barely avoiding in crossing his arms. Ahanu came up behind him, Kitchi and Hassan following. They all wore the same expression of unwelcome discontent, directed at Samoset.
“Leave him alone.”
“Why? You leave him with the women to weave and gossip. He shares a tent with you, but you mock the spirits with your lack of intimacy. He would be happier with me, wouldn't you Thomas?” The last part was spoken in English, as if Samoset thought the gesture would change the redheads mind.
“I like it here.” Thomas said firmly in the new language he was making his own. Samoset didn't seem to notice ignoring the circle of women that were now openly glowering at him, and rose to his feet to stand toe-to-toe with Kocoum.
Rather then continue the conversation, Kocoum turned, pushing gently at Thomas’ shoulder and herding him towards the hut they shared. Kitchi and Ahanu followed while Hassan glared at Samoset for a few more moments and wandered off to harass his sister about a piece of leftover venison.
Samoset watched Thomas go, a scowl fixed on his face. He had to get the redhead out of the village or he wouldn't get paid.
NEXT
Title: Colours of the Wind - Chapter Three
Wordcount: 2608
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kocoum/Thomas
Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: Finally got chapter three down. As you can see, I've added some lovely drama that will hopefully bring Thomas and Kocoum closer together. Their still being stubborn and ignoring each other and I'm still wanting to slap them with fish.
In another note, I'm planning to bring John in soon as Thomas has been gone for approx two and a half months, and all John has had to go on is Pocahontas' word that his friend is safe.
And in a new note. Look at the magic that coffeenbiscotti drew me. I asked for 'long haired Thomas'. I love his grumpy/stubborn/annoyed face. The long hair is because, being in the village, the people of the tribe wouldn't let him cut his hair, as the cutting of hair in most native tribes is used to signify the death of a family member/loved one.
Previous Chapters: ONE, TWO
After the first week it had become a bi-weekly tradition for Thomas to accompany Kocoum and the other braves down to the lake to bathe. For Thomas, the chance to bathe more then once a month felt extravagant and he made sure to take advantage of keeping himself clean, knowing that when winter hit, the chances of bathing almost daily would vanish.
At first Thomas had been shy, not wanting to undress in front of the group. But after the first couple times, he realized none of them were paying attention to his nudity. No one mocked his paleness or the freckles that dotted along his flesh in random swirls and patterns. No one pinched at his flanks, joking that they needed to fatten him up. And no one called him fire crotch.
It was a relief to not be the center of attention like he'd been at the fort. Every man Ratcliffe had brought on the expedition to the new world was bursting with muscles and body hair. Thomas couldn't grow hair on his face let alone his chest, and even when Ben had given Thomas some of his rations, he'd never been able to put on any extra body weight.
At first Thomas had hung back from the group when they walked to and from the lake, but after a couple of trips one of the braves, who had introduced himself as Ahanu, had started hanging back with him, at first to keep him company. And after that, he'd started teaching Thomas the language, starting out with a couple of words for what they saw on the path, and graduating on to complete sentences.
Two months had passed since Thomas had come to stay in the village and he was starting to adapt. His grasp of the language was expanding in leaps and bounds, and he was able to carry on a basic conversation, face scrunched up in concentration as he attempted to wrap his mouth around the foreign words and their pronunciations.
During the first few weeks he'd expected the company men he'd sailed with to figure out that he'd gone missing and send out a search party for him. But with every day that passed he had come to realize that they wouldn't risk a party for someone like him. He was useless in their eyes, couldn't handle a rifle, couldn't wield a shovel, couldn't even pan the rivers for gold hidden in the silt.
It had given him a couple of rough days after the first month, and it was about that time Ahanu had started talking to him, trying to make him feel less like a stranger. For that, Thomas would be forever grateful.
After Ahanu had started talking to him, the other braves seemed to come to the conclusion that Thomas wasn't as bad as they had all previously thought. They hadn't warmed up to him overnight, but over the next couple of weeks, a few more of them started hanging back when they walked to and from the lake, helping him with his accent and pronunciation of several words.
He was far from being fluent, but at least he could communicate how he was feeling far better then he'd been able to that first week. Not that he spent much time talking to Kocoum. The brave was only around him during the morning and night, when they shared his hut. Otherwise they both found things to occupy their time on opposite sides of the village.
Thomas had become fascinated with the village woman and their weaving. How they were able to take everything from tree bark to long blades of grass to weave baskets and mats large enough to sleep on. He'd stayed back watching them for a week until Awenita had called him over and started teaching him the basics.
No one in the village, man or woman had seemed shocked that he wanted to learn something that would have been considered woman's work by the men of Virginia Company, instead they had warmed up to him, and he was picking up the language far faster while he sat and listened to them chatter on about their husbands and children, carefully struggling with the lumpy misshapen basket that was slowly forming in his lap.
XxX XxX
A few days passed before Thomas learned why the woman of the village were weaving their baskets into intricate works of art and colour. He kept hearing the same word coming up in conversation and finally got up enough courage to ask about it.
Awenita carefully explained that another tribe had arranged for a meeting with Alawa for a naming ceremony as several new babies had been born that spring and Alawa was the only shaman for three tribes. While the ceremony was going on, this tribe would be hosting the visiting tribe, and would offer the baskets, mats, and beautifully crafted leather skins as trade items for what the other tribe would be bringing with them.
Though there were other items being made that would be given exclusively as gifts to the parents of the newborns. Delicately carved wooden statues meant to guard the children from evil spirits and blankets woven from the finest cedar bark threads were among them.
It was a tradition that surprised Thomas. He'd come a long way from believing that every Indian was a savage, intent on killing everything that crossed his path, but he'd never expected such a rich and unique culture, one that was always surprising him with something new to learn.
XxX XxX
Two and a half months of sharing a bed had shown Thomas that Kocoum wasn’t as fierce as he looked in the light of day, and he woke up every morning wrapped in the brave’s arms. The only thing that had changed between the first night it had happened and the morning of the naming ceremony was that Thomas had no reservations about driving his elbow into Kocoum's stomach. Kocoum grunted, his grip loosened and he rolled over with a soft snore, leaving Thomas free to climb out of the skins that made up the bed..
When it had first happened Thomas written it off as a one time incident and kept it to himself when he'd managed to extract himself from Kocoum's arms. But it kept happening every single night, and Thomas had come to realize the brave was simply gravitating to any warm body that shared his bed.
Kocoum had never confronted Thomas about the sharp elbow to his midsection every morning, but Thomas figured the warrior knew why it kept happening. He also figured Kocoum was just to embarrassed to talk about it, which was fine with him. That was bound to be an awkward conversation that neither of them wanted to have.
The most Kocoum ever spoke to him in the morning was to grunt, or give him a chore to take care of. Something small like airing out the skins on the bed, or picking up firewood. And ever since Thomas had unwittingly shown that he could skin and dress small game faster then anyone else in the village, he was busy every night when the braves would bring home the days catch for the evening meal.
Today however, Kocoum had given him no instructions and simply left the hut, barely glancing at Thomas who was shrugging into the leggings and vest he'd started wearing the month before. It seemed simpler to wear the same sort of clothing the other members of the village wore, and they were certainly more comfortable then the clothes he'd brought with him from Europe.
He shook out the heavy bison skin that made up the bottom of the bed and left it to air out on the drying rack outside the hut before heading to the hearth where the women were working on their weaving. His first basket was almost done, and as ugly as it was, he was proud of it.
XxX XxX
Ahanu watched Thomas leave the tent he shared with Kocoum. He walked with far more self confidence then he’d had when Kocoum had first carried him in from the forest, like a war bride captured from a neighbouring village. His hair was growing from the odd style he’d first had and it was long enough to tie most of it back with a leather thong. And his skin was gaining enough colour to keep him from looking sickly.
Paired with the deer hide leggings and vest, the paleface was starting to look more and more like he belonged here in the village. And when ever he walked by Kocoum’s side, an occurrence that rarely happened, the two made a striking pair.
The brave kept watching Thomas, having made up his mind weeks ago that the boy needed someone to watch over him, and if Kocoum was going to keep acting like he had a live coal up his butt, then Ahanu would take the job. He’d already been able to teach Thomas a quarter of the language, and was constantly being surprised at how fast the paleface picked up words, paroting them back to his teachers with surprising accuracy.
Ahanu waited until Thomas was seated amongst the women before he headed to meet with Kocoum and the other braves. Powhatan had wanted them all there when he met with the village chieftain, a subtle show of the strength his village held.
XxX XxX
“I need a Thomas.” Ahanu commented while he stood by Kocoum, waiting for the chieftain's to walk by on the way to the ceremony of peace. Kocoum glanced at him oddly but stayed silent. It was a good sign. “To air out my bed, and keep me warm at night, and skin my rabbits, and weave me baskets.” Kocoum snorted quietly and Ahanu pressed further. “Lend him to me.”
“No.”
“Why not. It’s not like he’s important to you.”
“He isn’t mine to lend.”
“He’d listen to you if you told him to go with me.” Kocoum snorted again, a little louder this time.
“He is stubborn.”
“That’s because he doesn’t like you. You’re a terrible husband.” Ahanu offhandedly commented, making sure the lacing on his spear was tight. “His hair is getting longer, it looks nice.” Kocoum stayed silent and Ahanu shuffled a little, wondering when this was going to end. “Seriously. I can’t wait to see it when it gets longer.”
“Shut up.” Ahanu smirked at the scowl that crossed Kocoum’s face.
XxX XxX
A shadow fell across Thomas and he glanced up, surprised when he didn’t see Kocoum’s face scowling down at him. Instead it was a new brave, one he’d never seen in the village before. It wasn’t hard to figure out he was from the visiting tribe. Thomas offered a small smile in greeting and turned his attention back to the basket.
“You’re making it too tight.” Thomas froze at the words, his head snapping back up as he gaped at the brave who was leaning down to study the basket in his hands. “That’s why it’s lumpy.”
“You...you speak English?”
“Of course.” He paused, then held out his hand, grinning when Thomas took it. “I’m Samoset.”
“I’m Thomas.”
“It’s nice to meet you Thomas, would you mind if I sat beside you.” Thomas shook his head and ducked his head when Samoset sat beside him. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at the brave, wondering why he was sitting with the women instead of with the other men. “May I ask what you’re doing here in the village?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time to listen.” Samoset smiled, reaching out to adjust the way Thomas was holding his basket. The redhead blushed and stared down at his hands, trying not to look at the brave sitting beside him.
“I was out looking for my friend and someone snuck up behind me and hit me in the back of the head. And when I woke up I was being carried into the village, like an animal.” Thomas shrugged, missing the odd look on Samoset’s face at his words. “It took me a month before I realized they weren’t going to scalp me.”
“None of the tribes in this region practice scalping.” Samoset said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “It’s mostly the tribes that live on the plains, they take hair for trophies.”
“Oh.” Thomas blushed again, though this time from embarrassment. Samoset patted Thomas on the shoulder and went to rearrange his hands again. This time Thomas pulled his basket out of reach, his expression changing to one of stubbornness and indignation. “Stop it.”
“I’m just trying to help.” Samoset smiled and settled back down to watch Thomas.
“I don’t need help. I can do this myself.”
“Thomas?” The redhead looked up at Kitchi, one of the younger braves that shadowed Kocoum. He always had a smile for Thomas, and had spent the better part of an afternoon helping Thomas with his accent. “Are you okay? Should I get Kocoum?”
“Um..no Kitchi. That’s alright.” Thomas smiled at the young brave, ignoring Samoset next to him. Samoset waited until the young one had gone before he turned his attention back to Thomas.
“Is Kocoum the one who brought you here?”
“Uh...yes.”
“And do you share his tent?” Thomas couldn’t help the low flush of shame that crawled along his cheeks, nodding quietly. He kept his attention focused on his basket, nearly finished with it. “He must be like a buck in springtime.”
“What...what do you mean?” Samoset made a motion with his hands that couldn’t be misconstrued as anything but sex and Thomas went red. His ears burned and he nearly dropped his basket, scrambling to his feet. Samoset watched him, an odd expression on his face.
“So he has not taken you yet?”
“What? No!” Thomas yelped, stumbling backwards a couple of steps. His back connected with a firm surface and he whirled to find Kocoum standing behind him, his eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Thomas swallowed and stepped to the side hiding behind Kocoum and using him as a shield against Samoset. It seemed Kitchi had decided that Kocoum was needed
“Why were you not at the gathering?” Kocoum asked the brave who cocked his head, a smirk on the corners of his mouth.
“I saw a timid mouse and wanted to say hello.” Thomas narrowed his eyes and scowled, just barely avoiding in crossing his arms. Ahanu came up behind him, Kitchi and Hassan following. They all wore the same expression of unwelcome discontent, directed at Samoset.
“Leave him alone.”
“Why? You leave him with the women to weave and gossip. He shares a tent with you, but you mock the spirits with your lack of intimacy. He would be happier with me, wouldn't you Thomas?” The last part was spoken in English, as if Samoset thought the gesture would change the redheads mind.
“I like it here.” Thomas said firmly in the new language he was making his own. Samoset didn't seem to notice ignoring the circle of women that were now openly glowering at him, and rose to his feet to stand toe-to-toe with Kocoum.
Rather then continue the conversation, Kocoum turned, pushing gently at Thomas’ shoulder and herding him towards the hut they shared. Kitchi and Ahanu followed while Hassan glared at Samoset for a few more moments and wandered off to harass his sister about a piece of leftover venison.
Samoset watched Thomas go, a scowl fixed on his face. He had to get the redhead out of the village or he wouldn't get paid.
NEXT