Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Uncas's name means Bounding Elk.

They called him Bounding Elk. They called him that after he returned from his first hunt as a man, a bull elk dead in his name. They called him that not because he fought with extreme courage, braving the elk's antlers to slit its throat by hand, nor because he fought with extreme skill, freeing an arrow at just the right moment—he may have done those things, but that is not why he received his name.

They called him Bounding Elk because he could run. I was amused by his name; to me, the hunters who likened him to an elk did not know that Uncas could not run—he could fly. He always won, whenever we raced as boys, and he always ran with his arms stretched out, only his legs moving as fast as his heart. I could never beat him when he flew, but sometimes he would check himself for me. Sometimes he would match himself to my pace so I could feel that we flew together.

When we hunted together, the last time we hunted, we chased an elk. I run as fast as I could, but he ran faster. I would have understood if he ran ahead of me, brought the elk down alone, left me and our father for the thrill of the hunt. But he didn't. He checked himself for me, as he had so many times before, and we ran together. Then we paused and I raised my rifle—he let me take the shot. The kill could have been his, but he gave it to me. I killed the elk.

I do not call him Bounding Elk anymore. The elk is dead. And as he matched himself to the elk, he matched himself to me as we guided the two women and their soldier to the fort, to the caves, away from the Huron village. He could have flown, but he matched himself to me.

When the soldier had died in the Huron fire and I returned to where my father waited, Uncas was not there. He was gone, alone. I did not worry. I knew he was stretching his wings, racing on the ground. For once, he had not matched himself to anything that would slow him and I was glad, but I wished that I too had wings. When finally I saw him, poised on the top of the cliff, he was a bounding elk no longer. Perhaps he never was.

Perhaps he was called Bounding Elk to keep him with us for a little while longer. Perhaps those who called him that knew, as I did, that he matched himself to the ground for our sakes. He is gone and our hearts are on the ground he tied himself to. Still, I am happy for my brother who finally did as I always thought he should and matched himself to a bird—and flew.