Yet I Remain

Wind in the wheat, kiss by a hearth, little hideaways for a lonely heart! — Nightwish

Encounter

She threw sticks and small rocks at him. This strange pretty Native girl in her buckskin clothes, feathers in her hair and a scowl upon her face. A stick finds its mark, hitting him in the head. "Ow." Haytham rubs his abused face. "That hurt."

She looks at him, throws a rock this time. He ducks and she smiles. "Not stupid," she says before vanishing into the forest.

"Wait, come back!" he gives chase, sprinting across the creek bed, and barreling head long into the underbrush. She is rabbit-quick, but he is fox-persistent and chases her up a tree. Her nimble fingers grab branches and she hauls herself out of his reach, a teasing grin on her face and mirth in her eyes. He cranes his neck to see her, hand against his brow to shield his eyes from the spring sunlight. "Come down!" he calls.

She giggles and disappears through the trees. He watches her go.

Friends

"Kaneihtí:io," she says, looking at him. He's thirteen to her seven, and she squats on a large flat rock in a manner Haytham could never duplicate. She pops a blackberry into her mouth. Her hair is longer, she has less feathers in her hair, and now has bracelets craved from turtle shells on her wrists.

"Kana-gee-o?" Haytham says, frowning when it didn't come out like she said it. She smiles at his attempt regardless, giggling and offers him a blackberry. He accepts and pops the berry into his mouth. His eyes widen, as a sharp tartness hits his tongue. She giggles.

"Ziio," she says.

"Diio," he says instead. She smacks him in the head.

"Ziio," she stresses. "You really are a noddyhead."

"Am not," Haytham growls in return. He stares at Ziio, wonders if sneaking out of the window was a smart idea, but he's thirteen and reckless and she's fascinating, her English rapidly improved each time he encounters her.

"Too stupid to live," she retorts.

"Am not!"

"You cannot even climb trees, let alone escape a bear," Ziio says, eating another berry, "Thus stupid."

"Well, I can say the same thing for you! You do not know how to figure sums or the history of our world or the classics like Plato," Haytham says. "We consider people who don't know such things stupid."

"Hmph." Ziio finishes the berries and wipes her hands clean. She stands up and stares at him. "I do not trust you," she suddenly declares. Haytham felt his cheeks color.

"I know," he says. It's obvious for he only ever meets her when she wants him to, and it took him a year to get her name. He smiles though, since he'll prove to her she can trust him… one day.

Ziio frowns at him, turns around with her braids whipping behind her. She runs off into the woods, glancing back briefly; Haytham smiles and waves goodbye.

Sweethearts

He doesn't see her for many days, which melt into weeks, then into months and finally, six years have gone by. Haytham sleeps beneath a pine tree, his tricorner hat pulled over his eyes, a hand on his stomach and the other pillows his head. "Wake up," a voice says, familiar and long overdue. A kick in the shin jerks him into wakefulness and he pushes his hat up, grey eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Ziio!" he says, grins and sits up. She looks different, her hair is long, she wears more feathers and turtle shell jewelry. It takes her squatting down before him for him to realize what is different about her. She has curves, breasts, and looks more like a woman than the scrawny yet pretty Native girl he saw six years ago.

"You are still here," she states, a frown tugging at her lips. "Why?"

"To prove you wrong," he says, shifting to sit on his knees. His cheeks turn pink when he realizes how close he is to her. She smells like pine trees and wild flowers. She glares at him, with amber eyes he could get lost in. "Ziio, I—"

She shoves a plump blueberry into his mouth. "You must be touched in the head," she teases, "Sleeping beneath a tree like that. A puma could have come along and killed you. Then who would I share these blueberries with?"

He busies himself with chewing the berry, unsure how to answer her question. "I missed you," he blurts out once he swallows. A berry pauses at her lips, which Haytham suddenly realizes are perfect and kissable and he's senselessly jealous of the blueberry for being close to Ziio's lips.

She blushes and slips the berry between her perfect lips. He catches a glimpse of her tongue and his carnal side wants to grab her and kiss her until she's flushed and gasping, wanting more and more. He yanks out a tuff of grass instead. He shreds the grass between his hands.

"Come," Ziio says suddenly, slipping her slim hand into his as he shakes grass free from his fingers. She shoves the rest of the blueberries into his mouth. He takes the moment to lick her palm, smirking to himself as she shudders at the sensation. She leads him through the forest, to a cliff overlooking the land. A hawk screams somewhere in the horizon and Haytham marvels at the beauty stretched out before him. He tightens his grip on Ziio's hand.

Kiss

"It will not happen," she declares, sixteen and a warrior among her people. He can sense it in her that she has killed and killed repeatedly. At twenty-two, he has too. He doesn't tell her though, which he supposes is best since they can forget about the blood on their hands for a moment, in these stolen hours together. The weight of the hidden blade on his wrist and the ring upon his left ring finger, suddenly unbearable; monster or man, he cannot decide but with Ziio… for Ziio, he'll be a man.

"So you say," he tells her, wrist resting above her head, bark falling into her raven wing colored hair. How many times have they ended up like this, so close, an almost waiting to become reality.

She stares at him, defiance and desire storming together in her amber eyes. He licks his lips, wanting to break this glass wall between them and just-do-it-damn-it-kiss-her already! She moves first, she always moved first. She's impulsive like that, and he loves that about her, wait did he… yes, he does. Haytham feels her hands on his neck and jaw, pulling him into the kiss, their first kiss.

Is short and chaste, and passionate and sinful, and oh-god-oh-god he wants more and more, he can't breath and is drowning in the very air he breathes. They break apart and he rests his forehead against hers and just stares into her eyes. He feels her hips and wonders when did his hands get down there, then realizes he doesn't really care. He wants to kiss her again. "You kissed me!" he blurts out, and feels stupid for stating the obvious.

Ziio chuckles, and kisses him again briefly. "I did," she quips and kisses him a third time. This one is longer and sensual, and Haytham sighs when her tongue enters his mouth. For her he'll surrender his very being.

Touch

He isn't a very good dancer, but he teaches her the waltz anyway. The birds and squirrels in the trees must think them stupid, dancing over dead pine needles. Ziio is laughing and smacks Haytham's chest whenever he steps on her toe and he mumbles a thousand pardons, which makes her laugh harder and fall into him. He kisses her.

He is twenty-six and she is twenty, and they have stolen what seems like a lifetime together in the woods. He doesn't mind, he revels in these stolen moments with her, welcoming them from the cruelty of the world beyond their little sanctuary.

He finds himself on the floor of their sylvan sanctuary, her on top of him and he doesn't want to stop kissing her because-if-he-does-he'll-die so he just keeps kissing until their lungs demand oxygen. He figures out that if he just opens his mouth a bit wider and sucks in a quick breath, he doesn't have to pull away. Ziio realizes it too. Yet, they pull away since they can't kiss forever. "Haytham," Ziio whispers, the amber light of the fading sun brightening her eyes and he cups her face, stroking her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

"Kaneihtí:io," he murmurs. It took him fourteen years to get her name right, but he can say it now with ease, though she insists he calls her Ziio and he's all too happy to do so. She attempted to teach him Mohawk once, but he managed to master only a few phrases. The smile that spreads across her lips when he whispers her name makes his heart skip a beat and he's kissing her again, though this time his hands wander and tug at her buckskin clothes.

Her hands aren't shy either, and her insisting fingers tug at his belt buckle and soon pull it free and he sighs, pulling her close and kisses her neck. She sighs at the sensation his heated kisses leave, he marks her with little nips so all the world will know that she is his.

Ziio is happy to return the favor. Bit by bit, they undress each other. Kissing and nipping and sucking each bit of newly expose skinned; shivering with passion and the chill summer breeze that sighs through the trees to hide their own exhales of lust. They move in harmony, Haytham can feel her heartbeat against his palm as he cups an-oh-so-perfect breast in his hand: Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

Ziio can feel his heartbeat too, as she claws little red furrows into his bare chest, hissing and muttering incoherently in Mohawk. He murmurs sweet little words into her ear with each roll of his hips. Rapture is sweet and intoxicating and Haytham swears by all that is holy there is a heaven and it is the woman in his arms.

"I love you," he whispers into her ear breaking the stillness in the aftermath. He hears her chuckle.

"I know."

Heartbeat

It is snowing outside, yet they are warm by the fire inside her longhouse. He snuck into her village often enough that the Clan Mother just told him to use the entrance from now. The threat to her people is dead and buried thanks to him and his associates. She is grateful and so are her people. She took him to a sacred place among her people, but that was last summer, when he was thirty and she not yet twenty-five.

Her belly has rounded since then, their child cocooned in safety and love within her body. Haytham rests his hands on top of hers, but Ziio moves them away and reverses their hands' positions. "The child is kicking," she whispers, resting her head against his chest. She likes listening to his heartbeat. A smile brightens her face when he takes a shocked breath upon feeling their child kick within her.

"Strong," Haytham mumbles, "like his mother. Do you have a name?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Ziio replies, "for a boy. I haven't thought of anything for a girl."

"If it's a girl, can we call her Tessa?" Haytham asks, and Ziio cranes her neck to look at him. His face is expressionless but she can tell by his eyes that he is sad. She understands the loss of a parent, having lost her father to the ever encroaching colonists, when she was a small girl. Ziio closes her eyes, sighing when Haytham's hands move along her belly, seeking out their child.

"Yes… but I will think of a name proper for my people as well," Ziio mutters. "Any thoughts if the child is a boy?"

"Connor," Haytham says, looking down at her. Their noses touched and she frowns at the name.

"Connor?" she repeats.

"Yes, Hickey suggested it. Means wolf lover," Haytham says. "It's Irish in origin."

"Why did he suggest such a harsh sounding name?" Ziio asks, shifting closer to Haytham.

"You have the eyes of a wolf," he whispers, pressing his cheek against hers and kissing her where neck and shoulder meet. Ziio squirms and sighs and guides Haytham's lips to hers.

Love

"Raké:ni! Raké:ni! Raké:ni!" the boy shouts, running down the slope of the valley that boarders the village. A grin on his face, laughter in his amber eyes and he wears buckskins with feathers in his dark hair just like his mother does; a turtle shell bracelet on his wrist. He doesn't crash into his father.

Haytham catches the racing child under the arms, hoists him up high, and tosses him gently. The boy laughs as Haytham catches him. "Ratonhnhaké:ton," Haytham mutters as he pulls his son into a hug.

"I missed you Raké:ni," Connor mutters, as Haytham sets him down. "Can I see it? Can I see it?" Connor asks excitedly and starts tugging and prodding at Haytham's wrist, jumping back only when the hidden blade snicks out, gleaming dangerously in the autumn sunlight. "Whoa…" he exclaims, a grin on his face.

"Careful, son," Haytham chides and sheathes blade, "you could've lost an eye. Then what would your mother say, hmm?" Haytham ruffles his five-year-old's hair as Connor giggles. He allows Connor to lead him through the village to the long house, where Ziio waits for him, with her arms folded over her chest, an amused smirk on her lips. It hits Haytham, the realization that it has been twenty-three years since he first met Ziio in the woods.

His son lets go of his hand and runs to his mother, babbling at her in Mohawk so quickly that he can't follow. She agrees to whatever it is, and he slips inside to fetch it. Haytham chuckles and pulls her close, feeling content with her in his arms. "Bundle of energy," he says.

"You have no idea," she say and looks up at him. He chuckles and leans forward, kissing her.

He pulls away and whispers, "so you say," into her ear.

"So I know," she replies a coy smile on her lips.

"Yet, I remain," he breathes as he tightens his grip on her waist, "yet I remain."