First Nation shuts her eyes lays on her bed, her skin blazing with unnatural heat and her muscles aching. Sweetgrass burns nearby, a smudging ritual said to bring healing among many of the native peoples. Adalene watches her from nearby, her face wrought with worry as she looks upon her sick mother.

"Mother?" she whispers. First Nation lifts her hand and beckons her closer, but she doesn't budge. "I could get sick..."

"You cannot get sick. Trust me," she murmurs.

The little girl nods before padding to her mother's bedside. "What's caused this? Do you know?"

First Nation takes a shaky breath in. "The Wendat...near the Great Lakes, they're very sick."

"What? They are?"

"Smallpox...from the Europeans," the female nation explains to her young child. "My people's pain is my own. I will be fine."

Adalene frowns, pondering her parent's predicament. She kneels next to the bed, resting her tiny hand on her mother's. "Mother, if I'm going to be a strong power one day like you say I will, will I also feel my people's pain?"

"Yes, but that's a small price to pay. Protecting my people is the reason I go on," First Nation murmurs, a small smile on her face. "Daughter, please go play while I rest."

"But...I want to help."

"You can't. I will get better when the people do." She gives her a weak smile. "Go and explore. Perhaps you'll discover more about who you are."

The little girl nods in obedience, getting to her feet and stealing from the longhouse her mother is residing in. She hurries out of the village in the trees, starting to run. She runs so fast that she feels as though she could take flight and soar into the sky with the birds she sees hopping around in the trees.

She stops as her lungs start to burn, realizing just how far away she's gotten from the forest. She spins around, the sweet summer breeze blowing her long dark hair around her face as she wades through the sea of tall grass.

She hasn't spoken to First Nation about it, but Adalene has already been thinking a lot about who she is. "Adalene" is a fine name, but it's just a name...a human name, and she knows that she isn't human. She's something more, like her mother.

She looks down at her hands, her light brown skin warmed by the sun. She isn't dark like her mother, and from what she's seen of her father, she's darker than him. It confuses her to no end.

"I'm not French. I'm not First Nation. I'm both," she mutters, trying to make sense of her confusion. "I'm...I don't know. I'm mixed."

That word makes a new thought spark in her mind; mixed. So simple, yet she feels as though she's suddenly realized something about her identity, however small it is.

"Métis," she whispers, the word soaring into the sky and churning on the breeze. "Métis," she repeats, just trying it out on her tongue as a tiny smile flickers across her face. "That's...that's my ethnicity. I'm mixed, Métis, but that's not my name. My name has to be somewhere."

She keeps walking, running her hands along the sweetgrass and humming to herself as she goes. The sun sets, yet she's still walking. She doesn't want to go back to that house just to see her mother in so much pain. It makes Adalene frustrated beyond belief to know that she can't do anything.

She closes her eyes as she remembers the rituals she was taught as a little girl; smudging, dances, the medicine wheel, stories of the Great Spirits within nature. As much as she adores the stories, Adalene feels a sense of discomfort.

She remembers how First Nation danced so easily, how her voice carried so wonderfully whenever she burned the sweetgrass for special ceremonies, and yet Adalene never matched her skill. No matter how much practice is spent, she feels as though there's a crutch holding her back.

"France," she says, the image of the country appearing in her mind's eye. "Is it because of him that I'm so...alone?"

She sniffs and jolts to a stop, rubbing her eyes as she realizes just how many tears have shown up in their sparkling depths. The memories don't stop coming, relaying over and over in her head.

"Mother, I don't understand why all the other children are growing faster than me," she whispers to First Nation as they watch the beavers playing.

First Nation tenses, having known that her daughter would notice this one day. While children born around the same time as Adalene have grown into adults, her daughter is no bigger than a six-year-old.

"They are mortal. We are not. We live on as protectors, but..." The Aboriginal nation shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Ada, but I'd advise that you remain friends with nature. People wither away and will only leave you with heartbreak."

"Yes, mother."

Adalene sits down against the white bark of a birch tree, wiping more tears from her face. She can appreciate her mother's honesty, yet the truth still hurts.

"If humans will hurt you, then I'll just stay alone forever," Adalene says as she braids some long grass stems together. "Father left you behind, so I guess countries are bad too. I don't want to fall in love if I'm just going to be sad."

First Nation shakes her head as she rests her gentle hand on her daughter's. "You are not hearing the meaning. Don't ever be afraid to fall in love...just make sure that the man or woman that you choose is worth your time. Don't settle for less than you deserve."

Her big brown eyes meet her mother's matching ones. "Did you love father, or do you just tell me that so I feel happier about him leaving us?"

First Nation's face falls, but she still manages a tiny smile as she starts braiding Adalene's hair. "Your father is a good man, Ada. I loved him, a part of me always will. I believe he loved me too. Never believe otherwise."

The little girl casts her eyes downwards. "I bet he doesn't love me. He's never met me."

"He'd love you. If there's ever a man to love, it's France."

"Mother, you believe so much. Do you actually know anything for certain?"

The words aren't meant to be harsh. They're innocent, and First Nation knows this. She finishes the little braid and kisses Adalene's forehead, shutting her eyes.

"I know that I love you, and no matter what happens, I always will."

Adalene closes her eyes. "I love you too, mother."

The girl opens her eyes, looking up through the branches at the moon. She can't explain it properly, but there's something about her mother's speech that gives her an uneasy feeling. She loves First Nation; she loves the lessons she gives her, the stories, the absolute freedom and trust that they share, yet something isn't right.

First Nation only ever talks about Adalene's future and being able to be her own power, yet she never mentions herself being a part of the equation. Adalene doesn't get it. First Nation is her mother, she has to be there for her...right?

Adalene looks down at her hands again, a sick feeling building in her gut. She doesn't feel the pain, the death, anything that her mother is feeling for the Wendat people as smallpox depletes their numbers day by day.

"It's because I'm like the people that hurt them, isn't it?" she asks, although there's no one there to listen to her. "It's because I'm half-French. My mother's people suffer and I feel nothing."

She blinks rapidly as an itching sensation arrives in her eyes again. She hugs her knees to her chest, burying her face in them as her shoulders quiver. The wind caresses her hair, reminding her that nature is the only companion she has.

"Even my name is French," she whispers, squeezing herself tighter. "I just...I just want to know who I am."