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After John Smith left, Pocahontas fell into a state of deep, quiet sadness. She forced herself to perform whatever daily duties were required, because she was needed by her people. But in her heart it was dim and painfully silent. She had found her true love, and circumstance had parted them almost immediately. It was cruel of the universe to give her something so precious only to take it away, and Pocahontas never wanted to love again. She couldn’t sleep at night, instead lying awake and picturing his face, recalling his embrace and his kiss, and feeling utterly hopeless.
Until Grandmother Willow told Pocahontas of a magical glowing stone to be found at the bottom of the deepest part of the river. “Sleep with the stone beneath your pillow,” she had said, “and you will find a realm of reunion.”
That night Pocahontas went to bed early, eager for what she hoped Grandmother Willow had meant. She placed the stone beneath her pillow and forced herself into sleep.
In her dreamscape, Pocahontas found herself alone. Consumed by sorrow, she threw herself onto the floor of the undefined space, blank and endless, and wept.
But then she heard his voice - distant, but clear.
“Pocahontas?”
She raised her head and looked around, not seeing him.
“John Smith?” she called with hope, her heart swelling, “Where are you?” She wiped away her tears and stood up. “Say something else so I can follow your voice.”
“I miss you,” he said, “god, I miss you, Pocahontas. And… I don’t know where I am right now. I can’t see anything at all, it’s just white.”
“Keep talking,” she said, chasing his voice, running through the nothingness toward the gradually nearing sound.
“I think about you every day,” he said, “I’m still healing now, but when I’m all healed up, I’m going to work hard and save up enough money to get a ship and then I’ll come back to you. I promise. We just have to be patient. Nothing in London matters to me. Only you matter. Only you are my home. I’ll be with you, Pocahontas, I’ll stay with you.”
And then she saw him. He was facing away from her, and the sight of his pale hair made her heart beat heavily, excitement overwhelming her though a part of her was afraid to be happy yet. What if this wasn’t the work of the magic stone? What if it was just one of her dreams, which never ended happily?
“John?” she called cautiously, and he turned.
“Pocahontas,” he exclaimed, opening his arms wide. She leapt into them, and sunk into his embrace, and she knew it was real. He hugged her tightly to him and kissed her hair. They stood that way in silence for a long moment, and she cherished his solid warmth. He was really here, even though he wasn’t; they were really together, even though they weren’t.
“Where are we?” he finally asked. “I was just - I think I fell asleep,” he said with confusion.
She pulled back and looked into his bright blue eyes. She tucked back a lock of his hair.
“We are in a dream, but it is real too.” She stroked his cheek.
“How?”
“Magic,” she murmured, then pulled him into a kiss, into a merging of mouths both tender and wild, and Pocahontas felt something inside herself that had been misaligned since their parting finally click back into place. She felt their essences flowing into each other’s forms like their edges were hazy and blended. She felt the power of their kiss, the raw magic created by the expression of their love, and she clung to him. She felt the embrace of his arms, the embrace of everything she had been missing, and she felt her hopelessness fading away.
“I’ll be with you,” he whispered after the kiss, and every night thereafter, until the day they were finally reunited in the flesh, Pocahontas and John Smith met in their dreams.