Connor eyed the tomahawk that had been slammed into the wooden column outside of Achilles's estate years ago. It had symbolized the beginnings of a war. As he reached out to pull the weapon away, he hesitated. Were things truly ended? Had he done all that he could? He turned to look out over the Homestead, taking comfort in the trees that rustled slightly in the wind and in the people that strolled by and waved happily. He turned back toward the tomahawk and pulled it out, dropping it onto the porch and turning away.

He enjoyed the peace for a few days, only to become restless and irritated. He traveled aimlessly between New York, Boston and the Homestead only to find that the people in New York were boasting of freedom while simultaneously selling slaves at the docks. Only to find that Boston had not improved, and that he still found himself threatening shopkeepers so that hungry children might get a meal. Davenport was the only place where he was truly peaceful – where things never went wrong, except for the small redcoat attack that had been brought upon them by Big Dave's presence. But even that hadn't been completely unsettling – Connor and the others had done away with them quickly, just like they had quickly chased away Ellen's abusive husband. Things ended quickly in Davenport, and Connor found that he liked it that way, even if it meant that there were fewer things for him to do. His restlessness faded away, and he established a routine, occasionally riding to Kanatahséton valley to look at the lands he had failed to protect, hoping to find something akin to closure by visiting. It was, at the end of the day, useless, and was simply something he did to pass the time.

It had been months since he had dropped the tomahawk onto the porch. He was deep into the Davenport hunting region, his bow and arrow at the ready. He remained as still as possible, hoping to see an animal walk by. When a few hours had passed, he had successfully skinned a number of hares – small game, but game nonetheless. He walked by Norris's mine, heading nowhere in particular, when he heard the cries of a child.

He instantly started to panic.

There were a few things Connor could not tolerate without being bathed in anxiety. These things included crying children and distressed women. Prudence had thought him to be joking when he had told her that finding her in labor in the middle of nowhere had left him terribly anxious. It hadn't been a joke at all – he had ripped people's throats out in areas surrounded by gunmen without the slightest worry. But women? Children? No.

He dropped his quarry and quickly headed toward the mine, overcome with worry. He was almost relieved to see that it was only Maria, her hands hovering over her bleeding knee. He let out a long breath and approached her. She jumped, but quickly relaxed upon seeing who it was.

"What happened?" Connor asked, successfully maintaining a nonchalant tone.

Maria sniffed mournfully. "I fell down. I thought Norris would come by eventually, but he must have gone off somewhere with Myriam."

Connor bent down, taking her in his arms and mumbling something about how children did not belong in mines. Maria was too busy nervously eyeing her bleeding knee to pay attention. The gash was deep, and by the time they had reached the entrance, Connor's sleeve was already stained with blood.

She sniffled all the way to Dr. White's cabin. He swiftly removed her from Connor's arms, which was a relief, given that he had been worried about dropping her or handling her incorrectly. Lyle White made a few noises of disapproval upon hearing the story, and gave Maria a small lecture while he patched her up. Connor stood nearby and remained silent, as was his habit. Once Dr. White had finished, he handed her over to Connor with the order to take her to her mother immediately.

"Tell her where her daughter's been playing," he said irritably. "She'll have a right mind to keep her indoors."

Maria insisted on walking, though she did grab onto Connor's bloodied sleeve to keep her balance.

"You won't tell Mama where I've been, right?" she asked hopefully.

"How will you explain your injury, then?" Connor asked.

She paused, and it was clear that she hadn't thought of that.

"Oh, alright," she said sulkily. "Maybe Mama will be too distracted by your heroics to care."

Heroics?

"I did not perform any heroics," Connor said. "It was Dr. White who –"

Maria snorted. "You carried me a really long way to Dr. White's."

Connor could not deny that, so he remained silent until they reached Ellen's. She was outside, fitting some fine silk around the waist of her mannequin. She waved and smiled, and Connor noticed that she had almost ten needles poking out of her mouth. Almost all of them dropped to the ground once she caught sight of her limping daughter.

"Maria! What's happened to you?"

"I fell down in the mine," Maria said quickly. She then followed through on what she had discussed with Connor earlier: "But Connor saved me and walked miles and miles over to Dr. White's cabin!"

"Oh, Connor, thank you," Ellen gushed. She turned to her daughter and frowned. "You're not to go into the mines, Maria. You ought to know better. Now go inside and rest your knee."

Connor caught sight of the sparkle in Maria's eyes. So she had been right – his heroics had distracted her mother.

"Thank you so much for carrying her all that way," Ellen said, reaching out to touch Connor's arm. He tried to suppress his desire to recoil as much as possible – he was still getting used to the fact that touching was a common occurrence outside of his village. "I don't know what would have happened to her otherwise."

"I only did what I had to," Connor insisted. "It was Dr. White who –"

Ellen snorted. "Dr. White could not have done anything had you not carried her to his cabin."

She spoke sense, so Connor just looked at her and wondered why she and her daughter insisted on interrupting him when he was trying to explain himself.

Ellen's eyes rested on his bloody sleeve. She sighed. "And look, Maria's made a right mess of you. Well, come in, and let's get you cleaned up."

"That will not be necessary," Connor said. He began to wring his hands together, making his discomfort with the proposition clear.

If Ellen noticed this discomfort, then she did a fine job of ignoring it. "Don't be ridiculous. I've cleaned blood out of clothes more times than I can count – one of the perks of living with a brute that comes home from the pub bloodied after some silly brawl."

Connor did not understand how that was a perk, but he decided to keep any and all questions to himself. He followed Ellen into her house. As soon as they entered, Maria peeked out from behind the doorframe of the sitting room. She smiled shyly at him while Ellen apologized for the bolts of fabric that had been haphazardly scattered all over the house. Connor assured her that he didn't mind, and she led him into her kitchen where she pushed him down into a chair and asked for his 'coat.' Connor removed his white and blue robes and handed them to her. He felt distinctly uncomfortable without them on – but then again, he had kept them on for so long. When he wasn't steering the Aquila out onto the sea, he was wrapped up in his robes and running across the rooftops. But now he was sitting in Ellen's kitchen as she scrubbed away at his robes while occasionally making snarky comments about her husband.

Maria wandered in and stood in front of Connor, regarding him with great interest. She studied him closely before placing a tiny hand on his face. This time, he pulled back properly and she dropped her hand almost instantly.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just that I've never seen a scar so big."

She was talking about the scar on his left cheek, an unfortunate result of a hunt gone wrong. He recounted the event, and she began to visibly bubble over with excitement.

"Can you teach me how to hunt?" she asked.

Ellen laughed from her washbasin. "There will be none of that in this house, thank you very much."

"Oh, Mama, please?" Maria said. "Besides, if I'm out learning to hunt with Connor, I'll have less time to spend in the mines."

Connor raised his eyebrows at her slyness, and she grinned at him.

"Or you can stay here and help with the sewing," Ellen countered.

"Myriam is an able hunter," Connor began. "You may find more comfort in leaving Maria with –"

"No," Maria said sharply. She looked at her mother with pleading eyes.

Ellen sighed. "Oh, alright. If Connor doesn't mind."

"I will make sure she is kept safe," he promised.

A few days later, as Connor crouched behind Maria and helped her to hold her bow, he briefly wondered if the restlessness he suffered was actually loneliness. The estate was empty, and Connor was always out in the wilderness in order to escape that emptiness. He thought back to his short visit with Ellen, and how he had felt in a house that was obviously properly lived in. Ellen had smiled at him constantly, and had spent ages smoothing out the wrinkles in the sleeve of his robes and, for a moment, he had been pleased with her fussing. He had plenty of friends, but he was still restless. It was a great mystery to him. Perhaps Prudence had the answer – Connor always assumed that she did. He was unable to dwell on the matter much longer, because the silence of the forest was broken by Maria's cheerful shout as she lifted up the hare she had shot.

"Come see!" she yelled, exploding with happiness and pride.

Connor smiled at her. Since the restlessness was gone, there was no point in worrying further. With Maria always at his door with her bow and arrows, he felt needed – properly needed. There was also Ellen, who trusted in him and not his blade. He was unsure what it was about their companionship that had put an end to his irritable nature, but Connor was never one to question such matters. Instead, he walked over to where Maria was standing and guided her hand as she learned how to skin.