"All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere…"

The young one was unsure was has become of her father. One moment they were finished hunting in the woods, sitting around a campfire:

"You know, ista (mother) always talks about smores, but doesn't have the ingredients to make them," the young girl tossed her food up and down in her hands, "But I guess that's why she's so short compared to you, right raké:ni (father)?"

Her father took pride that she was starting to hunt very well as he; shame that she learned faster than his eldest son. It seemed that his daughter took after him more. She had his eyes and his skin for sure along with his humility rubbed off, but she carried her mother's fears. Finally, he reached out for her arm, beckoning her to stop playing with her food. Alas, she carried her mother's "charming" attitude and infectious habits.

"Enough. Now eat the meat you've caught."

"Calm your tits; I'm eating it," she gnawed at the bear meat that stained her small hands, "I didn't tell you this before, papa, but I took down three wolves out here. Too bad my brother can't. Hee-Hee, don't I have the biggest dick?" her father punched her shoulder and she grunted.

"I will not tolerate that language."

"Why not? Mom tolerates it. She says that's why you fell in love and married her." He watched her with his chin in the air. His daughter did the same with a cocky smirk on her face. Truly, the mix of she and him reflected in her. "Fine. I will…speak proper English and expunge any vulgar, profane terms in my vocabulary."

"How your mother educates you worries me. There was not a day where she would use her colorful language around you as an infant."

"There was also not a day where she says that you're such a virgin, too." He narrowed his eyes at the mention, signaling her to quiet herself. The little one burst out laughing after a while. Her father didn't take to kindly to that, swiftly pulling her into a headlock and rustling a mess out of her hair. She laughed even harder trying to get out of it with the wrestling techniques he taught her, but there was no way that she could take on the master. He was larger, more built while she was as light as a feather. Once she was out of breath, she leaned into her father's arms—the forest around them in the stillness of their bonding, the campfire sparking every few seconds, and the noiseless moon beaming. The young one yawned, her eyes fluttering until they fully closed. The last she heard of the forest was the galloping of the forest floor…

….

And then she awoke here. In the midst of destruction, she saw men in blue coats pushing civilians into a house as sulfur and gunpowder violently reached her nostrils. Crimson and black filled the sky. Fire burst out of every house that stood. Deafening cries of people spiraled all around her. She wanted to get up, to run, but her legs were rooted to the ground as her nerves were frozen to the bones. Never did she think that she would be here or wanting to tear-up. This was too much. Eventually, she was knocked over into the brittle grass below her. Her face was smeared into the depression of earth that was left by heavy cannon-fire. She tried to get herself together… it was no use.

"This is too much," she whimpered into the ground, "This is too much, I'm just one kid…"

"Oi!"

"Huh?" she lifted her head to the hollering of large men. They, too, were blue-coats. One standing over was rather old—middle aged, bending down, taking the little girl abrasively by the arm. She started to curse and scream in his face.

"Don't fucking touch me! Do you know who my father is? He will not take kindly to—"a large hand whacked her across the face.

"Well, do you know who we are, girlie? We are the King's men. And if you want his mercy, you better apologize. Eh, nigra?" She responded by spitting at his face. She had too much pride to be looked down upon. The blue coat didn't take that too kindly. He wiped his jaw as he glared at her, and then pulled her by the collar. "I'll be right with you gents. I just have to give this little mutt a lesson."

"'Mutt'?" some of the others laughed.

"Well, look at her face," he took a handful of her delicate jaw as she struggled, "She looks like a savage and a bit of a nigra. Guess the jungle fruits and the forest fruits have been makin' some breedin', eh? Never tried a mixed-fruit before. Best to try now." He pulled her aside. She wasn't going to have any of that. The soldier threw her over his shoulder and she continued to kick and scream, but refused to cry. He traveled up the hill, away from the fire and the flames to a desolate opening of the woods, not too far from his post. Crudely, he dropped the girl to the undamaged grass. On her back, she saw the sky that was a little ways into the night. Her lip curled up in anger. She was confused as to where this place was. Surely, wherever she was it couldn't be home. The revolution was over or so her parents claimed. Her mind was brought back to reality when she felt her ankles being pulled forward then forced apart. Her eyes narrowed and waited for the man to drop his trousers. Now! She knocked her foot into his pelvic region, causing him to curl in pain.

"Serves you right!" she stuck her tongue out for good measure and tried to run off, but more men suddenly appeared out the darkness of the woods. They stared down at her with ravenous faces, approaching her with muskets in hand. There was no way she was going to win this fight. She lacked the physical feat to overcome men of such size. She knew for she could never match her father. A sudden impact to the side of her head pushed her into the ground once more, giving her no time to call for help. Her hands twitched as she failed to rise to her feet.

"Heh. Serves you right, ya savage nigra. Thought you could run from me. Didn't your parents ever teach you to respect adults?" Again, she spat at him; only now, it was blood. "Looks like I'll have to teach you some manners. Starting with some obedience." Struggling was futile. The other men held her down, pulling her hair, stepping on her neck, and gave her no quarter—but she did not cry nor whimper. She refused to beg for her life. It was what she was always taught and that is what she would always keep to. Where she was is a mystery. Perhaps she'll never know especially now that she was within an inch of her life…

There was a murmur of voices all around. A familiar warmth... A soft surface beneath her. Had the Faceless One taken her already? At least the pain was gone. But then she found herself breathing steadily. Her chest was rising and falling. The beat of her heart sounded in her ears. In a matter of seconds, her eyes opened to the wooded interior and felt the heat of a small bonfire nearby.

"Ratonhnhaké ton, look," a native woman caressed the child's face with a soft cloth that washed her wounds, "She is waking. I told you she was not dead."

The native man sighed in relief as if he was holding his breath this whole time. He and his mother were scavenging the woods of the blue-coats who were in search of a Mohawk woman with braids. Of course, he did not know how he came to place either. He was an assassin and the people of his village left years ago. How could this be? And what's worse, his mother was here and she was here. The native man carefully took the young girl in his arms, glad that he spilled the blood of those men who dared to lay their dirty hands on her. Her eyes fluttered before completely focusing on the immediate visage. She knew this hard, muscled feel of flesh anywhere. Above was a defined face that heaved with worry. She tried the best to crack a silly smile to cheer him up.

"Hey…" she coughed, "Papa. Stop frowning like that… ista will think you a woman." She brought her hand to her cheek, feeling a tooth come loose. "Where are we?" Ratonhnhaké ton embraced her even more that she still recognized him, yet it did nothing for his worries. Never did he imagine his own child would come to such a chaotic world and be entangled in its wrath. It was enough to see his mother here—alive—but it was too much to bear to see his own flesh and blood suffer. His mother rose to her feet, gathering all she had used to treat the child, watching her son questionably.

"Ratonhnhaké ton, who is this girl? And why does she call you 'papa'?" Perhaps in this place she would not know nor would she. His mother kept eying the child suspiciously. Ever since they found her in the woods, she couldn't stop looking into her face. This girl carried her son's eyes and skin tone. She appears native at first, but… she seemed a bit of a stranger. "You have barely left this village long enough to make these overnight."

"Papa, who is she?" the girl raised her chin as he would in question. He deeply sighed.

"Mother, this is my daughter—Tsyoka'wehkowa."

"Blythe, papa. Mom calls me Blythe."

"Same difference." The native woman waved both of them off until they sat in silence. This puzzled her to no end.

"I do not understand. My son you had a daughter this whole time and did not tell me? Then who is the woman she belongs to? Do I know her?" Both relatives looked innocently at each other before looking to the elder woman once more. The little one sat up straight, looking her in the eye.

"You didn't tell me your name yet, akhso (grandmother)," she pouted.

"I am Kaniehtí:io," she sighed as she walked to the entrance of the room, "I am off to speak to Clan Mother. I must persuade her to not use the tea this time. If she does, then bad things will only come of it." As she left, she spoke to another woman a bit taller than her, nearly sharing the same face structure. They both spoke with such urgency, but it was difficult to hear them. The other stranger nodded and came in through the entry-way. Poking through, the small child thought it to be the same woman from before until her father spoke.

"What of the warriors, Aghanashimi?" he asked boldly, "Did Clan Mother say anything?" She held her hand against the sturdy walls, hesitant to answer. It was better for him to hear it from his own mother; or rather, his own ears. Her nephew seemed so distant since he had returned with his mother from Concord. Perhaps what he has seen was enough to last him an entire lifetime. More so was this strange child that was brought in. Her twin sister explained how he claimed her to be his daughter, but how could this be so? He has never left the village long enough for a child of his to… Never mind how it was so. She knew her nephew to be clever anyway. She walked in, sitting herself beside the two.

"Clan Mother and your mother are both stubborn women," she threw another piece of thick branch into the fire, "But she is right—the tea is dangerous. It is how your uncle became lost to us. He thought me a fool to disobey Clan Mother's wishes to say nothing. It pains me to remember. For your own sake, love, do not drink that evil drink." Her brow wrinkled, "A blessing to our people, hmph. It is an abomination to our people." She turned her attention to the little one in his arms. Ah, little Tsyoka'wehkowa. She had eyes like her father.

"I do not know what is happening, Aghanashimi. Why George Washington is called 'King'? Why is all this chaos here? Do you know how—"she raised her palm to silence him. Her eyes softened, unsure.

"The only thing that is sure is that he has gone mad. I have seen enough, I must say. I have seen enough." Her face was worn out from the chores she had done during the day—chores that will forever haunt her. Even her own daughter would not look to her. Where she was is beyond her. When she looked to the little one in her nephew's arms, she smiled the best she could for the child was staring curiously at her. "Ziio told me of you, little one. I will not speak ill of your father of this, but it surprises me. Whoever your mother is surely a beautiful woman, though, I take that she is not of the Iroquois or native at all, is she? I am Aghanashimi. I am your great-aunt."

"Kwehkwe (Hi there)…" she snuggled into her father's arms more, feeling a bit awkward. Her great-aunt laughed. The girl would think that her grand-parents would be old and grey when, in fact, they were vibrant and youthful in appearance. It made her wonder how she would age very slowly, muttering on how she'll still look the same as a teenager. The fire was feed more branches before the woman finally excused herself to see Clan Mother again. Blythe released all the tension she was feeling in that very moment, so she scrambled out of her father's arms to sit beside him. First, she watched his posture before mimicking. "You look very sad, raké:ni. You saw that town on fire, too? I don't remember Concord looking like that. You said it was a quiet place to live. You and ista fought there once."

"Yes, we did. But this should not be. Washington was never like this. I do not understand. This cannot go on. And I thought you would die…" he petted her disheveled head of hair. She furrowed her brows at the memory.

"I didn't get raped, did I? Because if I did, I am going back there to piss on their corpses."

"Oh no," he sighed, "Nothing has happened to you. Mother confirmed it."

"I'm still gonna piss on their corpses," she raised her chin and relaxed quickly, "But what's really strange is that this village is filled with… natives." She wasn't too sure how to word it. She most likely had relatives here. "I thought they were moved by the new government. Still… it's kind of cool to see some of my roots here."

"I am glad for that as well, but you are not safe here, Tsyoka'wehkowa."

"Neither was home with the occasional bandit breaking the window and trying to steal some horses—"he took her by the shoulders, looking her in eye to let her know that he was serious.

"You are not safe here," he pressed every word, "Should something happen…I do not know what I would do should something happen to you as it did tonight."

"I know," she pouted, "You would split everyone's head open like a melon with that tomahawk of yours." Her father shook his head at her response. Perhaps his beloved has told her one too many stories of their time together before they decided to settle. This place… this world he was in severely confused him. "So… let me get this straight. Washington—the man you worked with during the revolution—is now a tyrannical king? I thought he retired, papa."

He dusted himself off as he got to his feet, willing to see his mother of this matter. What was more his people's actions of resolution to defend themselves against him. No one didn't exactly tell him what this Great Willow was nor what it does to those who drink it. All he knows of it now was that the warriors of his tribe were to consume it while his mother forbade him to. Seems his daughter thought the same.

"Are you going to the Clan Mother now, papa?" she didn't turn to look at him. His silence was enough for an answer. "I'll wait here then—"

"Ratonhnhaké ton," Ziio dashed to him, taking his arm.

"Mother, what is it?"

"Clan Mother wants to see this child we have brought here." Blythe promptly walked out past the two and stood outside with her arms crossed. Ziio scoffed at the child's boldness, reminding her of a certain someone. "Come, little one. She wishes to see your face."

Outside was very dark save for the bonfires and torches lit for all to see the village. It did not do much to block out the view of the stars, however. All around were the longhouses that her parents once brought her and her brother to. Her heart swelled to see so much activity now as her father did. At the center of the village, she thinned her eyes, seeing a small group gathered around a campfire. Ziio urged her to keep walking towards them as the small group lifted their heads to their arrival. Aghanashimi rose to her feet, coaxing the young one to not be afraid. Her eyes widened at the sight of the elder woman who held a long staff, watching back at her intently. There were so many years of wisdom and leadership in this woman's eyes.

"Come closer," the elder spoke, "I must see her face."

She obediently walked close enough by the flames so her face was better contoured. In the light, her freckles and light tone of her skin appeared vibrant. Her eyes gleam a light brown along with her curly hair bouncing softly in the wind as she nervously pursed her lips. Ziio looked back at her son quickly, hoping that Clan Mother wouldn't think to dispose of this child. She was already mad at her for other things she has done without her consent.

"You have Ratonhnhaké ton's eyes—the eyes of a warrior; his mother's spots along your face…" she looked closer, "But the rest of you must be from whoever your mother may be. I feel as though I have seen your face before. Hmm…" she adjusted herself in her seat, "What is your name?"

"Tsyoka'wehkowa," she barely blinked.

"Tsyoka'wehkowa," she mumbled, "For one your age, I would think you a woman. It is a good sign. Ziio tells me how there was barely a tear on your face when she and Ratonhnhaké ton found you. You are strong."

"Crying is for babies. I'm turning nine—ista told me that it's time to 'man-up'." Clan Mother raised her brows. The others smirked in amusement, silently marveling this child's pride before looking back at her father.

"Your parents have raised you well. Ratonhnhaké ton!" he came around, pulling his child back, "She may stay, but her mother I must see as well. I welcome her to Kanatahséton." He nodded. Ziio brushed past his shoulder, gladly taking this moment to speak. The village leader has been avoiding this issue as if it was meant to be overlooked. She spoke often like there was no other way. Ziio had to say it.

"Clan Mother! You will listen to what I have to say. You cannot have the warriors drink the tea of Great Willow. Do you know what that tea does to those who drink it or have you forgotten? My son and I have handled ourselves well without it. We have taken down Washington's men—"

"How many, Kaniehtí:io? How many? Five? Ten? Fifteen? Thousands will come and thousands will march to this village and destroy us," she seethed, pointing her staff towards her, "Thousands you awoke."

"She was not wrong to stop Washington, Clan Mother," Aghanashimi interfered, "Whether she has done something to anger him or not, he would take this land from us and raze our village. Staying out of his way will not—"

"I will not hear your excuses, Aghanashimi. Your husband knew the stakes. The tea of the Great Willow is the reason we have survived against the harsh tyranny of invaders the many moons we have been here. I have made my decision." She would not listen to any more the other women would protest. Ziio scoffed, turning on her and spoke with her back turned.

"Do as you will, but my son will not drink that tea." And she took her son's arm roughly once more out of frustration to their home by the riverbank. Along the way, she would curse to herself in Mohawk how that old woman would never listen or learn from past mistakes. Her granddaughter bit the inside of her cheek, pretending that she didn't hear any of the profanity Ziio was spewing. The young one wondered if what Clan Mother said was true as they walked away—that her father would die as her grandmother would. It caused her stomach to turn.

"What would you have us do, mother?" Ratonhnhaké ton asked. "We have no other choice but to fight." His mother sucked in a lung full of air to answer calmly.

"I know," she watched his child cling to him; "I have something that will help—something from your father."

"My father?"

"He left it for you long ago before he died. And you, Tsyoka'wehkowa will need something to use to protect yourself should some terrible omen follow you."

….

They returned to the longhouse by the riverbank with a purpose. Little the young native knew that they were all in great danger. She almost brushed off the offer of any weapon to defend herself for her own mother would often say that there was no need, but her father would say otherwise. Ziio handed her the special hunting knife that was a part of her just as any other limb of her body. She told her to always have it ready for use. One could never know when it would save you at best. She then looked to her son, turning to her personal belongings. As she rustled through her things, Tsyoka'wehkowa pulled on her father's arm; she jumped a little as she heard thunder and lightning outside, then rain begin to pour down.

"Grandmama is pretty hardcore for talking to the Clan Mother like that. Mom was right—your side of the family is full of badasses," she whispered.

"Cease the vulgar language," he hissed back.

Ziio brought out some strapping that both natives have seen before. It held out for them to see. "Your father was part of an order. A secret brotherhood—"

"I know who my father was and I know what those are," he took them in his hands to strap onto his arms. His mother grew puzzled, demanding of how he knew of this. In fact, there were many things that confused her of him: this girl they rescued claiming to be his daughter amongst others. "I cannot explain. Everything is all wrong here! All of this should not be. You should not be. I watched you—"an explosion sounded from outside near the center of the village. Ziio paled in realization of what it would obviously be. She scrambled through her belongings once more in search of a weapon until she picked up a spare knife.

"Ratonhnhaké ton, come with me. Tsyoka'wehkowa, stay here and if Washington's men try to come here to take you, you must run to the ends of the forest and do not look back."

"But akhso…"

"Do as I say. Your father and I must fight. Come, my son." She fled out into the rain. The native man took his daughter's shoulders so that she could face him.

"I shall return. Remain hidden as well as you can."

"You promise to come back?" she restrained herself from tearing up and he cupped her face in one hand.

"You have my word."

And then he left to fight—him and his mother. If there was anything Blythe knew from her own mother was that she should always listen to her father. Tiny bumps on her skin rose as much as the hair on her neck did. She kept out of sight so the soldiers would not see her. The sight in itself was hell on earth. Every longhouse was set aflame and the blue-coats kept pouring into the village. Ratonhnhaké ton swung his tomahawk back and forth mercilessly into the helpless bodies of the enemy. They were no match for his quickness. Such a sight would frighten any child, but not Tsyoka'wehkowa for she knew her father, in the end, to be good at heart. Each violent splatter of blood did not faze her nor change her perspective of him. Essentially, his brave killing sprees fascinated as it did her older brother. Such thoughts were cut short as she smelled thick smoke build up along the walls. She froze for moment and turned to see that the house was starting to come ablaze. Instinctively, she ran out the front entrance, knife ready in hand. Her feet were light, so the soldiers did not hear anyone leave.

Once she got away to catch her breath, she found herself in the middle of a full-blown warzone. Both the enemy and members of the tribe fell as their blood soaked the soil beneath them. The grip on her grandmother's knife tightened until she felt her delicate skin break, but she cared little of it. When a blue-coat came towards her, she hesitated for a moment. She had never killed a man before. It was always her father or her mother, or those they worked with that would murder those that stood in their way. She had spilled the blood of animals, praying and thanking them afterwards, yet this was different. Her feet dug into the ground and when the knife clasped in her hand was ready to dig into the flesh of another—the man before her groaned in pain, falling to his knees as he curled in his own red essence.

"What are you doing out here?" her father roared, retrieving his weapon from his victim's back, "I told you to stay inside."

"They are burning the house, papa. There is no place to hide. And where is grandmother?" She darted her eyes around the chaos, covering her ears to the dying screams. Another blue coat made his way to the two. The girl's father twirled his weapon in his hand before digging it into the flesh of his opponent. He took a moment to catch his breath, looking to his daughter's side. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and pointed somewhere that he was curious to follow. Ratonhnhaké ton felt his heart stop as he saw Washington ride in from the entrance with Benedict Arnold and General Putnam by his side. What's more was that his mother was there defying them once more. In act of her rebellion against the king, she readied herself to charge at him. When she took off, her knife was brandished in hand to end the Mad King… but it was no use.

To her son's surprise, Washington lifted his staff in the air and it emitted a radiant gleam of light that spiraled at his will, phasing fatally through Ziio. In a pain-stricken grunt, the perilous wisps of light passed through her body, taking all the living breath out of her. Ratonhnhaké ton watched in horror as she fell hard to the ground and did not rise after. He felt his own breath stifle.

"Mother!" he yelled after her, falling upon her neck. Although, now was not to time to weep. He looked up to her murderer as he did once before, "Washington…"

His daughter knew better than to mess with higher power. She knew it for every time she smelled it, her head would ache. General Putnam boasted as he ventured through the village on horseback to kill all of the savages and to take no prisoners. The little girl watched as her father dared to go up against Washington's strength, constantly calling for him to retreat, but it was no use. Trying to put his hands on this madman was an effort in itself; let alone getting near him. For every step her father would take towards him, he was always forced back by a surge of light that channeled the patterns of the Piece of Eden. She remembered those markings—seen them even. She sprinted as fast as her little legs could carry her through the battlefield until she was at his side. His back was to the ground, worn out from challenging the man he once called "friend." His heart sank as he saw his daughter hover over his body.

"Tsyoka'wehkowa… you must not stay here..." he gripped her arm, but much of his strength was quickly leaving him.

"Papa, don't fight Washington! He's too strong—"another man's strength pulled her back unwillingly. She kicked and screamed as the mad king came over her father, placing his scepter on his side to pull out his dual pistols. Without a second thought, he shot the native man in the chest with both flint-locks. And claiming it to be for good measure, he took a bayonet, burying it into his victim's torso and shot him point blank. The girl screamed and cursed even louder. Finally, she turned and bit her captor's thumb, causing her to be pushed to the ground.

"This savage is a live one, my King," Arnold shook his hand from the pain. The mad King smirked as she pleaded for her father not to die.

"If you are so determined to have him back, savage, then I shall give you the release of death that you pine for."

He raised his scepter once more, gathering the power he willed before unleashing it upon the helpless girl…

So... here you have it people-the sequel. Don't worry all your favorite non-canon characters are coming back; that's why this is still rated for Romance and M+. Just wanted to introduce little Blythe("joyous")/Tsyoka'wehkowa ("raven") first. Anyway, some people actually wanted me to continue the whole Connor/Tsipporah shipping. Calm down, dudes. Still doing it, but... like everyone else in the DLC-absolutely no idea who "Connor" is. In fact, he's just "Ratonhnhaké ton" again since he never became an assassin.

Did anyone else think the DLC had some "Alice in Wonderland" allusion? :D

Ratonhnhaké ton=Alice

Kaniehtí:io=White Rabbit

Clan Mother=Caterpillar

Washington=Red Queen

Blue Coats=Card Soldiers

Great Red Willow Tea="Drink Me" Bottle

Apple of Eden Scepter="The Jabberwocky"?

I'm just sayin'... XD