I shouldn't. I definitely shouldn't be starting this story. I already have 2-3 WIP... But I really love this. It is an extremely rare occurence that I am proud of something I did, but this... I am proud. And I hope you will like it as much as I do.

Unbeta-ed, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes that may have escaped my scrutiny.


"There is something in the wind."

The words had been soft, nothing but a whisper, but in the perfect silence of the forest they had rang out like the shatter of glass on stone. Ziio looked up from her work, her hands still clutching the leather tunic she had been working on. Oiá:ner sat as she had for the past hour, but now worry was etched upon her aged features, making her seem older than her already venerable age.

"Is it something bad, Clan Mother?"

The old native's gaze shifted to the younger woman's face, darkness veiling her dark, aged eyes. She seemed sad and, for the first time in many, many years, afraid.

"Yes. Today the ravens will fly over our villages, but ashes will be all they will find. The white men are coming, and it is not in peace."

Ziio's breath stilled and her eyes widened. Few white men ever came near the remote Mohawk village, but a group had been spotted two days prior which seemed to be making its way towards the valley. After hearing their descriptions, Ziio had no trouble knowing who they were: Johnson, Pitcairn, Hickey, Church and Lee. She had known right away they had not been sent by Haytham, for despite their separation, seven years ago, he never failed to come and prowl around the village when he was in the vicinity, and would not miss a chance to come so close to it, to her, with or without his men. And although she had wanted to believe their intentions to be good, she had known, deep-down, that these men she had come to consider as potential allies over her months with Haytham had come today with nothing but evil in their hearts. The Clan Mother's words only confirmed her fear, and she felt her heart plummet as she leapt to her feet.

"Get as far from the village as you can," she said, not bothering for once to hide the panic in her voice. "We are all in great danger, but your death would mean the end of us."

"We cannot leave the others," the Clan Mother shot back as she clambered to her feet with some difficulty, heavily leaning on her staff.

"They know how to fight," Ziio replied. "You don't. Go North, toward Bear Rock. I will warn the others and send them to you."

Leaving the Clan Mother and the other women by the river where they had been sitting as she took off through the woods, Ziio heard Oiá:ner call her name, but she did not slow down as nothing mattered to her now but reaching the village in time.

She ran as fast as she could, still trying to persuade herself that perhaps she was overreacting, that they had come to try and buy the lands – again - but the fee ling of impending doom that had fell upon her heart at the Clan Mother's words clawed at her mind, and she knew deep within her that they were true. Her steps slowed to a walk as she entered the village, and she immediately made her way toward a group of warriors chatting next to the bonfire.

"Atasá:ta," Ziio called. "I must speak with you."

A tall, muscular man stood up from where he was sitting, his brows furrowing upon seeing the thinly veiled terror in the usually composed woman's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, her tone urgent, her voice hushed.

"White men are coming this way, and this time they will not only talk. I need you to take Ratonhnhaké:ton, and do as we planned," the young woman said. "Have the others to take the other children away."

The other's face darkened, realization dawning upon him as he nodded.

"Are you certain it will end like this?"

There was sorrow in his voice, although his face was nothing but a cold stone mask. Ziio looked away as she answered, knowing full well her eyes would betray her if she had looked at him.

"No. But it is better to be prepared, is it not?" she said.

She could see when she looked back at him that he did not believe her words anymore than she did herself. She sighed, and she wondered how much time she had left before they came.

"Do you remember the address I gave you?" she asked. The other nodded again. "Come and take Ratonhnhaké:ton at the eastern longhouse when the other children are gone. I have preparations to make. Warn as many as you can."

With a final nod, the Mohawk warrior rushed back to where he had been sitting mere minutes earlier, words of alarm already on his lips, and Ziio turned away, calling her son's name.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

Her eyes frantically swept over the lively village. Seeing the people so happy made her heart ache even more, knowing they were unsuspecting of the imminent disaster. She wanted to warn them herself, but she knew that doing so would bring many questions and make her lose precious minutes she absolutely needed. The ring of childish laughter reached her ear, and she hurried toward its source, seeing a small group of children, her son laughing with the others as they made their way toward the forest.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, come here!" Ziio called. She tried to hide the desperation in her voice, but she couldn't help the small tremor that still remained as she spoke.

The young Mohawk frowned as he turned to his mother, and the group of children slowed, looking back as the boy answered.

"But Ista, we were going to play hide-and-seek in the forest," he whined.

"There will be time for hide-and-seek later," she answered with a patient smile, but in her heart she knew it was a lie. "Come on."

With an affected sigh and a childish pout, the boy followed her as she turned on her heels, quickly making her way to the eastern longhouse, knowing her son would follow. She sat next to the cold ashes of the fire, forcing herself not to move as her Ratonhnhaké:ton finally sat before her, his arms still crossed over his chest in stubborn, childish anger.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, listen to me," she cooed, her heart swelling with motherly amusement at his antics. She sobered quickly, however, when his eyes met hers, and she had to use all of her strength not to show her fear at what was coming towards them. She could not afford to make him want to stay by her side as she knew he would if he knew what she was about to do, with the childish bravery every child showed when it came to protecting their parents. " Soon Atasá:ta will be here, and he will take you on a journey to Boston. You must follow him and obey his every word."

The child stared at her, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as his quick but still young mind tried to grasp what she had just told him.

"But… why?" he asked, the frown of incomprehension on his face telling his mother that he did not understand the situation, and that he did not like it.

"He will take you to see an old friend of mine. You will stay with him," she explained, reaching out and smoothing the boy's shoulder-length hair out of his eyes. The frown was still there, and his arms had crossed back over his chest. He huffed, a stubborn light in his eyes as he spoke again.

"But I don't want to."

"You have to," she whispered, and she dragged him into her arms, burying her nose in his dark locks, squeezing her eyes shut as she cradled him to her chest.

"When will I come back, then?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked, relishing the rare show of affection.

She released him from her arms but he stayed close, sitting next to her and still surrounding her waist with his small arms. She smiled and let him, and this time she couldn't hide the sadness in her eyes. If he saw it, he did not speak.

"I don't know," she whispered.

There were hurried footfalls at the entrance to the longhouse, and Atasá:ta appeared, disheveled, a tomahawk in his hands as he shot nervous glances over his shoulder.

"They're here," he said simply, and Ziio stood, taking two letters from the confines of her cape and handing them to the Mohawk warrior. The paper was worn and dirtied, showing they had been written some time ago.

"You will give these to him, and him alone," she said firmly, her hand landing on Ratonhnhaké:ton's shoulder as she pushed him forward. "Follow him, Ratonhnhaké:ton, and do not stray from him under any circumstance until you have reached your goal."

There were screams and shouts outside, and the natives jumped, the sheer terror they heard in those yells making chills run up their spines. Ziio kneeled before the boy, their eyes meeting, and for once she did not try to hide her emotions from him, and tried to put all her love and courage into her next words:

"Do not be afraid, my son. You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton, you must be brave. You will think yourself alone, but know that I will be at your side. Always and forever."

The first gunshot rang out outside at her last words, and Atasá:ta did not need to be told to drag the young native after him, rushing toward the shore. Ratonhnhaké:ton struggled in the older man's grip as realization finally dawned upon him, his mother's words of encouragement taking a whole new sense as he finally understood them for what they were: final words of love and farewell.

"ISTA!"

The pain she could hear in her son's voice almost made Ziio turn around as she left the longhouse, ready to meet whatever fate the spirits had reserved for her. What she saw filled her with rage and sorrow. Corpses were strewn about the camp, mostly warriors, but also women who did not have time to flee, and the smell of blood permeated the air, making her sick. Fires were already roaring, easily devouring the wooden houses and fence surrounding the village. The smoke made her eyes tear up as she finally saw them, five silhouettes blurred by the smoke and ashes, but still undeniably familiar. She coughed as she walked toward them, the smoke getting thicker by the second as everything she had ever held dear crumbled to ashes around her. But the knowledge that the thing she loved the most, her most precious treasure and the one person she could not have survived losing was on his way to Boston, to a person she trusted and loved, who would protect him, gave her the strength to step forward.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

She knew that voice well, and her hands tightened into fists as she stopped a few steps away from the five men, her face a fierce mask of pure fury.

"If it isn't the Native bitch," Lee spoke again, his cruel laughter echoing in the choking heat of the fires. His face was spattered with blood, a large gash on his cheeks showing that the Mohawks had at least put on a fight. The four men beside him were also covered in blood but, as much as Ziio wished the opposite, she knew it was not their own.

"Lee," she spat the name as if it was the worst insult known to man. "Why?"

She had expected them to, but when they laughed she was still taken aback. There was such savagery and madness in their voices that she couldn't help but take a step back, and when Lee looked at her again she saw in his eyes nothing, but pure, unadulterated hatred, hatred so pure that she had never believed she would see it another human being. But now she understood that the man who faced her now was not human anymore: from the moment his sword had felled the first Mohawk he had become nothing more than a crazed, bloodthirsty beast.

"Do you think it will make a difference? When this village and its inhabitants will have been definitively erased from the map, nobody will remember you, or your name, and we will finally be able to take the land we deserve. You are nothing. A speck of dust. You and all your ilk. Living in the dirt like animals, oblivious to the true ways of the world. The wiser among you recognized the shape of the future. They threw themselves at our feet and begged mercy. But not you, it seems. And for this, you need to be exterminated."

She heard before she saw the pistol Lee had whipped out, its tell-tale click making her heart shudder as she closed her eyes. There was nothing left to say, and nothing left to do as the all-consuming fire reduced everything she ever known to ashes. Everything, except one thing.

'I love you, my son.'

There was a single shot, and Ziio fell to the ground, her eyes shut, her face peaceful as the last sparks of life left her body. The last face she had seen had not been that of that hateful man's. It had been a smaller, softer face, one she had vowed never to forget, and to never let die.

Ratonhnhaké:ton.


"ISTA!"

Ratonhnhaké:ton struggled with all his might, but Atasá:ta never wavered, his grip like steel upon the boy's waist as he half-dragged, half-carried him toward the shore. Their only hope was the forest, where they could take to the trees and cliffs before crossing over into Diamond Basin and find their way to Boston.

"Let me go Ata, I have to help her!" cried Ratonhnhaké:ton, still struggling and clawing at the older man's hand.

"She entrusted you to me, and risked her life to save yours," he cried harshly, tightening his grip even more upon the child. "Let it not be in vain, follow me!"

"You're hurting me!" the boy whimpered as they reached the village's edge.

"Now is not the time to complain!" the warrior spat. "Come on, come on!"

Despite his words, his grip had slackened, and with a shove Ratonhnhaké:ton broke free from his hand, dashing toward the burning longhouses. Atasá:ta, stunned, could only stare at his retreating back before leaping after the boy, but the child had put those few seconds to use by putting as much distance as he could between him and his guardian, and ran as fast as he could toward his mother. He could hear a man's voice, speaking the language his mother had started to teach him, and although he did not understand every word, he could still hear the barely veiled menace in his words.

"… The wiser among you recognized the shape of the future. They threw themselves at our feet and begged mercy. But not you, it seems. And for this, you need to be exterminated."

As he rushed toward his mother, the boy felt a hand closing around his wrist, and another on his mouth to smother his scream as he was held back against Atasá:ta's chest. He could see her now, through the smoke, standing before five men, although he could barely see them. One had a strange machine in his hand, and was pointing it at his mother. He felt Atasá:ta begin to pull him away, but it was too late. The shot fired, and blood, so much blood flew from his mother's chest. She stumbled, dropped to one knee, and she seemed to smile for a second before she fell, her eyes still closed, her face peaceful.

The flow of time seemed to slow to a crawl as the boy and the man watched the crimson snake of Ziio's blood slowly making its way toward them, their eyes not leaving the dash of angry red upon the dirt as a maniacal laughter rose in the smoke-laden air, soon joined by four other sinister laughs. Atasá'ta was the first to regain his senses, and Ratonhnhaké:ton was limp in his arms as he stood, running back into the forest from where they had come as the five white men left the village. There was nothing but silence as the Mohawk warrior leapt and climbed, his hands shaking with shock at what they had just witnessed, and his face etched with worry at the stubborn silence of the little boy he had secured to his back.

They were well on their way to Boston when Ratonhnhaké:ton finally began to cry, now nothing but a lost child, a six-year old boy calling for a mother he would never see again.

"Ista… Ista…"

Atasá:ta stayed silent as the child cried out against his shoulder, his own heart breaking for the mother gone too soon and the child who would be forever tortured with visions of his mother's final moment. And himself could do nothing but cry, as they arrived into the city which was bound to become this lost child's home.


So I suppose you realized I used some of the game's actual dialogues, all credits to Ubisoft, of course.