The Way of the Wolf

'1'

Forest

It's a lonely experience, when everything you've worked so hard to accomplish has been completed. Sitting there and realizing there was nothing more to fight for, to watch the others fight for it as you watch from your window. Seeing the smoke and flame, wanting so hard to help, but you've already done your part and you know that age has caught up with you and there's nothing more in this world that you can do than be there and watch and wait for an opportunity to act.

Then thoughts of her come into play. Meeting her was like a new experience, opening your eyes. But then it didn't last, because she had her own destiny, and you had yours, too. But it was so good while it lasted. Together for those brief moments, and the way she respected you, valued you… The way she was just like you, in her own right.

But sitting at the window and watching the things happen in the distance, knowing that the man you hunted down your whole life was dead and that everything you have worked for was right again, the pain was just the same. You aren't much older, but you're old enough where you know that doing something wouldn't help.

The manor is empty and dark around you. It was all because you had forgotten to settle down while you had the time, and that handsome, youthful glow. It's still there, but the glow has been dulled by the years of heartbreak and loss. You might have had a chance with her, but that wasn't a possibility now. She's probably happy down in the south with some other man, her deeds are likely finished as well, and she's content and likely forgotten about you.

But that's okay.

Because you remember her.

And you remember him, the man that had taken you in when you were looking for a home. The place you sit in now, looking out the window. He had sat in this chair whenever you had come home, and though he said that he liked looking out at nature, you always knew that he had been looking for you to come out of the tree line, a son coming home from war.

Connor looked at those trees, and he knew the feeling that Achilles had as he watched them, waiting for someone, anyone, who would come and fill up his life. Many of the people living on his land would visit, but it wasn't the same. With Charles Lee dead, Connor's goal was complete. The war was being won by America, and that was all Connor had come to do.

He often viewed himself by that name. Not his Native, but Connor, in honor of his dead mentor, the man he viewed as a father. Better than that goddamn Haythem, in any case. Sitting in that window, thought of his mentor, missing their heated conversations and the times they spent in eased silence. He even liked playing those Colonial games in the living room with him. But that checkerboard lay there, collecting dust, because it was too painful to play the game, and equally painful to get rid of it.

All that he could do was look out the window, watching the trees. On certain nights, he could see smoke and hear cannons, but nothing was close to him. They were always far away, and that was okay to him. Now that his goal was complete, he could just listen to the sound and know that he no longer had to fight, unless his people, his true people, were in need of him.

"Connor…"

A young woman from one of the home's on his land was standing in the doorway. She was beautiful, Connor had always thought that, but she was a married one, so he had kept silent. After so many years, he had admired her beauty the way a family member would think of their relative as a beautiful woman.

He stood, pushing the chair back gingerly and looking at her. "What is it?"

"Well…" The woman looked at her hands. "I just came to check on you… The house has been so quiet, and…"

He had gotten these messages many times before. The other day, a son of a family in the land had come to see him, asking him for lessons on riding a horse. Connor had enjoyed teaching him, something to take his mind off of the reflection that he no longer needed, and the boy seemed to know that, too. They were getting ready for hunting lessons the next week, and the boy was working on making his own bow and set of arrows.

"I'm fine," Connor said. "I am."

The woman nodded, but he saw how unconvinced she was. When she turned away, she seemed to remember something, and turned back to him. "I saw someone in the wood," she said. "There was a fire. A campfire, I mean. I went to look, but nobody was there. I think someone might be poaching on the land."

That was one of the most irritating things that Connor had to deal with in the life after his war. "Were there animals in the campsite?" he asked. When the woman nodded, he sighed and walked to the wall, picking out his tomahawk and a packet of rope darts. For a moment, he stared at his assassin clothing, which hung on the wall, and his hidden blades, which gleamed in the dim light, but he left them behind.

There was no denying the perfection of the night air as he had gone outside, sighing in happiness and taking a deep breath. Many days he would just go into the woods by himself and hunt and sleep there for weeks on end, enjoying the isolation. But now that he felt that isolation everywhere, he had gone into the forest less and less. But after being in the manor for so long, he was content to have gone outside.

"The fire I saw was over there," the woman pointed to the trees, and Connor nodded.

"Thank you," was all Connor said before walking into the wood.

Instantly, in the darkness, his eyes became alight with new colours that normal people could not see. A special gift he had inherited from his father, the only credit Haythem Kenway would ever get. As he walked through the trees, he noticed slight golden markings of where the grass and brush had been trodden on. Using his skill, he determined some rabbit paths, a few deer, but then he noticed a human one.

The trail, as he followed, looped around the manor, and didn't waver. He spotted a few old campsites, and after walking down a pathway a deer had made, he found a campsite that was new, the flames alive but wavering.

Blinking away the strange colours, everything came back into its normal light. The fire was slowly dying, and there was a deer lying dead beside it. Stepping around the small encampment, Connor crouched down and began to search for any sign of where the person might have gone. He found a patch of grass where it was apparent that a body had been laying to rest.

He frowned. The spot was too small for an adult male, possibly even for an adult woman. Running a hand over the spot, he was about to get up when he heard a clicking sound behind him. Freezing in place, Connor's entire body became tense, and he dared not move.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a young voice. A young boy's voice; and it sounded scared. Connor knew there was a gun in his hand, and the body was shaking, for the gun was making clattering sounds in his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Connor began to stand up, slow and steady, and he heard the boy take a step back.

"Stop! I'll shoot you in the head!"

Connor stopped halfway into standing, an uncomfortable position. He felt the need to move his legs, but he remained still for the sake of the boy. He noticed something in the boy's voice, a hint of an accent that was not English as he had expected, but it was something he could not quite place.

"I was just looking at the area," Connor said, but he could tell the boy was not convinced. "This is my land, you know. You're not supposed to be hunting on it."

"I'm only here for a few more days!" the boy said, voice quivering. Connor could sense the boy's tears, and that he was ready to cry.

"Can I turn around?"

"No!"

"Listen," Connor said, "I will drop my weapons and toss them to you… Then I will turn around. You lower the gun, but you don't have to drop it. And we'll just talk… Okay?"

There was a moment of silence, but then the sound of a weak "okay" came to his ears. When he got the response, he took up his tomahawk and the pack of rope darts, tossing them gently behind him. He heard them hit the grass, and then he straightened up and turned around.

The boy before him was a young white boy, just as he had thought. He looked to be about fourteen years old, muddy brown hair and dull blue eyes. There were freckles on his lightly tanned skin, and he held a gun and a knife. The boy kicked the tomahawk and rope darts away, so that neither of them were close, and dared to meet Connor's eyes.

"What's your name, young one?" Connor asked. He saw the fear and determination in the boy's eyes, and thought of himself when he was that age.

"… The settler's told me my name was Erick," he said. "But my maman always called me Chien."

It hit Connor, the slight French that came into the boy's voice when he said his name. "Why are you here, Chien?" he asked, and when he tried to lower his hands, the boy began to raise his gun, causing him to hold them up again.

"My maman sold me to those stupid colonists, for food," he said with a disgusted look on his childish features. "They changed my name and made me work for cruel people. But I know who I am. I am Chien, and I am running away."

A runaway child, Connor thought, frowning. "Where are you running to?"

"I don't need to tell you everything!"

"Okay!" Connor let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "You don't have to. I was just asking… Chien, what does that mean?"

Chien frowned, lowering the gun once more. "It means Wolf. My maman called me Wolf because my father was a performer. He worked with wolves, and I was born in one of their pens…"

"You know, in my culture," Connor said. "The word for wolf is Okwaho. Can I call you that?"

"No! I am Chien!" the young boy said, his entire being trembling. "I will not be called by any other name! I am Chien, always Chien!"

Connor nodded, keeping his features calmed and relaxed, hoping that it would help the boy to relax. "Okay, Chien… Okay…"

Chien watched him for some time, assessing him on whether or not to shoot him, then seemed to decide that it wasn't worth it. "Take your weapons and go," he said. "Do not come back. After a few days, I shall be gone. Do not come to find me again, understand?"

Connor nodded a bit and went to collect his things. Picking up the discarded weapons, he turned to the boy. Seeing such a scared child alone in the wood broke his heart. "Would you like to come and stay at the manor with me?" he asked.

The boy shook his head, raising his gun more. "Get away from here!"

Connor left, walking back up to the manor. The woman who had informed him of the boy was not there, and as he entered the home, he looked back at the forest for a moment, thinking about how he had sat outside the home for so long, waiting for Achilles to let him in. The boy was waiting outside, but whether or not he wanted inside, Connor did not know.

That night, he thought of the boy Chien, the Wolf in his forest, and fell asleep, trying to decide how to handle the situation just outside his doorstep.

This must be how Achilles felt.