Connor woke up yawning. It was dawn and Connor knew he had a long day ahead of him. Still, he was in a good mood. He would have allowed himself some hours of rest before heading to Boston again. For now, he enjoyed a glass of fresh milk that Prudence had brought him the day before.
'It is tasty indeed' he thought, kneeling down near to the bucket to pour himself another glass.
He examined the liquid, white and creamy. It smelled heavenly. He was doing this when he noticed a scrap of paper tucked on the handle.
'Happy birthday! I hope this gift will make you smile... for once!'
"Happy birthday?" Connor exclaimed, surprised. "This is not my birthday... " he began to stroll up and down the living room, "so it must be the Old Man's!" he almost jumped in surprise. He had never thought that his Mentor was actually born on a particular day.
"I indeed must do something special for him" he said, heading toward the kitchen.
During his training, when it was his birthday, Connor was allowed to spend a day out with his tribe and, in the evening, when he came back, he would find... a cake.
'Birthday cake' his Mentor used to announce him, and then he would go back grumping in his room. In the morning, though, an extra slice always went missing.
"I need to gather help. No, maybe not. It must be something done by me ... with my heart".
He took the recipe book and he opened it. He began to leaf through the pages frenetically, but he failed to find what he was looking for.
"There is no time to lose. I will try to make it by myself" he said, trying to remember how cakes were made in his village.
Nobody would have guessed that, as a matter of fact, Connor was a very good cook. His mother and him shared this talent, and throughout the years, Ratohnhaké:ton kept practicing. This way, he felt near to his Ista and he could almost smell her scent in the smoke of the fire.
"I am famous for my roasted meat. A cake is nothing but a game for me!" he exclaimed, crushing two eggs with his huge hands in a little mountain of flour. Half of the shell, shattered, mixed up with the dough. An insignificant detail.
It did not feel difficult for him.
"Flour. Eggs. No sugar, he doesn't like it. Cold coffee. Butter. Half an apple. Bread crumples. Corn grains... I think that's it. No, let me add some strawberries. Done!" he exclaimed, enthusiastic about his creation.
Connor poured the mixture directly in the pot and he waited for it to heat on the fire.
By the time the Assassin Mentor woke up (or he pretended to, because elderly people rarely sleep more than a few hours), Connor was modelling his masterpiece on the kitchen table.
"Wait there, Old Man! I have something for you!"
He slapped a plate in front of him.
Its content was dripping out practically everywhere on the table. The dough had condensed quite enough so that it tasted like jelly, and it was waterproof, so it was a challenge to catch it with a spoon. Its stuffing didn't smell inviting, and pieces of squashed ingredients that could be seen didn't seem yummy, either.
"Oh, I forgot" he added, emptying a glass of milk on the 'cake', "happy birthday".
The Old Man couldn't help but laugh, and he ventured his fork intohis pupil's creation.
When he finally finished, he thanked him.
"Anyway, I think you are somehow late. My birthday was two months ago".
"Really? I am sorry. Prudence's notes mislead me. Don't worry, Old Man. I will be able to replicate the recipe next year, so that we will enjoy a cake on the right day this time".
"I hope I'll have digested this one by then" he replied, quite enough so that Connor could not hear.
Notes: I hope you enjoy! If you have ideas, advices or corrections I'd be happy to listen to what you'd like to say. Please Comment and review!