'Always think ahead, Ratonhnhaké:ton' his brain told him. It was one of the many lessons he'd been taught and learned from a young age; since he'd started becoming a hunter; an assassin. He's have to find a way to check if there were any soldiers nearby enough to hear a gunshot, and if so, how many. Scuttling and shifting his weight very slowly at first but then quickly, he moved through the area under the cabin. His hands outstretched to touch and feel for obstructions in his way before he hit them. He moved silently through the pitch blackness, swerving and moving through and around wooden posts and supports until he saw a small sliver of light ahead. A break in the wooded shell of the cabin's girth. Just what he needed.
As he got closer the scent of fresh air taunted him and he breathed in deep to take it in. The smell of wet earth and rotting debris within this unlit prison was dreary and in all honesty he longed to be out in the open, where he could defend himself if need be. In here he was trapped, like a rabbit in a snare. Yes, he did have his weapons, but even when the wolf has his teeth and claws, when caged up he is as good as dead.
Now able to peer out of the gap in the wood Connor looked around, listened, and even scented the wind. He used all his senses to hunt his prey, and red coated men were no different than deer at this point.
The air smelled sweet, a storm was coming, more snow. There was also a hint of blood, no doubt a wounded man, but the scent was stale; the man was gone. He then used his eyes and ears, looking as far as he could through the gap to see if there was any glimpse of red or any sound of speaking, but to his relief there was only silence.
'Good.' Connor said to himself again and he glanced upward as if looking through the wooden floor and to the man standing above him. His fingers slithered around the body of the newly loaded pistol once more and withdrew it from its holster, but then a moment of hesitation.
The gun would be a poor choice. Quick, effective, but loud. Even if there were no men around, it was not worth the risk. Replacing the pistol Connor lifted his arms to unhinge the handcrafted bow from around his torso. It was not the most modern of weapons but it was deadly. For decades his people used such weapons to kill a great many things; their fellow men included.
It was silent and if used at close range, if aimed right there was no chance a man could survive a direct hit to the heart. Even a prize male buck could not survive such a thing, and their hide and heart were twice as thick.
Withdrawing an arrow from the quiver on his back Connor loaded the bow, placing the notch of the arrow into the bowstring, his index finger holding the shaft just beyond the arrowhead in place as he once again moved through the darkness. By now he's learned the path through the cellar which made less noise. He could see the faint outline of a square shape above and he knew he'd made it to the cellar door. He knew there was no way he could raise from the crevice silently as there were no stairs to ascend, just a drop. He'd have to 'lift' himself up out of the hole which would take his hands and arms, both of which were currently occupied. So, he'd do the next best thing, he'd invite the British man to meet him.
Lifting his bow just high enough to touch the wooden door above, he pushed it upward a few times making a loud 'knocking' noise against the wooden surface. This would surely be cause for concern and any soldier worth his salt would come investigate the sound. Just as suspected Connor heard footsteps approaching closer, but he could hear Elena's voice pleading to ignore the sound. He knew she was trying to protect him but he had a plan and he'd stick to it. He repeated the knocking, this time louder. There was no way the soldier would ignore such a racket, even with a lovely lady trying to tell him it was 'just the wind'.
Connor listened as footsteps clamored to land still just above his head, the soldier now standing on the door. He knocked once more, the sound sending a thundering echo through the cellar. He pulled back the bowstring taunt and aimed upward as he heard the door begin to open. The light blared into his eyes but that did not stop his fingers from releasing the bowstring, sending the arrow at high speed upward where it buried itself deep into the invader's chest.
It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust and Connor peered out of the cellar to see the familiar sight of a red coat falling to the ground where it landed with a sickening thud. The hit was direct but the man still moved; this one was resilient. No matter, Connor would make short work of ending his 'misery' as he pulled himself from the hole, nimbly into a crouch before standing up and walking over to the man on the floor. Lifting the tomahawk from its sling Connor knelt down, lifted his hand and struck the blow down. His aim was true and the blow swift, a moment later it was over.
The man let out a gurgling sound of dying before his head slumped aside and his final breath was released. His eyes were open but there was no light within them now.
Connor then looked up to see Elena. She was standing with her hands clasped over her mouth, staring at the dead man. There was a look of shock and empathy within her eyes and for a moment Connor regretted what he had just done. But that regret was short lived as soon as he saw the red coat and the cross that lay on the dead man's stilled chest.
Connor stood up and made his way over and past Elena who did not look at him but instead looked away as if ashamed of him. There were no words spoken as Connor looked out the front window to secure the perimeter. He then walked back to stand over the dead man before leaning down to grasp a hold of under his arms to pull his body up. He couldn't leave this man lying in the middle of Lady Elena's home, it wasn't polite. As if killing a man in front of her was?
Regardless, if anything he couldn't risk leaving behind evidence to lead Elena into trouble. She did not deserve such trouble.
Connor dragged the man's body carefully through the cabin before laying the body down against a wall to allow him to open the back door.
Elena had still not said a word but she had now begun to follow him, watching him inquisitively as he disposed of his 'kill'. Dragging the soldier's body out in to the snow, Connor looked for a place to put him that was far enough away from the cabin to avoid suspicion but close enough for him to keep an eye on the carcass. Animals here would eat anything left out dead, even the flesh of a man. Their presence could attract unwanted attention. Usually if a hunter wanted to keep wild animals from his prey he would leave some part of his scent behind to detour animals. In most cases it was cloth, but urine worked the best. Wild animals avoided 'marked' areas, it was an ingrained instinct. The only problem was Connor did not have to go, so he used the next best option, he tore a piece of cloth from his coat and laid it on the ground. It wasn't much of a 'presence' but it was good enough. If anything the presence of a cabin; human dwelling, so nearby would keep the beasts away for now.
Turning back Connor looked to see the door remained open and the vision of wafting red hair accompanied by a pale skinned face in the doorway. He stood up and readied to turn and walk away. He had no business being in her home, he was dangerous to her. Not by choice but by occupation. He would sleep in the wilderness tonight, as he had many times before.
"Hey boy, are y'lost!?" A voice called out through the silence and Connor stopped in his tracks and turned. He'd heard that question before. It was the same question a little red haired girl had asked him the first day they'd met in their youth. Back then, he was lost. Terribly lost.
But now...?
Connor smirked softly to himself. In truth he wasn't any less lost today than he was back then. He had a purpose now but he did not 'belong' anywhere. His home was gone, his family was gone. Just the thought of those memories were enough to wipe the smile from his face and return the cold to his bones, and his eyes. He turned around slowly only to find he was staring into Elena's startling eyes. She'd come out to meet him, her shoulder's draped in a delicate shawl of black yarn; it had a hood which barely covered her vivid red hair. The wind whipped past and through them both and he heard her shiver.