"It takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place."

Lewis Carroll

Not much time passed when the Mohawk warriors slaughtered the bluecoats deemed to execute the natives they've captured. Their blood spilled into the virgin snow, quickly buried by the new snow falling softly. Both men whipped the blood off their weapons and went to work, freeing the captives. It was such wonder, though. As somewhat tactless as it sounded, Ratonhnhaké ton thought that King Washington had killed his mother knowing that she would attempt to stop him, but it was not enough. Left and right, he would capture not just the people of the Frontier, but his own people whether he saw them as a threat or not. Such musings made him worry. They would scan this land restlessly and ruthlessly in order to find every last survivor. Every minute of the day would be another rude awakening.

Once the natives were freed, Teiowí:sonte and his brother gripped forearms, glad that in his certainty that he has found him and the captives.

"It is thanks to Ratonhnhaké ton," Kahionhaténion turned to him, "You should return to the Clan Mother. She will want to hear of our adventure."

"Ratonhnhaké ton, we will make sure that these people are taken care of," then he flinched as if remembering something, "Yes…your woman. She was attacked by bluecoats before I was taken away. Is she well?" A woman's groaning in the distance answered for him. The men promptly went to her side where his 'beloved' was. "Ratonhnhaké ton, she is freezing!"

"I will make camp then," he decided, "If she continues like this, she will die."

"I w-will n-n-not get sick," she hugged herself tightly, pulling her knees up to her chest, "I j-j-just don't do so w-well in c-cold weather." The native man she followed sighed in annoyance, taking her into his arms before walking on with his fellow brothers. She would fuss, but her teeth chattering made it difficult to do so. Eventually, she gave up her protests. Rationally, it would be better to go back to the Clan Mother. He had done was he was asked to do, so why this extra break on the trip? For her sake? That was ridiculous. If they were to rest now, it would waste precious time. Besides, it's not like she could sleep by choice anyway, but he insisted. The men managed to find an unused cave nearby large enough for all of them to camp for the night. They also were strongly adamant on finding firewood, meat, and fur to make sure that Ratonhnhaké ton's woman would have enough to avoid a catastrophic fever. She sputtered at how she was being spoiled; sounding as if her condition was not much to worry over.

"Y-Your friends a-are making a-a-a big deal out of n-n-nothing," she grunted as the native warrior sat within the cave with her body close to his. He wondered if she had caught a frostbite being outside for so long, but she didn't seem to be in any pain save for the large bruising across her jaw. His eyes stared at it for some time until he unconsciously touched it cautiously.

"Agh!" she wailed, "That hurt! Why would you touch it, mothe—"

"Sit still," he silenced her as he went to his pack to pull out some wrappings, "Even if you are not my wife from the world I knew, you are still unbearable. You're like a child."

"I-I'm like a child?!" she moved her leg enough to aim to kick his healed injuries, but it backfired with her leg caught in his arm. She grunted in frustration, seeing that his reflexes improved over a short amount of time. Retrieving her leg would be a challenge now that her muscles were weakened by the harsh cold. She started to whine, sensing that she would lose this one. "L-Let go of me…" she pouted.

"Only if I have your word that you will cease your struggle to bruise me." She did not say, but her tense breath softened and her muscles relaxed. He released her then, taking his hand to place under her chin to turn her head to the side. Tsipporah sucked her teeth at the contact; both in pain and anxiety. He examined her wound, determining it to be caused by the butt of a musket. The impact did not take any flesh, but her skin was swelled badly. "Do you have any other injuries?"

She gently shook her head. Moving her head around only made the bruise sting even more. Guess it wasn't much of bother when she was out in the cold. The sudden chills rose back into her nerves, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself—and in the same instance, Ratonhnhaké ton weaved his arms around her as well, pulling her close to his bare abdomen. She blinked once…twice…wondering when he found the second to remove his strapping and wolf-cap. It would unwise to break away from him, especially when he was radiating like the sun. Just when she was getting comfortable, a warm breath brushed on her lips…

"You seem to be getter warmer," he cradled her, finding himself losing his palm in her hair. She yelped at the touch to her sensitive nape.

"Nonononononononono..." she tried to get out of his hold, feeling a bit too comfortable. Suppose that tea didn't just give him the veil of the wolves, but the heat of one as well like a living furnace. The warmth was inviting, his defined muscles, his perfectly sculpted form, his beautiful face… Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.

"I think I'm good for the time being, sir. We can go home now—"

"You gave me your word not to struggle," he stared intently, obviously having no intention of releasing her. She pouted, giving up on her notion. Given what she's seen of the natives so far, they are bent on promises. 'Maybe', 'should', or 'shouldn't' are not in their line of vocabulary. She sucked her teeth and mechanically snuggled into his chest as he leaned against the cave's wall. He recalled, even as they first met, his beloved would never try to cleave flesh from him from just merely touched. It was a strange feeling to be pushed away like this. The native man gently rustled through her hair unconsciously while they sat in quiet, absorbing each other's heat. Tsipporah began to close her eyes half-way. As she leaned against his chest, she felt the pounding of his heart fluttering the more she pressed up against him. It did not feel as much as hers—to be shaking anxiously in the company of a gorgeous stranger—no… the rhythm felt more of certainty. He knew exactly who he was comforting. She resisted moving away for once, somewhat curious of him now. There was no reason to pick a fight with him now. Something told her that she could trust him; that he was no definite enemy in wait.

"Um…tree-hugger?" she moaned, "Can I ask you something?"

"As you wish," he breathed steadily, making the woman more nervous to be near him.

"Do you think I'm weird?" He chuckled at the question as a response. Tsipporah wasn't sure if it was good or bad. People tend to avoid her due to her conscious mood-swings. She wasn't exactly the most social neighbor either, never being this close to new people and talking to them such as this one. She poked his chin defiantly as he tried not to think too much of her asking. "I'm serious! No one ever goes near me—not like this. People tend to avoid me like your people did."

"We avoid all strangers to our land. Do not take it personally."

"I take everything personally, boss; I can't help it," she fixed her head to look upwards and realized that she almost brushed against his cheek, so she looked back down sheepishly; "You're pretty cuddly for someone of your build and size."

"I would say the same for you. You are visibly muscular, yet…soft." He could never forget how her very structure felt. Even her hair was still the same, but more manageable. His hands made their way, gently grazing her scalp.

"Mm…" she closed her eyes.

"Oh," he retrieved his palm, "Forgive me, I was just—"

"It's alright, tree-hugger. I think I know you enough to know that it's okay to touch me." His cheeks became ablaze.

"What?"

"That's a Mohawk thing right? To not touch or make contact with strangers?"

"Ah… yes," he cleared his throat and looked away, "That much is true. It would be best to get some sleep. We must see Clan Mother in the morning."

"Alright, but can I ask you one more thing?"

"If it puts you at ease," he furrowed his brows, anxious to shut his eyes.

"…" she hesitated to ask at first, "Do you…er, believe in our Lord Jesus Christ?" She wanted to punch herself in the face for covering up her personal question with something completely off. The woman heard no reply after a moment's pass. Her eyes looked about before deciding to look up to his face. His eyes were closed; his face relaxed. He was asleep. Damn it. At least he didn't catch her stupid question that she never spoke of. She should really hold herself back sometimes. The cold under her skin was lifting under his heat along with his strong embrace. Tsipporah snuggled into him more, yawning into a calm stillness.

Ratonhnhaké ton merely failed to give in to slumber. He did not fall asleep immediately, though. In such a familiar presence, he would often feel relaxed as he would with his own family when he was young. As he looked at the woman who now thought him a stranger, he could only think of the early days of when they finally came together, officially…

He stood at the end of the aisle with a stern face as always, but inside he was a nervous wreck and the emotion reciprocated in his eyes to say the least. His friends—the whole community of Homestead—squirmed in their seats waiting for the bride to arrive through the doors. It was a comical decision beforehand of who should escort her down the aisle for Godfrey and Terry nearly tore each other to shreds to be chosen. The bride, of course, chose them both since they would nearly break their faces should she dismiss both of them. Connor's heart skipped a beat as he heard footsteps nearing the door along with hushed voices tangled in a dilemma. The priest stepped up to the podium, asking for all to rise. Everyone rose with a purpose in knowing that the bride was to arrive with her escorts… and there she was.

Her dress came as a surprise as she would always wear something masculine, but did not look quite colonial. The only feminine attire they ever saw her in was when the French Queen came to Homestead, convincing her to wear something in her field and she did. Her dress was draped fairly of lace, floral, and some beading that one would see on native attire. The lacing itself seemed as such. Even her hair was brought down and subtle to not stand out as much. Connor flinched at how she appeared to glow and she resisted the temptation to giggle at his reaction. She examined him as well while the two lumberjacks took her down the aisle. He wore something of a captain's suit should wear, yet everything was more radiant and elegant. Dibs on that Faulkner made him wear such an outfit, but it delighted her nonetheless. Before she realized it, she was at the end near the podium before her groom. Tsipporah inhaled softly as she was internally screaming. Her beloved reached out and wiped her cheek generously; that is when she saw that a few stray tears were streaking her face.

The priest smiled that she was just as nervous as her fiancé was, but wouldn't say otherwise. He went onwards with the phrases that would be often said in ceremonies: how marriage is beautiful, who objects, and all that jazz. Connor stiffened as the priest finally got down to the 'I dos'. Tsipporah felt her heart running out of juices.

"Do you, Connor Kenway, take this woman to be lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold—through sickness and health, for better or worse, and through riches and poverty?" he assassin looked to his fiancé in the eye.

"I still think you an insufferable woman. You call me 'naïve' when I am set out to do the impossible… yet you would support me without question and you are loyal as you are…unorthodox. But you are the only one I can truly see myself with than another. I do."

How blunt. He still insulted her though. Almost like how he joined the Brotherhood—no questions asked and just did everything without complaining, taking her hands in his as he spoke. That's when he found how much this was thrilling her. Her pulse was shooting the roof and he tried not to smirk, only giving her a chin up. The priest asked the bride the same question to which Angie hollered for her to say yes and kiss already. The bride thinned her lips, covering her eyes with a free hand as she felt a little embarrassed. When she lowered her hand, all could see the light-heartedness in her eyes that rarely reared its head when they would all come together.

"I thought I would never meet someone as great as you. You gave me a reason to believe that there is still hope and something worth fighting for and I love you for that. So, yes… I do."

Once the priest admitted for them both to share a kiss, the bride went for it since the other wasn't too keen on public showing of affection, but she warned of this beforehand. This was something done in the privacy of their home, according to his culture. Nevertheless, it was a colonial wedding, so it was the one custom to break just for this moment. He had to imagine them alone, weaving his arms around her waist to pull her closer to him, taking her lips sweetly into his. The hollering and cheering fell on deaf ears until they broke from each other for an Eskimo kiss. The priest then gladly dubbed them as Mr. and Mrs. Kenway. The bride—now a wife—liked the sound of it. Tsipporah Kenway.

"Okay, now we can have drinks all around!" Angie boasted and wanted to scramble for the door, but Fillan pulled her back to remind her that they needed to see the newlyweds out first. Speaking of which, she received dirty looks from the bride while her and her husband walked out, mouthing that she'll get some booze last. The others in the church laughed at her expression of dismay.

…

The reception was a success for the whole community came together and was merry for the married couple. The whole ceremony was during the late afternoon and the reception finally took place in the evening at the inn. As a bridezilla would, the bride made sure that everything was in order. Although, making sure that everything would go right was a habit fixed in her system since the start of the revolution. Now that it ended, some forced habits never faded away. Connor wanted to be sure that his wound wouldn't get in the way of the later nights he would spend with his wife. The doctor did mention to "not get carried away". The reception was only meant to last until the early night, but of course, the whole community thought it to be a big deal that their landlord got himself someone special. The two newlyweds weren't left alone until it was nearly eleven o'clock. Both went to the manor, which they now had to themselves. It felt strange every now and then that the old man would not greet them in his cynical, caring way.

Tsipporah climbed up to her room to take off her poof of a white dress. Maybe making a Cinderella dress for a dream wedding should have stayed in her dreams. Connor did wonder how on earth she could practically float in such big attire if one could call it so. This is what she always wanted to wear on her big day? Women continued to surprise if not this one. He shook his head and came up the stairs behind her to give her a little push. His wife was finally near her door and not trapped between the wall and the railing.

"Thanks," she huffed in exhaustion, "I'm gonna go take this off."

"In your room?" he raised a brow in question. She gave him a sarcastic look as if it was the most obvious thing.

"It's where I keep all my artwork, duh. I made this with my girl-friends here; I'll put it away safely." He quickly got in front of her, taking her by the shoulders. "Connor?"

"Your room is a storage room now. Newlyweds sleep in the same room or have you forgotten?"

"No, I didn't forget. I'm just putting this dress in that room and then I'll go to our room so we can…" she felt heat rise in her face and gave her husband a skeptical look, "You…you wanna to consummate the marriage?"

"Yes."

Shame she couldn't run around when her dress creates quite the handicap, leaving her to sway side to side in thought. Without saying a word, she went to their room, opening the door and looking back to her husband. She gestured for him to come, too, but there was no need. He scooted her inside, lit the lantern that sat on his dresser, and shut the door behind him, then skillfully locking it as if he expected even the most well-bred assassins to come after him. It made her laugh. He was preparing for war all over again.

"You're so skilled with locks, so why not undo this one?" she had her back to him, playing with the tied laces that held everything together.

He froze for a moment, taking in what she suggested. He wasn't one for flirting, so he always had to decipher whatever she said. She eventually rolled her eyes, seeing that she always had to be direct with him all the time. Clearly, when they first made love, Angie was the one to tell him to just go for it…and what to do, and what to say, and what how to do it. Tsipporah turned to him, taking his hand to pull away his glove for him. Suppose the first time, he was confident—which made her wonder why he was stiffening now. She felt up his arm, to his shoulders, until she tipped his tri-fold. He kept his eyes on her as she moved as he would when they were out fighting; while they were on the edge.

"What's wrong, love?" she laid her hands across his chest while he sighed.

"Once you done with this life, you will return home…"

"I know," she cooed.

"Have everything you've ever had back in your grasp…"

"Yes, I know."

"And fall in love with another man."

"It will not happen," she gripped his collar threateningly, "I chose this place solely because I learn more from here than I do at home and because I love you—that's it. I have no regrets; at least when I go home, I can go home knowing the truth. I could marry again if I choose to, but love someone like I love you—never." His heart sped up as she spoke, but would never show it in his face as usual. She knew her words fazed him in some way for he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in to press his lips against hers. It caught her by surprise at first when he slipped his tongue to meet hers gently. She didn't know he had it in him to take her so steadfastly. She smiled in the kiss as he practically clawed at her laced back to undo them, but she considered it artwork, so she gripped his wrist for him to stop and turned around as much as she could.

"Like this," she took the top knots and pulled them slowly, loosening the entire structure of her dress. Connor shook his head, frustrated with how she made even the simplest attires complicated to undo. His wife took his reaction as negative, not wanting to finish the night. She silently started to curse herself for not being so appealing to the opposite sex when it came to flirting. She approached the bed, sitting upon it nervously. "Guess my lack of romantics has its downer endings, huh? …Connor?"

At first, there was no answer. She swore she saw him fully awake and felt his movements—perhaps not all of them. Suddenly, his bare arms weaved around her once more; a warm breath caressing her neck as her attire was forced to slip away. Such an obscuring, overwhelming amount of lace provoked his curiosity to see what was underneath. Of course, she had to wear something respectable for the ceremony, but the ceremony was over. He wanted to see all of her—to take all of her. Once she was finally out of that suffocating cage of fabric, she turned on him to rip away his jacket. She was unsure of what took hold of her at the moment, but the next thing she knew was her husband's bare chest inches away from her.

The very sight of him—his muscular, defined figure rising and falling in an inviting rhythm as anxious beads of sweat formed on his skin. Tsipporah felt her eyes glaze over as well as her emotions losing all rational thought. Her plump lips swelled with wanting to pleasure her giver. A ravenous moan escaped Connor's throat while she planted a trail of tender kisses down his abdomen. Slender arms wrapped his form, feeling at his back as he went through her unruly hair. It did not take long before she had every inch of him within the cavern of her mouth to arouse him further. He had often warned her not to do so as he would lose control of all of his senses and become aggressive. It was no lie.

When morning came, shards of dim sunrays enveloped the entrance of the cave while the small bonfire continued to burn wildly. Both young adults basked in each other's company as they slept, unconsciously keeping warm as their bodies perfectly molded. The Mohawk warrior jerked a little as his ear twitched to the sound of nearby stomping of snow. His nostrils huffed sharply to take in some air into his lungs until he heard purring under his chin. Looking down, he saw the woman with her head laid on his naked collarbone with her mouth slightly open and her face completely relaxed. Once he moved to fix himself, a whine escaped her lips of worries. Ratonhnhaké ton was steadfast to her moaning, waking her from her somewhat troubled sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Wassup, sexy?" she peeked through her lashes, yawning leisurely.

"I hear footsteps outside this cave. I must see what it is. You stay in here until I return." He got to his feet to stretch, realizing that he picked up on his woman's bad habit of leaning her back against something while sleeping. In another dimension, he would've been ashamed. His arms extended over his head until he heard a satisfying pop of his bones. Flexing a bit more, the muscles rippled at the tension they were under and would soon be in once he would leave this place. Tsipporah watched in amusement how his perfect body managed in the morning. It was quite the show. When he was done, he turned to pick up his weapons and the rest of his strapping. The woman averted her eyes to seem less perverse.

"How long do you expect me to stay inside and obey you, man?"

"If you value your life, then do as I say."

"Nope," she sassed, "I hate my life. I'll just get out of here—"he shoved her back in just as she came close behind him.

"Stay here. If I see or hear you take one step out of this cave, it will be your last." He brandished his tomahawk as he made his way near the entrance. Leaning out slowly, he cloaked himself as he ventured out further. There the footsteps were again that started to close in. He sprinted towards it as it could not escape his keen hearing. Upon inspection, he found the henchmen of the King scouting the area, stinking of fresh blood and sweat. It was too early in the morning for hunting…unless they did not hunt for animal skins and meat. The Mohawk warrior quickly climbed up a nearby tree as the cloak began to tire him in the direst way possible. His eyes thinned to the scenery to get a better view of them as well as a better chance of ambushing them. He heard them spoke. Their words gradually troubled him so:

"Those injuns were a lot of trouble, eh?"

"Yeah," a bluecoat sniffed, "They were tough as nails, but they had what's coming to them. His majesty would be pleased with the progress we've made. We killed their head elder. Should be disarray amongst them now."

"Those warriors were tough, yes. We gave it our all and we might get promoted. We should have a drink on it!"

"Hear, hear!"

The Mohawk's stomach churned painfully, but his eyes kept steady. Soon, he jumped onto the first man that dared to leisurely lean on the tree bark. The bluecoat had no time to react. Before his very eyes, his blood hastily spilled into the white snow along with his life. The others were startled, scrambling to load their guns and surround the savage and one by one, they failed miserably. As he would, the last one was left alive just barely. Pushing the shell-shocked soldier into the ground, Ratonhnhaké ton interrogated him with what they were discussing before.

"You say you slaughtered natives—where?" he growled under his breath. The bluecoat squirmed as the other's arm was pressed against his throat, and then suddenly ceased his struggle to give a cocky smirk. The warrior gave a questioning look, following the man's gaze until he saw other bluecoats approach with Tsipporah in a full nelson. Her nose was bruised, but she kept her chin up.

"Tsipporah…" he gripped his tomahawk, threatening to slit his hostage's throat, "Release her! She is not the one you want!"

"I guess all savages are all very daft, eh?"

"What?" he hissed.

"Guess you don't know how valuable she is. Guess not. Injuns…" he shook his head, "That Mohawk woman tried to steal the King's scepter by this colored woman's orders. She is in league with natives, it seems. Looks like you 'ave someone to blame for your complete extermination. Heh heh…" The woman struggled in the stubborn hold. The warrior stood slowly to his feet, switching his gaze between the men and her. Breathing in sharply, he vanished before their eyes. All of them save for the woman paled. They turned and searched wildly until one of their men choked on his blood. They froze in paranoia, not knowing where their opponent was. The only thing they could do was perish in the misery of fatal injuries.

Tsipporah sniffed her nose that was swelled with dry blood, looking to see if the warrior was still around. When she reached out into the air, he appeared, taking her by the shoulders.

"Are you injured anywhere else?"

"No," she breathed out a thick fog, "We have to go. Your people—"

"I know," he turned on his heel, dragging her to come along. It sort of puzzled her. Did he not hear what that soldier said of her? She is a danger to them all, so why drag her along? Perhaps this man was either too naïve or too deaf; she wasn't sure of both. They followed the forest path back to the cave that the people of Kanatahséton settled into. The snow was deeper than the day before, so they had no choice but to wade through it. It was quiet; too quiet. There were few noises by animals or by the people who were starving, groaning as they waited on the cold ground. He had said nothing to her ever since they left their campsite. Often, he would ponder on the words of the soldiers and how this world was compared to his own. His allies of the colonies turned against him and his people more than ever. Should he trust even the woman who traveled with him now? The question became louder in his head as he came upon his people who were lying dead in the snow along with the bloody bodies of bluecoats and the harsh smell of used gunpowder.

Clan Mother breathed weakly, clutching her staff as she was soaked in her own blood. Ratonhnhaké ton came to her side immediately to hold her in his arms, speaking her name softly; she blinked a few times, acknowledging his presence.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton. Arnold's men followed your trail back here. Your brothers fought well but there were too many." She gasped in pain.

"I thought the tea…"

"Gives strength, not immortality."

"It gives me life! I've never felt anything like it!"

"They have taken your daughter to their camp as prisoner. You must find her before…before they deliver her to King Washington. I fear they hunt her for her power. You must be careful. Respect the power of the tea, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Your mother was right to worry about the danger."

"I am certain I can defeat anyone." Tsipporah would suck her teeth at his comment, but didn't want to interrupt a dying woman's request.

"Good," she gasped, "First, kill Arnold and stop the destruction here. Then kill Washington. You must succeed…Ratonhnhaké:ton. If not you…nobody." The woman looked up to the sky as if the grayness of it contained a secret compass as to where to go next. The native man rose, laying the Clan Mother to rest. He turned to the trail before them where there were visible tracks leading into the west. Intuitively, he followed them and the woman followed behind. The silence between them lingered even longer with nothing but the wind sounding. It was starting to become a bit of a frustration that he kept quiet, yet she could say nothing. His village leader and other warriors have been slain. His daughter was taken by the King's men and his mother was long dead. Even his village was burned to the ground along with many of the people residing there—taken as prisoners to be executed or enslaved. Now every day, there would ashes, the stench of gunpowder into the open air, and blood wetting the ground. She eventually stopped in her tracks with her head hanging at the thought of him taking to the words of the soldiers.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton ," she muttered. The warrior stopped as he heard her call him in such a low voice. "Would you prefer to go stop Arnold alone?"

A gasp escaped his lips, turning to her in disbelief. It never crossed his mind that he should simply do this by himself; not that he couldn't, but still…"Why do you think now is the time to ask me this?"

"Because—"she shook her head, "Here I thought that if I lent a hand to the people, I would help them. It will not happen. And now—in a matter of weeks—your people and the people of the Frontier are all in grave danger. If I try to help you now, then you will suffer the same fate that is worse than that of your mother and I cannot let that happen. I will only hinder you."

"Seems to me that you are as foolish as you were in the past." Tsipporah paused to his response. What?

"Excuse me?!" she scoffed, "I'm worried for your safety and you call me a fool? Says the man who dared to fight the King and die!"

"And you saved me and deem yourself an obstruction," he hissed, "If running from all of this is your intention then I will not stop you, or did you think I would?"

"I cannot—"

"My daughter is imprisoned along with the others. I will stand here and waste my time arguing over nothing with you." He resumed walking away. The woman grunted and kicked her way through the deep parts of the snow to get in front of him.

"Fine. Fine. You save your daughter from the King's men because I will not." He just had enough of her opposition. His lip curled up, pestered to see that she was just going to give up after all that's happened. If there's even a chance that he could save the natives that were captured, he would. But this woman would not—seeing that failure was completely inevitable. It was just as she was when he first met her in his training days. He roughly grabbed her arm, practically dragging her behind him when she was already reluctant to follow. She was able, but didn't want him hurting any further. What is surrendering to the enemy without barely trying to go against them solve? Nothing.

"Let me go!" she fussed, "You will not succeed if you bring me along!"

"Nor will I succeed if you continue to stamp and shout. And you have done nothing to benefit me or my people yet. Your service will continue until I have defeated Washington."

"You can't order me around."

"No?" he forced her to face him, "Nor you should when the battle has barely begun. You will not only have others to die in your selfishness, but you will be shamed and executed along with them. Do not let it happen. But if you chose to fight, I will not let it happen." She only gave a skeptical look, slowly nodding. With that, he released; resuming his venture through the winter cold. He was pretty tough. After seeing all of this, he would go on. So this is Blythe's father…It made her ponder on the girl's condition. She has yet to see him and must miss him terribly; although, she wouldn't be so happy to see her father with the markings bestowed upon him by the Great Willow's tea.

"Stay here," he ordered as he vanished with the use of the Wolf Cloak when they neared a bluecoat encampment. There were two men speaking of the natives they had slain near the caves. General Putnam's name came up as well as the mention of a young native girl who killed three of their horses with nothing but a blank stare. He stalked them in and out of his cloak to save energy for he found that the use of it would take part of his energy, leaving him heavily fatigued. Perhaps that is what Clan Mother warned him of. When he was done eavesdropping, he returned to where the woman sat near the entrance. She nervously picked her nails as he came to her.

"I know where Arnold is, but the others are in Putnam's hands. I must kill Arnold first before we proceed. Once we are there, make sure no one gets in the fort and no one gets out. I cannot have him escape me again."

"Wait…" she pulled his arm, "Are you sure about this? To drag me along?"

"I am certain that you can help me." She thinned her eyes, and then jumped up as she pointed ahead.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton! A carriage with natives!"

Not just any carriage carrying prisoners, but some of his people including his aunt. He gave a sharp huff of air, brandishing his tomahawk.

"Do not let those men get in my way. These people need to escape."

"Whoa, you're just going to—"he dashed in his wolf cloak, "—Leave me here…Really?!"

There were voices whirling around again. It was starting become tiring to hear the muffled noises. When she opened her eyes for her vision to settle better, a sudden pain came through her socket.

"AUgh!" she sat up with a start realizing that her right eye was swollen shut. Trying to force it open only made the pain more severe than it already was. Blythe covered her eye and inhaled sharply as she got to her feet. Even standing proved to be a chore. Her legs refused to support her weight and gave way for her to collapse. This started to become more annoying than painful. She cursed under her breath of how she was unsure of where she was. Her available vision was blurry, so she couldn't take in her surroundings too well. Thank goodness her hearing was just fine. Her small hands found their way to… iron bars? She furrowed her brows, scooting her rear against what felt like a dirt-riddled ground. Wherever she was, it had terrible lighting and the smell was awful like a rotting corpse of an animal.

"You are finally awake." Blythe gasped as she heard a moderate voice speak to her. It sounded very familiar, but just as she was about to ask, it spoke to her again. "Those guards must have been exceedingly frightened of you to put you in a cell next to mine. These are where they put the really dangerous criminals."

"Criminals…" she repeated to herself, "I'm in prison?"

"Of course. Then again, you were unconscious for some time. I heard they slaughtered most of the natives they attacked—even their leader. Do not let them see you despair. They swell with pride to see children cry, it seems." The image of the warriors that looked over her as her father slept; all them… gone all in one morning. Way to start the day. Still, she would not cry. Inside, hatred bled and burned at her nerves with a vengeance. She only hoped that her father and the woman she found months ago were safe. This world was chaotic and he had died once. What if he were to again—alone?

"Despairing is not my style," she sucked her teeth, "I am past that phase in my life. Where is this place?" she still could not focus her vision well enough to see, even with the lights around her.

"Prison of course," he cleared his throat, "We're in Boston. A man by the name of Putnam is said to have his eyes on this place to steal it from another man by the name of Benjamin Franklin. We cannot let that happen. We cannot even let the King destroy us."

"Destroy us?" it did not sound of a matter of them dying, but sounded as if the King was expecting some sort of benefit from taking their lives, "What do you mean by that?"

"King George's scepter is no ordinary power. It is the Apple of Eden. A power to drive men mad. His heart and mind are weak, making him unfit to continue his campaign. Already he has killed thousands. Though…" he sighed, "If he kills those who have come in contact with something greater, then he will be unstoppable."

"So why does he want me—us dead?"

"Your hair is a curious color when enraged. It turns white—you have an extraordinary power."

"How do you know that?" she spat, clenching her hand into a fist. The boy chuckled in response.

"I am like you… Tsyoka'wehkowa." His words made her wish that she could see who she was speaking to. He sounded very close by—across from at most. However, it would take some time for her to adjust. "However, they are weak from fighting the King. I am due to be executed soon and I must escape along with the other 'criminals' the bluecoats have captured, but I cannot do this alone. I need your strength along with…"

"Along with what?" she finally pressed herself against the bars, her hands gripping them firmly, "Who are you waiting for?"

"There is a man the natives here speak of. His name is Ratonhnhaké:ton. I have a feeling that he will be able to aid us." She smiled to herself.

"Of course he will help us," she said, "He is my father." She received no reply for a moment, making her worry a little. She knitted her brows together in question as to why he stopped speaking. Her thought was quickly answered by the footsteps of men marching down what seemed to be a corridor. When she heard a door open and close eventually, there was shuffling across from her. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," he sighed, "The security here is ridiculous. Our very breath threatens them, but the men fear us. Use it to your advantage." She remembered the voice…those words. There were words she would hear from her father or her mother from time to time. Someone very close to her would say such things as well. When their parents weren't around, they would only have each other. They would play in the woods or practice in the basement of their home. Often, they would sneak onto their father's ship when he was on missions and he would not know until it was too late. They were trouble together and their parents would agree, but they were loved by them and by people who knew them.

"Who are you, stranger?" she breathed softly.

"My name is Moses—the natives call me Maiis."

"Maiis…" she whispered, a smile of gladness reaching to her ears, "Brother…I thought I would never see you again."

And... boom goes the dynamite. Hey, everyone! We're going to jail. The next chapter of the DLC is coming out soon and I'm spazzing. We're going all going to Boston! We have to. It's written in our destiny. My favorite characters are held up in there and I heard that in Betrayal... interesting things happen. You'll see. :D

Anyway, yeah. Blythe found her older brother in prison. We'll all see each other eventually. Even some fan characters that you might miss. And don't freak out people; Rome wasn't built in a day, so don't expect the romance until later. Besides, there's still the adventure to be had... even though it is getting pretty tragic. Aquila's back! I miss being a pirate!

See you in the next chapter, guys.