It seems watching Pocahontas helps whenever I forget to update. But yes, here's a small chapter. It's mostly filler, considering I wrote this just today. I barely got out of bed, haha. Luckily, I updated just before Columbus Day! So, my fellow Americans, enjoy your holiday! I wish the Canadians a belated Thanksgiving and to my European or Asian or Australian or World readers... Have a good Monday! The next chapter is based off of my English Literature class when we learned about Native American myths. So I suppose we can look forward to that! Please, feel free to R&R!

As the trees began to shrink, the loud noises of shouting men grew. The wind was blowing the flag on the top of the fort gently while the waves rocked the ship back and forth in the bay. Arthur looked around at the workers, who were beginning to shovel out the ground around the area. The bag hanging on the nation's shoulder was beginning to smell; Arthur crinkled his nose.

"Oi, Gregory!" he called out to a man carrying a barrel of dirt. The middle-aged man glanced over to the Brit and placed the barrel on the ground.

"Yes, Captain?" Gregory asked, walking over. "Blasted... what's that smell?"

Arthur let the strap of the bag slide into his hand. "That would be this. Have the chef prepare us a late lunch; I believe this will be enough to satisfy the crew." He handed the bag to Gregory, who had to use both hands to hold it upright.

"B-bloody hell... what is this – rocks?" He mumbled out as Arthur walked to his tent with a smile. With a sigh, Gregory threw the bag over his back and carried it into the fort.

Inside the shaded tent, the blond let out a long breath, placing his gun to the side. He hoped the governor wouldn't notice that a few balls of gunpowder was missing... then again, a man like the governor wouldn't bother to check. Arthur peered over at his desk to see an envelope. Cautiously, he took it from its spot and sat on the bed, tearing the top open. Inside was the royal seal, inked and pressed onto the parchment.

Arthur Kirkland -Gbr.

I am displeased to tell you that our foreign "friends" are claiming lands already in the New World. Spain has been fighting another personification in the Caribbean's and France is hastily adding colonies. Depending on when you receive this letter – of which I am sending in secret – you may have already found the personification of North America. You ultimately know what to do. You are a strong empire and a nation of glory.

Signed,

James I

PS. I am still waiting for word about the gold. Write back, England. We need this...

Arthur set down the informal letter and ran a hand through his hair. He had forgotten to ask Dyami about the gold situation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let his mind wander for a few quiet moments before there was a voice outside the tent.

"Excuse me, s-sir..." an almost inaudible sound – Arthur knew who it was. He pushed off his thighs and strolled over to the entrance, opening the curtain rather quickly. Milo jumped back, ponytail slapping himself in the face. "Oh! I'm so sorry to interrupt you and your work, sir, b-but I have a progress report to t-tell you." His hands were shaking with nervousness; Arthur pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Very well," he said softly. "You may begin..."

Milo nodded and took a deep breath. "Well, sir, the crew have been digging in the surrounding areas for five hours. Each hole was around 1.6 to 1.9 meters deep and about 1.5 meters wide. B-but according to the men, no gold has been found..." his voice trailed off to silence as Arthur's eyes widened.

"What do you mean 'no gold'? How could there be no gold? The Spanish found gold quicker than I could swim across the bloody channel!" The Brit's tone got louder and louder before he realized he was causing a mental breakdown to the poor lad.

"I-I am so sorry, sir! I j-just came to tell you that they f-found nothing and half the l-land has already been dug up s-so much!" Milo placed his hands on his face in distress. "Please don't hit me, sir..."

Arthur opened his mouth and closed it. Regaining his composure, he looked down at the shorter man and said quietly, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to yell... I suppose I'm just stressed..." he paused, furrowing his brows. "Now, why would I hit you, Milo?"

The young Englishman glanced up from his hands, but remained quiet. The nation lowered his shoulders and clenched his jaw with realization.

"Has the governor been hitting you, Milo?" he asked in a monotone voice. The servant opened his mouth but no words came out. "Milo, I need you to tell me this – "

"The governor has been angry at you –!" he suddenly cried out. "He wants to find the nearest Indian and shoot it because he's been suspicious of your actions!"

Arthur stopped breathing.

"...sir..." Milo added softly. "I apologize for everything. If you'd like, I can tell him that you've been in your tent all day writing letters..." He looked at the ground and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Y-yes..." Arthur stammered out, still in half shock. "Please, if you would... Thank you..."

Milo mumbled out another soft "sorry" and quickly walked away. The nation stepped back inside his tent and continued to breathe. "Dammit..." he cursed. With a few seconds of throwing a tantrum, Arthur sat back on his bed, leaning over to fall onto the practically-flat pillow. He closed his eyes and listened to the ocean echoing off the fort walls and the seagulls that squalled every minute. There was a loud flapping and a large object bounced off of the roof of the tent. Arthur sat up in alarm.

"What the...?" He got up from his bed and ran outside of the tent. Walking hastily around the corners, he saw what caused the clumsy encounter. "Kwahu!" he whispered, running over to the eagle. "What do you think you are doing, you daft bird!" He pet his feathered back and grabbed a piece of fabric that was rolled up and tied into a note. "What's this now?" He sat down and opened it up. Inside was a series of drawings, easily drawn out in order from left to right. Arthur chuckled, "Riddle me this, why don't you..."

While the nation was trying to figure out what the drawing meant, Kwahu picked at the ropes of the tent. On the fabric, there was a sketch of what seemed to be small tents, followed by a campfire. On the following line, there were many stick figures surrounding a tall tree along with two crescent moon shapes. Arthur smiled at Dyami's art and glanced at the eagle. "Is this his way of writing me?" he asked the bird, who plucked the fabric out of the Englishman's hands. Arthur looked up at the sky. "Tomorrow night, is that right?" The eagle flapped his wings and perched itself on the man's head. "Ow.. that does hurt... Alright, alright. Tell Dyami I said that I would be delighted..." he said.

Kwahu squalled and launched himself off of Arthur's head, soaring high into the air and turning towards the forest. If Arthur deciphered the message correctly... he'll be meeting a few more natives soon...

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