Kaniehtì:io

When had men become so bloodthirsty? I have seen wars fought between my people and others, I have seen feuds between men and women, but never on such an enormous scale. I have never seen the likes of this before in my life. Such bloodshed – thousands of innocent men, women and children dead for a cause no more justified than that which they fight to put down. It sickens me, and I hope I can keep Ratonhnhaké:ton from it for as long as I can manage. But that won't be long, no matter how much I try to shelter him. At times I find myself wishing Haytham was here again – he was a warrior more than I, though you wouldn't think so to look at him. I grow weary.

Ziio was not woken by birdsong or docile movement outside the longhouse – she was woken by sounds of shrieking and crying outside. Golden light splashed across the earth, though Ziio knew it was too early in the morning for there to be sun. She was immediately vigilant as the sound of crackling flames reached her ears. She fumbled about blindly for her son, scooping up the drowsy child into her arms.

The voices outside burst forth in harsh tones – Englishmen. What were Englishmen doing in the village? The sound of firing muskets split the air, and Ziio knew immediately that she had to escape.

Darting out of the longhouse, Ratonhnhaké:ton still clasped firmly against her chest, she tried to look through the smoke for an exit. One of the longhouses nearby had caught on fire, sending huge orange flames blistering into the sky. The slushy mud reflected the light, causing the ground itself to look as if it too had caught flames. She ignored the water sinking through her boots as she splashed through the puddles and the mud, squinting against the bright light and choking smoke belching forth from the burning thatching. Bayonets glinted in the firelight, though there were far fewer than she had anticipated: the number, however, did not matter. A single knife was enough against an unarmed woman and a child.

Putting her head down, Ziio bounded for the nearest exit in a desperate bid to flee from the chaos around her. Mothers were screaming and calling for their children, unsure where to go or what to do. Ziio would have saved them, if she could have, but she couldn't. And so she ran.

The air cleared once outside the boundaries of the walls, and even then she did not stop running. Her powerful legs propelled her through the deep snow drifts, but still she could hear her pursuers. When had they caught on to her escape? Many questions ran through her mind, but she ignored them, knowing she had to focus. Just focus.

The air burned in her lungs, each inhale like swallowing thorns. The air was freezing and dry and tasting of smoke, but her body had overtaken her mind, and she moved seamlessly and thoughtlessly. Where was she going? Dawn had shed a little light on the wilderness, but Ziio found herself in unfamiliar surroundings even so. Trees whipped past her like huge, looming figures, their fingers outstretched and intertwined to create a great latticed sky above her. The men chasing her began to call and yell out to her, but she blocked out their harsh, foreign voices. A few shots were fired into the air, evidently meant to frighten her, but still her pace didn't falter. She'd been in far worse situations.

Winter in the valley was harsh and unforgiving; the villagers kept to their huts for a reason, only leaving the village to forage and hunt. If she could only lose them, perhaps she could escape into the safety of the forest's clutches and wait awhile until this episode had passed over before returning home. The thought was a hopeful one, but it ignited no motivation in Ziio. It seemed too distant a possibility.

As her attention waned, she stumbled slightly over a tree root hidden under the snow. It was brief, but the men behind her gained a few more vital inches. They seemed to be gaining on her – indeed, their attire was more suited to chasing and fighting than hers was, but she had spent her life running and jumping, and was surely fitter than they.

With a sudden, dawning terror she realised that a great looming face of rock was coming up ahead – there was no way around it. A dead end.

Ziio's heart was racing, each muscle in her body screaming for reprieve. She could run along the cliff face, but that would only ensure her a faster death. She could try and dart past them, but that would be cutting it far too close. Alternative routes of escape filed through her mind, but to no avail.

She turned, breathing hard, feeling the cold, uneven rock pressing against her back. She kept her gaze even and steady, knowing that there was little more intimidating than a solid, fearless gaze. Her legs shook beneath her, and she found herself sliding down the rock face until she sat in the snow, holding Ratonhnhaké:ton to her chest. The boy had begun to cry, a small little noise that pierced the silence. One of them men levelled his musket.

"Noisy bloody thing," one of the men spat. "Better silence the mutt, eh?"

Of course she could never have expected any sympathy from these men. What sympathy would any bloodthirsty young man have for them? She was a wide-eyed woman with a child and yet they pointed guns at them with a smile. Ziio was disgusted, and stared down the barrel of the gun with a gaze they conveyed as much. If she was to die, she would not die a coward.