Connor Kenway

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Forgotten memories

yay symbolism

This forest is like the orchestra of her mind, playing one enchanting symphony after another. Its leaves dance around her feet slowly and quickly, playfully as she runs along the path, stray blades of grass brushing against her tiny ankles. Her father is not so far behind with his men. They're marching on, grass bending beneath their boots.

"Don't go too far, [name]!" Charles Lee or Mr. Lee, as his men call him, shouts. His precious daughter is a corious girl. Maybe too curious at times and he's well aware because she's just like him. She takes so little after her late mother, he thinks as a smile pulls up on his face when watching her skip around the trees. And just like that, she's gone from his sight.

His mind goes racing.

Looking through the waters of the lake was like peering though perfect glass, not smudged by the sticky prints of small children. The stones at the bottom are as many hues of brown and grey as there are on a painter's wheel, likely more. After a few minutes of looking [name] notices something moving right beside her. With a sharp turn, she locks eyes with a boy, right about her age. His face is tan, much tanner than hers is and his clothing is unlike anything she's ever seen before. A palette of browns and grays adorns him from head to toe and [name] finds this quite intriguing. His messy, dark hair barely reaches his shoulders. ''Hello,'' she says with a smile, almost irresistible smile. ''I'm [name].''

''H-Hi,'' shy boy responds back and for a moment his brown stare goes completely blank. Curious as he is, but with a no way to express it, he stares at the puffy, pink dress and little white shoes and curled hair for quite some time. [name] laughs in amusement.

''What's your name?'' And the answer she gets isn't something she is able to repeat, let alone remember.

The boy finally relaxes a little as he looks at her with a confused yet, a somewhat sad look. '' Ratonhnhaké:ton,'' the poor boy repeats. [name] only smiles.

The boy's shoulders shrug as his eyes dart to the green carpet below and without much effort he reaches into the soft grass and lifts up a small, white, flower. ''Otsìtsya,'' he says then. For a few silent moments, [name] doesn't know what to do.

But then, she happily accepts.

A roaring voice of her father bounces of the trees and with a gasp, [name] stands up and immediately runs away with but a wave and a kiss on the cheek. Two actions completely unfamiliar to the Mohawk boy as he stands there and watches her race up the hill and into the arms of a white man that she looks nothing alike.

He hopes to see her again.

He's hoped to see her so much. He prayed, he wished, waited. And just one day, out of nowhere, a girl in a puffy pink dress appears on the hill, before the sun. She waves at him, her eyes full of glee. The boy takes this action as a greeting and waves back, equally as happy.

Even if neither of them can understand each other, they simply sit within the harmony of the forest, not exchanging a single word.

''Otsitsya,'' [name] says one day and points at a white flower. The boy's ears perk up at the sound, and happily and quite excited, pointing at a different colored flower, repeating the word again.

[name] looks at the small plant, shyly uttering another word. ''Flower,'' she says as she begins to laugh. It isn't long before she has to go as she watches her father's figure emerge from the top of the hill. She skips away with a wave, unbeknownst to her, that this will be the last time she sees the boy before he meets a cruel fate.

[name] wouldn't go to that forest again. Her father would never allow it again. But that boy was something so exotic, something so unfamiliar and interesting to the mind of a lonely curious girl that never got out much. However, years have taken toll on her and slowly but surely, her young memories began to cloud and were instead replaced by an image of somebody else.

It is a cloudy day. Rain is just about to start pouring, but the bazaar is still lively and loud. Even though there is very little she needs, [name] strolls through the rows of carts, her eyes scanning over so many things she would want to take home. Suddenly, her eyes land on a clay pot decorated with native motives of animals and feathers and various other symbols. In it are quite peculiar, yet oddly familiar white flowers. She takes slow steps towards the pot and as she's about to touch them, she spots a word written on the upper part of the pot.

Otitsya.

Like a strike of thunder, the meaning of the word is obvious to her. Flower. But how does she know that? Just then, she sees a hand wave in front of her, as she's been standing wide eyed without doing anything for some time now.

''Want to buy?'' A low, yet womanly voice calls out to her and as [name] shakes her thoughts off, she looks up at her. Long, dark braids are falling down the woman's shoulders and wrinkles shape her face.

''Yes, please,'' [name] says and picks three flowers and hands them over to the seller to wrap them and after paying for them, she feels a small drop fall down on the top of her hand.

And just like that, falls another, and then another. Followed by a few more.

People begin to push away their carts and a rushed crowd forms on the street. [name], not knowing where else to turn, pushes her way out of the crowd and hides under an eave as she waits for the rain to stop. Couple of people join her, one of them being quite a loudly dressed man. He bears a strong, almost animal-like aura looming over his broad shoulders. Strong jaw and face, his dark hair is slicked back in a low ponytail. A beige robe adorns his shoulders, as well as a tomahawk at his hip. [name] sees him only from the corner of her eye and, as if he's feeling her stare on him, the man looks her cold in the eye. His eyes then land on the flowers in her hand, then on her again. [name] is sure there is something familiar about him.

Rain pours like a river from the sky and even so, the tall man takes off into the mist that's beginning to fall down the roofs of houses. It's like there's something that drove him away from there. 

Had [name] lost something that day? She looks at the back of this familiar stranger until he completely disappears.

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