· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ Blood coats the ground... patriot and royal alike, no loyalty spared from the stain.

Men lie wounded across the yard, the porch even, Many of whom groan and grip at their injuries, while the freedmen of color wandered round to treat both sides. Not slaves. Freed men and women who help willingly. Even his own son, Gabriel, lay among them... His son was struck down not simply as a patriot but as someone who chose to defy the crown. His position as a dispatch rider was of no matter in this situation. He was considered a defier of the crown.

You... Your own wounds still burn from that field right about the house where the canons once fired, and the gunpowder covered the grass and air along with the sparks of the guns... Dirt still clung to your clothes as you got treated by a woman of color. Did race matter here? No... Getting treated was the matter. A patriot who stood upright only by stubbornness. You watch as the King's men march in, not a handful, but a tide of many. After the average officers approached, the sounds of nickering of horses echoed down the trails. Among the men that ride... Colonel William Tavington himself... A cold, precise, and merciless bastard.

A creeping dread could curl around your spine at the sight of a man who would show no mercy to these wounded patriots. No hesitation against rebel soldiers like yourself. Was there any way to slip away now? Surrounded by these god damn red coats...

Bleeding and unable to stand, you were... Escape was more like a prayer that never came true... Maybe escape was possible, but who would know that? So many of them by the perimeter.

The owner of the house, Benjamin Martin, was nearby observing after having talked briefly with the Lieutenant, which was really just thanking Martin.