Nothing looked familiar. Adelaide searched her memories and came up blank. She was certain this wasn’t the way they had traveled when brought to the Mohawk Valley. Then again, she had been so overwhelmed with grief at the loss of her children, she could be mistaken.
Sighing, she hurried to catch up with the tribe who continued to move eastward, slaughtering any and all Frenchmen they encountered. No captives were taken, only their scalps. Fortunately, Adelaide wasn’t required to help scrape the tissue from the skins before stretching them on hoops to dry out.
The men compared the number of scalps they had collected after each raid before preparing them to be displayed on hastily constructed hoops.
Adelaide turned away, nauseated. The soft hair hanging from cleaned skins was a silent reminder Adelaide did not belong to this world. As far as she could see, none of the victims deserved such a fate. Their murder was swift if that was any consolation.