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</div><br/><b>Name:</b>Pocahontas<br/><b>Location:</b>On the outskirts of France and England, closer to the latter<br/><b>Tagging:</b>No one yet/anyone in the area<br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/>Lost was but a generous term to use to describe Pocahontas at this point in time. She was torn. It was only on an emotional level though a good portion of her felt as if spirits were trying to do so physically also. To many degrees, she wouldn't blame the dead for getting revenge on her. But she'd insisted time and time again that she had done the right thing. Wouldn't it be more wrong to forget of her own kin? To forbid them from being able to rest in the afterlife? Her head shook slowly from side to side, causing raven locks to brush against her face.<br/><br/>Once again, that annoying sensation of feeling out-of-place began to haunt her. The only two people who knew and didn't hate her for the act were .... likely still in England. But she couldn't just step foot back inside, not now that she was being sought out.<br/><br/>Her entire body shook as all the flashbacks on how everything had began started to tease her mind. Months ago, the Englishmen had returned after being given consent to visit her home of Jamestown, Virginia. They had asked for her to represent the Powhatan tribe and be their ambassador. It had seemed innocent enough, hell even an honor. So of course, she accepted John Rolfe's offer. Clearly, however, that had been exactly what he'd wanted. And the bastard used that very knowledge against her by sending numerous other Englishman back to Jamestown.<br/><br/>While Pocahontas had been away doing what she'd thought was the correct thing, her tribe had been mercilessly massacred. And even to this day, this moment, she didn't understand the logic that had possessed John Rolfe. He hadn't seemed<i>that</i>corrupt when she first met him. Had her gut instincts actually failed her? It seemed as much.<br/><br/>Regardless, everyone she'd known and loved was now gone. All with the exception of John Smith, anyway. But he was definitely better off not knowing where she was. He'd nearly died once because of her. If she caused his demise ... no! She didn't want to think of that.<br/><br/>Quick pants and breaths were leaving her lips as she forced everything, herself included, to stop. The Native American princess finally let her legs give in as she wound up sitting against a tree. Her head lifted up towards the sky as her fast gasps continued to pass her lips.<br/><br/>She'd been literally wandering around ever since she'd gotten revenge and murdered all associated with John Rolfe save John Smith and Thomas. They had been the only ones who cared enough for her. They proved that by informing her of what the Englishmen had done to her clan. Her body shook more as the same memory entered her mind once again.<br/><br/>She'd at least made a merciful decision. It had at least seemed that way in her mind and eyes. Pocahontas had avenged her friends and family by poisoning all of the guilty Englishmen. And since the resources had been natural, there were almost no hints of being able to detect it. Only when their lives started to fade did any of them begin to realize what had happened. By that time, it was<i>definitely</i>way too late. So compared to slitting their throats or sniping them with arrows, Pocahontas had been relatively sure she had chosen the less bloody option.<br/><br/>"Be that as it may, you still took lives. About as many as they did." she replied softly to herself, hiding her face in her hands. A muffled but still very frustrated scream echoed throughout the forest. Her life was all but meaningless. Maybe ... maybe she should join her clan? Part of her wanted to but another side knew that would definitely not be what anyone wished for. Especially her father and Nakoma.<br/><br/>"... So what do I do?" she added, her tone suggesting tears were threatening to fall soon. Her copper hands pressed against her face, keeping most of the steadily forming tears concealed. A few, however, slid between her fingers and began to trail down her face. If it was up to her, Pocahontas would have made it so blood mixed in with the tears and had it so both were falling down her face. It'd be a form of poetic justice, symbolizing how her heart and soul felt along with those she killed.<br/><br/>Everyone was distraught, in pain and agony of some form, restless, and - perhaps like Pocahontas herself - unsure of where to go or what to do.