Francis worked all through the rest of the day and into the night. The church bells rung midnight as he placed the last gear inside. He wiped the sweat off his brow, sighed heavily, and looked at his work. A windup bird, a raven, made of wood, iron, and papyrus. He winded it up and let go. The helicopter blade protruding from its back began to spin, and it stretched its wings and fluttered up into the kitchen. He followed, placed it in a birdcage which he covered in cloth, put up his hood, and headed into the forest.<br/>Francis reached the village, and looked around. He instantly recognized Raven as she entered her hut. He snuck over to it in the shadows, crept inside, and placed the birdcage on the table, as well as an envelope with a letter of apology. He exited the tent and was immediately held at spear point by several Native Americans. Francis sighed, fell to his knees, and placed his hands behind his head.<br/>"I really am a bad assassin..." he thought aloud as the tribesmen shouted and grabbed his arms, dragging him over to the elder standing by the fire.