Terry: You must be one of them native fellas. From the uh… what’s it called… Iroquois tribe? Yeah. You from that?

Godfrey: Course not, Terry. Iroquois ain’t a tribe.

Terry: Is so.

Godfrey: Is not! The Iroquois is a confederation.

Terry: Confeda-what-now?

Godfrey: Confederation, ya tony. It’s a group. An alliance. Lotsa different kinds of people all united.

Terry: Right. Like I said. A tribe.

Godfrey: Listen you totty-headed twiddle poop – there’s difference between a tribe and a confederation and it’s not my fault your skull’s too thick to make sense of it.

Terry: Who you calling a twiddle poop, you crump-backed scab!

Terry: Hey now! This is between me and him!

Godfrey: Yeah! Mind your business!

Homestead residents” tag has been added (found in the “Civilians” tag).

Leaving home was harder than I thought. I expected the journey would fill me with a sort of pride. A sense of accomplishment. But whatever it was that carried me away from home soon fled, replaced by questions – and no small amount of doubt. Had I been too hasty? Had I made a mistake? The others in the village – they thought this was something I wanted. Something I chose to do. But it never felt that way to me. No. It was not a choice. It was an obligation. Because if not me, then who?

– Connor Kenway/Ratonhnhaké:ton