The Black Sachem Finds His Head

After 334 years, Tispaquin is back, he's found and reattached his bloody, iron pike stabbed head, and he's kinda pissed and could really go for a nice venison steak since now he can chew and stuff. The Black Sachem of Middleborough is ready to make heads roll, other than his own, of course. He's already endured 334 years of that. Talk about a failure to communicate. Where's my bleeding head? is not the question you want to ask every sunrise for 334 consecutive years. So head attached, eyes peeled for a venison burger, stomach connected to mouth, Tispaquin peers into the soot and ground level ozone and strip mall wasteland of southeastern Massachusetts, scratches his matted armpit hair, executes a modest 300 year old belch and ponders the events of the day.