Respectfully dedicated to the memory of Louis L'Amour, whose stories inspired me, many years ago, to want to weave tales of my own.

Night Eagle
by ysone

* * * * *

"I had a dream."

The old man looked up from his study of the flames in the fire pit as his young docent stepped from the dwelling they shared. Ancient, black eyes met anxious, blue ones.

"Sit, Blair," the old bohiti commanded, his voice gentle.

The young man looked up sharply at the use of his given name. No one here ever called him that. It was his "white" name, and as such was avoided by the tribe and by Blair himself. He seldom even thought of himself by the name anymore. The fact that the bohiti used it now frightened him.

He crossed to the fire hesitantly and sat beside the flames.

"You are troubled," the old man continued, as Blair settled himself. It wasn't a question.

Blair was silent for a long moment, considering his words. "I'm confused." He raised his eyes from the flickering flames, hesitant and unsure of himself. "I don't understand the vision."

"You are certain it was a vision?" As the old man spoke, he reached into an open pouch beside him and removed a handful of crushed leaves, tossing them into the fire. Instantly, the air filled with the strong, sweet smell of chiwacea that Blair loved so much. The favored aroma worked its magic, and Blair felt himself begin to relax.

"The Night Eagle appeared to me," he stated calmly.

"You have been honored with a vision," the old man agreed, nodding thoughtfully. He returned his gaze to the fire. "You would like for me to help you understand it."

Blair nodded. "I feel that it is important."

"Tell me."

Blair hesitated, looking into the fire. "The Night Eagle led me through the wilderness to a sheltered valley. It was small, scarcely the size of our village. Within, there was a brook of clear, sweet water. The Night Eagle lit on a tall tree beside the brook. I followed. As I watched, a cougar cautiously approached the opposite edge of the water from where I stood and began to drink."

Blair stopped and took a deep breath, letting the soothing fragrance of the chiwacea leaves calm his racing heart. "This cougar was unlike any I have ever seen. His color was that of the deepest shadows of night. He moved with the grace and elegance of an elk. But what was so unsettling to me..." Again, he hesitated, not comfortable trying to put into words the images and emotions of his dream world. "He had the eyes of a hawk, but the eyes were hooded. He had the ears of a fox, but the ears were bound closed. He had the nose of a wolf, but..." He stopped, at a loss for words. "It was the same with each of his senses -- all five were sharpened beyond imagination, but the cougar was unable to call upon them. Their use was denied him.

"The cougar straightened suddenly, and I feared that he had caught scent of me, but instead of fleeing, as I thought he would, he seemed to...to...lose himself. He became motionless, even his breath appeared to stop. While he was thus immobilized, from the shadows came three coyotes. The coyotes stalked the cougar, seemingly unaware of the stupor he had fallen into.

"Then, suddenly, they were upon him, tearing at him and drawing blood. When the cougar went down and did not fight back, they fled, leaving him for dead. I approached the fallen creature, believing him dead. He was gravely injured and seemed to have no breath. His eyes stared vacantly, with no sign of life's spark. I knelt beside him, prepared to sing the death song, but the Night Eagle stopped me.

"He flew to the cougar's side and began to speak, not to me, but to the cougar. He called to the cat, imploring soul to return to body. Suddenly, the wounded creature took a great, shuddering breath and stirred, awakening as though from a deep sleep."

Blair stared silently into the flames for a long moment. "The Night Eagle looked at me and spoke, saying 'Take heed and learn,' then flew into the night." He rubbed his palms across the thighs of his buckskin breeches, drying the sweat. "When I awoke, I knew that I had been sent a vision, but I'm confused, and...afraid, bohiti."

He looked up finally, meeting his mentor's eyes. He was comforted by the wisdom and compassion he found there.

"Why does this vision frighten you, Mucaro?"

Blair relaxed a bit as the old man slipped again into the use of his chosen name. He considered his answer carefully. "I feel it is the beginning of many changes."

"Change is necessary to the continuance of life. It is unavoidable. It should not be feared."

"I know, bohiti, but...these changes will be great. I don't know if I'm ready to face them."

"You will not be asked for more than you can give."

There was silence in the darkness as both men considered the implications of the vision. Blair was the one to break it.

"Can you help me understand the dream?" There was a pleading tone to his voice that made him a bit ashamed.

The old man met his gaze firmly. "Many years ago, as a child, you were visited by the Night Eagle. It established itself in your life as a spirit animal and marked you as a young bohiti. Its visions are meant for you alone, and you alone can interpret them. It would be foolish, perhaps even dangerous, for me to try."

Blair let out a breath full of frustration. "How can I see clearly what is shown to me in shadows?"

"You should seek the assistance of the Night Eagle," the old man suggested.

"A vision quest?"

"If that is what is necessary."

Blair took several deep breaths. Though the search for insight and revelation was a difficult one, it was one he was familiar with. He had been on many such quests since he had begun training as a bohiti. But the cold knot of fear in his chest warned him that this would be no ordinary quest. And it was that fear that gave him pause. It was not of a physical nature, he was certain. It was a fear of what would be asked of him.

As always, knowing the paths of Blair's thoughts, the bohiti spoke, repeating his earlier words. "You will not be asked for more than you can give."

~~~

Blair's eyes snapped open, and he struggled for a moment to focus on his surroundings. He was sitting cross-legged before a neglected and dying fire. Darkness had descended sometime in the course of his vision, but the moon was bright, illuminating the small clearing where he had made camp two days ago.

Blair sat motionless until his breath was no longer coming in sharp, ragged pants, until his heart slowed its breakneck pace. He closed his eyes again and focused until he found a center of calm in his confused thoughts. When he felt once more in control, he allowed himself to think back over the vision.

For the most part, it was the same as the dream that had driven him here in search of answers. The Night Eagle had come again, leading him to the same small valley where the odd creature, both blessed and cursed by unusual abilities, had fallen into a stupor. Again the creature was attacked by the coyotes and left for dead. And again, the Night Eagle had drawn the shadow cat from its stupor.

Then the vision had changed course. The Night Eagle had not flown away as it had before. It stayed with the injured creature, tending its wounds. When the shadow cat was healed and able to leave, the Night Eagle departed with it. This was the part that disturbed Blair, for reasons he could not understand. The Night Eagle from his visions was undeniably tied to his own spirit. This vision held great significance for him, he was certain. But he didn't understand what that significance was, and his confusion frightened him.

Blair waited there in the calm center of his mind, hoping the spirit guide would return and speak to him. He desperately needed to understand what the guide was telling him, but after a few minutes, he knew it would not return. Just as it had many times before, the Night Eagle was leaving the interpretation of the vision for Blair to find on his own.

Blair opened his eyes, staring into the now nearly-dead fire. It was time to end his fast; he had received the vision he had been seeking. But despite his two day fast, he could find no appetite. Instead, he threw sand on the last few glowing embers to extinguish them and curled up on his bed of leaves.

Sleep was a long time in coming, and brought with it no new dreams, much to his disappointment. By the time the sun began to peek over the far blue mountains, Blair had eaten a light meal of fruit and corn cakes and was prepared to begin his day, but he was assailed by indecision.

He had succeeded in contacting his spirit guide, but he was no closer to an interpretation of the visions than when he had begun the quest. He knew that, in time, the answers would be revealed, but he was impatient to understand what was being asked of him.

Blair glanced toward the east, where his village lay, hidden in the foothills of the great mountains. By now, there would be a bevy of activity as The People began their day. The women would be preparing the morning meal while children gathered firewood or played in the edges of the forest. The men would have returned from the hunt yesterday. Blair spared a moment to pray that it was a successful one. Winter would be upon them soon, and the bohiti had warned that the signs were right for a harsh one.

Blair smiled to himself as he thought of his mentor. The old shaman would, no doubt, be seeking his own vision in answer to the Night Eagle's visit to Blair's dream. The old man placed a great deal of importance on his young student's dreams. The thought reinforced Blair's uneasiness. Even the bohiti knew that this vision was important. Which made it all the more imperative that Blair find his answers.

He turned away from the mountains, knowing that it was not time to return to the village and the comfort of his chosen people. He studied the low hills that lay to the west. With a sigh of resignation, he began his trek.

~~~

Nightfall brought the apprentice bohiti to the edge of a narrow stream in a small, secluded valley. He drank long of the sweet water before turning his attentions to setting up camp. He gathered enough wood for a small fire and soon had it blazing. After briefly considering and rejecting another fast, Blair settled in before the warm flames to eat a simple meal of nuts and dried meat strips.

Too tired to gather branches for a bed, he curled up on the hard ground beside the fire and sought a sleep that would not come.

It was scarcely an hour later when he heard the call of the Night Eagle.

Blair sat up quickly, searching the area. From the darkness, the creature called again. It took Blair a full minute to realize that he was not dreaming, nor was this a vision. The realization brought with it a rush of adrenaline mixed with fear.

Blair stood slowly, still scanning the shadows for the bird. When it called again, he located it. His spirit guide was sitting in a tree at the edge of his camp, calmly watching the man below. For a long moment, the two studied one another, human eyes meeting those of the wild creature.

Then the Night Eagle took flight.

Blair stared after it for several seconds, then quickly followed it. The winged creature's flight took it upstream with Blair close behind. He picked his way carefully through the underbrush, thankful for the bright moonlight. The animal guide lit in nearby trees at intervals that allowed Blair to keep pace with it. If the young man had any doubts that he was intended to follow the creature, this action erased them.

Eventually, the bird stopped, not taking flight again as Blair caught up to it. The young man looked around the area, but nothing caught his eye or attention. He looked back up at the Night Eagle.

"What is it you want me to see?" His voice was soft and respectful of the creature that had established itself so many years ago as his spirit guide.

The bird blinked its huge, dark eyes at him but made no move or sound. Again Blair surveyed the area, wondering why he had been brought here.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the barest sound from the opposite side of the stream. Blair stared into the darkness but saw nothing. He held his breath and listened for the sound again. After a long minute, he heard the brush of something moving against the undergrowth. An animal making its way to the stream for a drink in the cover of darkness? It seemed logical, but for some reason, Blair knew that wasn't the case.

He had no desire to cross the stream and search for the source of the sound, but with another quick glance at his spirit guide, he knew that was what he must do.

Blair stepped silently through the cold water, wading across to the opposite bank. The sounds grew louder as he drew closer. By the time he reached the shore, he had identified the direction and was moving toward it.

He had gone no more than a dozen paces when he came eye to eye with a horse. Blair stopped in his tracks and studied the animal. His mind immediately registered the fact that it was wearing both saddle and bridle, though the reins hung loose to the ground. Even in the darkness, Blair could see the blood that darkly stained the leather of the saddle.

What had happened to the rider? How far had the animal wandered on its own?

He scanned the immediate area, his eyes coming to rest on a still figure on the ground behind the horse. The body rested half in the shadows cast by the nearly full moon. Blair couldn't tell from where he stood if it was living or dead, but of one thing he was certain, it was a white man.

Blair took a nervous step back, but was stopped by the call of the Night Eagle in the trees above his head. His initial instincts were to leave quickly. Experience had taught him that where there was one white man, there were usually others.

He took another step back, and again the Night Eagle's call stopped him. Forcing his eyes away from the figure on the ground, Blair looked up into the trees, spotting his spirit guide as it sat in surveillance of the scene below.

"What are you asking of me?" he inquired of the bird. "What is it you want from me?" The creature was silent. Blair let his gaze again find the man. He was laying on his back, as though merely sleeping, but Blair could see no movement that would indicate life.

Cautiously, Blair stepped closer. The horse still stood between him and the body, and showed no signs of moving to let Blair pass. Slowly, so as not to frighten the creature, Blair held out his hand to the animal and spoke softly. The horse lifted its head, its ears pricked forward, listening.

A few more steps and Blair was able to lay his hand tentatively on the animal's forehead. The horse shied slightly, then relaxed into Blair's gentle touch. After a few minutes of this, Blair chanced stepping past the huge creature, toward the figure on the ground. The horse watched him but made no move.

Blair stopped a few feet from the man and studied him, but could discern little through the deep shadows. He risked another step forward, then knelt beside the prone form. As his eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, he saw that there was blood on the man's right leg and on his upper chest, again on the right side, though it appeared that the bleeding had stopped. While Blair didn't think the location of the wounds themselves was necessarily life-threatening, the amount of blood the man had lost certainly was.

Blair let his eyes travel up to the man's face and sucked in a soft gasp. Pale eyes stared unseeingly into the night sky. In them was a look of death that Blair had seen all too often in his young life.

Confused, he searched the trees in vain for the Night Eagle. Why had the guide brought him here to a dead man? What did the night bird expect of him?

Blair looked back into the vacant face of the dead man. He was older than Blair, but still a young man. What was he doing out here alone in the wilderness, so far from the white man's towns? Who had shot him? For Blair was certain even without examining the wounds that they were caused by bullets.

Looking into the dead man's empty eyes, Blair suddenly felt a sharp pang of sadness. Did this man have family? Friends? Would someone miss him? Who would ever know of his fate? Who would sing the death song to the Spirit for this stranger? And how could he be welcomed into the afterlife without it? Maybe that's why the Night Eagle had brought Blair here, to see to the Ceremony of Death for this stranger. It was the least he could do for the poor soul.

Blair hesitantly reached out to close the man's eyes, but stopped, his hand hovering bare inches over the man's face. He thought he felt...there...there it was again! It wasn't his imagination. There was a slight stirring of breath from the man's nostrils. Blair jerked his hand back as though it had been burned.

The man wasn't dead. But then, why was the look of death in his eyes? Where was the thread of life that bonded his soul to his body?

Blair again reached out to the man, letting his hand rest lightly on the blood soaked chest. After a long moment, he felt the slight rise and fall of shallow breaths. Blair sat back on his heels, and pondered the situation.

The man clung to life, but only by the weakest of threads. He could still die. Probably would die. But the healer in Blair argued that it was up to the young bohiti to prevent that if at all possible.

With no more hesitation, Blair set about gathering wood for a small fire. Once he had that going, he spread a blanket close to the warmth of the flames and gently moved the man to it. Then he returned to his own campsite, retrieving his few possessions and hurrying back to his patient.

He gathered water from the stream and set it on the small fire to heat. Finally, he turned his attention back to the man. Blair opened the blood soaked shirt, gingerly prying it from the wound. As careful as he was, his ministrations still started the flow of blood again. Once he had the shirt removed, he set about cleaning away the blood, fresh and dried, studying the injury as he proceeded. A brief exploration found an exit wound on the man's back, and Blair breathed a sigh of relief that he would not have to retrieve the bullet.

He rolled the man gently onto his side and cleaned around the wound on the back, glad to see that the fresh bleeding was confined to the front. That finished, he moved to the leg injury. The bullet had gone in just above the right knee. Blair let out a soft curse when he found no exit wound. Using his knife, he carefully split the pants leg, exposing the wound. He cleaned it, then gently probed around it, deciding the best method of removing the bullet.

Blair hesitated, though he knew it would have to come out. The stranger was in bad shape; there was a good chance he would not live until morning light. It seemed pointless to take the added risk of removing the bullet. Perhaps it would be better to wait. If the man survived the night....

The sharp call of the Night Eagle made Blair jump. He glanced up, instantly spotting his spirit guide.

"Yeah, that's what I was afraid of," he mumbled under his breath, hoping the guide wouldn't find him too disrespectful.

He turned to his small pack and pulled out his medicine bundle. Unrolling it, he began removing the items he would need to extract the bullet.

~~~

Blair tended to the horse, stripping off the saddle and rubbing it down with a handful of dry grass before ground hitching him nearby. Then, he checked his patient one last time before settling down before the fire. He had done all he could for the man. Chewing thoughtfully on a corn cake from his food pack, Blair let his eyes linger on the white man, still as death on his nearby blanket. Even his breaths were not discernible from where Blair sat.

But the eyes....

Blair was very unsettled by the eyes, which continued to stare blankly into the darkness. Even when Blair had cut into the man's leg to remove the bullet, there had been no response from the man. He had made no sound or movement. The eyes had continued to stare vacantly. Were it not for the slow, shallow breaths that Blair found himself constantly checking for, he would have believed the man dead.

The cake finished, Blair curled up close to the warmth of the fire, trusting the horse to warn of danger, and attempted sleep.

But sleep would not come. Blair's mind refused to release its burden. Again and again, Blair's thoughts returned to the vision the Night Eagle had sent him. That it was somehow connected to this white man, Blair was certain. There were too many similarities to discount the connection. The Night Eagle had led Blair to this man. It had given him the responsibility of tending to his injuries, which Blair vowed to do to the best of his abilities. But what else? What was required of him now?

A low growl brought Blair instantly to his feet, his knife clutched in his hand defensively, as he cast about for the source of the noise. The horse was standing silently where Blair had tethered it, showing no sign of having heard or smelled anything. Blair let himself relax slightly. If there had been any creature near the camp, the horse would certainly have caught scent of it.

Blair lowered his knife and sat back down, chuckling at his own nervousness.

He was barely settled when he heard the sound again. He whipped his head around just as a large, black cougar emerged from the darkness, stepping boldly into the camp. Blair recognized it instantly as the shadow cat from his vision.

The cougar looked at Blair for a long moment, gold eyes meeting azure, then turned and padded softly to the injured man. As Blair watched in astonishment, the cougar stepped into the man, blending its sleek body with that of the prone figure before disappearing entirely.

Blair blinked back his surprise, searching for the meaning of the vision he had just witnessed. The answer came to him almost immediately -- the cougar was this man's spirit guide. This man and the injured cougar from his vision were one and the same.

That meant....

Blair hesitated, not liking the trek his thoughts were taking. In the vision, the Night Eagle had brought the wounded animal from its stupor by calling it back from where its soul had been trapped. Blair had been warned to remember the words and tone used by his spirit animal. Was this the reason?

He looked back at the still figure. The man's eyes gazed fixedly, seeing nothing, but drawing Blair into their depths. Without realizing he had moved, Blair suddenly found himself at the man's side, staring into those eyes. He had thought the gaze empty, but now he could see there was something compelling in the blue orbs. Something that called to Blair's own soul. An unspoken plea, a desperation that had no voice.

He could help this man. Blair knew that instinctively. Just as he knew that without his help, the man would die.

Suddenly confident in his actions, Blair reached out a steady hand and grasped the uninjured left shoulder. He held it firmly and began to speak, letting his voice drop to match the deep, soothing tone used by his spirit guide in the vision.

At first he spoke in the tongue of The People, but after a few minutes, he realized the foolishness of that choice and switched effortlessly to English. His words were simple, just as the Night Eagle's had been in dealing with the wounded shadow cat. He sent his voice in search of the man's soul, calmly stating that it was time to be reunited with his body.

For an eternity there was no response. Blair began to despair, wondering if he had mistaken the purpose of the vision, or gotten the words or tone wrong.

At last, the man drew in a great shuddering breath and stirred. His eyes fluttered and closed, only to open again almost instantly. This time there was no missing the spark of life that graced their pale blue depths. Blair continued to speak until he was certain that the man's soul was back where it belonged, anchored to the physical realm.

The blue gaze blinked at Blair, pain and exhaustion plainly visible, then slid silently closed. They jerked open once more, as though the man was trying to will himself away from the sleep that was claiming him. If so, the battle was in vain.

As the eyes slid shut a final time, Blair at last allowed himself a sigh of relief. He gingerly adjusted the poultices on the man's wounds, assuring himself that all was as well as he could make it, then retreated to his blanket beside the fire.

He settled himself once again, allowing his eyes to close. He felt an unexplained thrill of exhilaration, as though an important test had been successfully completed. But at the same time, he felt a strong foreboding of unease. A corner had been turned. He knew that, but he wasn't convinced he wanted to know what was beyond that corner.

His last thought as he drifted to sleep was the memory of the Night Eagle leaving with the shadow cat in his vision.

~~~

Jim's mind awoke an instant before his body. And in that instant he registered several facts. He was not alone. He vaguely remembered a face above his in the darkness. A stranger's face, but a face soft with concern and a voice gentle with compassion.

The second fact was slower in coming but of far greater importance. No longer was the world around him assaulting his sanity. He was aware of a multitude of soft sounds -- bird songs, wind in the trees, running water nearby -- but the sounds were normal, no longer threatening to drown him in their intensity.

He took a tentative breath, marveling at how subtle the few odors he detected were. He let the breath out in relief. His world no longer consisted of sharp arrows of sensation that overwhelmed him to the point of insanity. Had it ever, he suddenly wondered. Had it really happened that way? Maybe he was losing his hold on sanity. Maybe he had imagined the whole episode. Dreamed the entire incident.

It was that moment that his body decided to wake up. A rush of intense pain greeted his mind in response and it was all he could do to keep from crying out. He couldn't remember being injured, but it was obvious that he had been.

Jim slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the bright sunlight that filtered through the trees above him. Where was he? Carefully, he turned his head and took in his surroundings.

Nearby, a fire burned, its warmth just beginning to register in Jim's brain. He could barely make out a figure on the opposite side of the fire. As his vision focused, he froze, his breath catching painfully in his chest.

The figure became a man, sitting cross-legged before the flames, hands resting casually on his knees, eyes closed. He was dressed in crude buckskin clothing, and his long, dark hair was clasped behind his neck in a heavy braid.

A savage...

Jim's pulse rate quickened. At least that explained the injuries. He had to get out of here. He attempted to roll to his side in preparation for sitting up, but fell back with a barely suppressed groan. How could he escape when he couldn't even move?

Why hadn't the Indian killed him already? His eyes snapped back to the still figure at the fire with the thought. And new thoughts joined it.

Jim lifted his head gingerly, noticing the poultice strapped to his upper chest. Someone had been tending to his injuries. The Indian? No, that didn't make sense. But someone had obviously taken great care to treat his wounds.

Jim turned his head, searching for and finding his horse. The animal was tethered at the edge of the small camp, happily grazing on a patch of grass. It was plain that someone had tended to his horse as well.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. What had happened? How had he been wounded, and how had he come to be here with an Indian tending to him? The confusion was making his head pound. The more he tried to remember what had led to his current circumstances, the more the pounding increased.

Jim shifted, trying to ease the stiffness and cramping in his right leg. The movement brought with it another groan that he couldn't stifle. He opened his eyes and glanced back at his strange companion, startled to see that the man's eyes were now open and watching him.

Vivid, sky-blue eyes!

Jim quickly hid his surprise. So, his unknown savior was at least partly white. Jim studied the man again, this time gauging what his eyes registered. The man was dark skinned, but did that indicate race, or was he simply deeply bronzed by a life in the sun? The dark hair hung in a thick braid to the middle of his back, but now Jim could see that a few unruly locks had escaped the braid to curl around the man's face. Indian's didn't have curls, did they? Jim didn't think so, but he wasn't willing to stake his life on it.

The crude clothing was definitely Indian. Of that, Jim had no doubt. But that didn't necessarily prove anything. Jim had known mountain men that had preferred the looser, more comfortable styles of the natives.

So, who was his strange companion? Did he owe this man his life?

While Jim was pondering the questions, the man stood and moved toward him. Jim held his breath as the stranger knelt beside him. They locked eyes for a brief moment, before the man dropped his gaze to the wound on Jim's chest.

Jim lay as still as his racing heart would allow as the man removed the bandages and poultice and carefully examined the wound. As gentle as the hands were, Jim found himself biting his lip to contain the moan of pain the probing brought.

The Indian -- and Jim was still unconvinced on that point -- glanced back up at Jim, compassion and apology plainly visible in his eyes. The emotions startled Jim, and he found himself trying a smile to show that he understood.

The man quickly finished, replacing the dressings and then performing the same examination of Jim's right leg. Jim lay as still as he could, silently watching. When he had finished, the man moved back to the fire, picked up a cup and returned to Jim's side.

He gently held Jim's head so he could sip at the warm liquid. Tea of some sort, Jim decided after the first tentative sip. He drained the cup, surprised at how thirsty he was, then laid back, never taking his eyes from his attendant.

The man backed away a few steps and sat down, boldly returning Jim's gaze. Jim wanted to question his companion, demand an explanation for his circumstances, but found his eyelids growing too heavy to fight. Part of him screamed with the danger of letting down his guard with this stranger. But another part assured him that he had nothing to fear from this man that had so gently and tenderly attended to Jim's injuries. It was that part that Jim found himself listening to as he gave in and allowed himself to sleep.

~~~

Blair didn't move for several long moments after the man's eyes drifted closed. It was only when the man's breathing evened out and deepened that Blair stood and walked back to his earlier position on the opposite side of the fire. He closed his eyes and tried to find the calm, quiet state he had just achieved when he had been alerted to the man's awakening.

But it would not come. He could not slow his thoughts and fears, though he succeeded somewhat in pushing the fear to the background. He had seen the flash of confusion and suspicion in the injured man's eyes, even as he had also taken note of the pain in those same depths.

This was crazy. This white man would probably not hesitate to kill Blair under different circumstances. That's what white men did, wasn't it? But even as he thought it, Blair knew it was an unfair generalization. All white men couldn't be evil, anymore than all Indians could be considered cold-blooded savages.

And there was something about this man, something different that Blair couldn't put a name to. A connection that called to something deep within Blair.

He opened his eyes, shaking away the thought. Now he knew he really was crazy. How could there be a connection between him and this stranger, a white man? Blair wanted nothing to do with white men, any of them. Experience had taught him they were dangerous -- deceptive and cruel.

Blair climbed rapidly to his feet, pushing away the memories he thought long ago buried. It was just the vision, he tried to tell himself. The vision had him on edge, searching for meaning in everything. The Night Eagle had brought Blair to this man to help him. Okay, he could accept that. He would do what he could for the man, then they would go their separate ways. That was all the spirit guide could ask of Blair. It was all that could be expected.

Blair went to the man's horse, grabbing the halter and heading for the stream. He steadfastly refused to allow his thoughts to dwell on the end of the vision. Whatever had compelled the Night Eagle to go away with the shadow cat didn't apply to Blair. It wasn't his problem.

~~~

When Jim awoke again, the morning sun was still attempting to burn off a heavy fog that had settled over the small valley in the night. Where was he? He surveyed his surroundings. On his left, a mountain range rose majestically to meet the sky. The Big Horns? Jim closed his eyes in confusion. If that was the Big Horns then he was northwest of his ranch. That couldn't be right, could it? He had been heading home, to his ranch, from Newcastle. That should have put him a good many miles south of here.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy of trees overhead, letting the memories of the day before -- had it been only a day? -- filter back slowly.

Carefully, he turned his head. His strange companion was nowhere to be seen, though Jim could hear the barest whisper of a voice from the nearby woods. Jim took advantage of the man's absence to do a quick inventory of his injuries.

He slowly and painfully worked himself into a semi-sitting position. The movement reawakened the pain and left him exhausted. It took several long minutes for him to gather enough energy and willpower to complete the move. By the time he was successfully sitting, sweat had beaded across his forehead, and his strength was rapidly waning.

He reached down and gingerly pulled away the bandages and poultice that covered his right knee. Instantly, he knew the wound had been caused by a bullet. The knowledge brought with it more than a little fear. How could he have been shot and not remember it?

Jim reached up to his head, feeling for a wound that would explain the memory lapse, but found none. His hand dropped to the thick padding of bandages on his shoulder. It took only a brief exploration to determine that it, too, was a gunshot wound.

Jim's explorations ended abruptly as the voice drew closer. He turned toward the sound and strained to make out the words, finally determining them to be something other than English. The voice was low; the tone, soft.

The words broke off suddenly as the young man stepped through the underbrush, leading Jim's horse, and caught sight of Jim. Mild surprise flashed across his face, quickly wiped away and replaced by an expressionless mask. He led the horse to a fresh patch of grass, tied it in place, then moved to the fire. Jim watched as the savage poured something into a cup and came over to kneel beside him.

Jim took the offered cup in his left hand, silently cursing the minute tremors of pain and exhaustion that almost caused him to drop it. The man quickly reached for Jim's arm, helping him guide the cup to his lips. The same tea as before, Jim recognized. When he was finished, he handed it back, nodding his thanks.

He didn't object when the man gently pushed him back into a reclining position on the blanket. The savage turned back to the fire, returning after a minute with a bowl of something unidentifiable.

Jim forced himself not to flinch away as the man reached for the bandages on his shoulder, pulling them away and gently probing around the wound. Evidently satisfied with what he found, the savage scraped some of the contents of the bowl onto the bullet hole and smeared it around the area with whisper soft touches, before replacing the bandages.

The same process was followed on the leg wound. Jim studied him in silence as he worked. He was young -- younger even than Jim's first impression. Not much more than a kid really, though the eyes -- the decidedly blue eyes -- held a haunted look that seemed to age him by years.

The high cheekbones and dark complexion were trademarks of the native race, but that and the clothing were all Jim could see that pointed to an Indian ancestry. The not-quite-black curls that fought their way free of the tight braid, the eyes, the full mouth all spoke of white blood, at least in part.

"Who are you?" Jim asked, suddenly.

The man stopped, boldly meeting Jim's gaze, but saying nothing.

Jim tried again. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Still no response.

A sudden thought stopped Jim from making another try. Could it be the man didn't speak English? He had certainly not been speaking anything understandable when he had arrived with the horse. But if this kid was part white, shouldn't he know at least some English?

Switching tactics, Jim pointed to himself and said, "Jim." Surely, even a savage could understand that.

The man continued to stare silently at him. Jim repeated the crude introduction and waited for a response. None came.

Before he could make another try, the kid finished his ministrations and moved away. Jim sighed in frustration, knowing he wouldn't be getting any answers anytime soon. He closed his eyes, trying to force the memories to return.

It wasn't until the hand shook him awake that Jim realized he had fallen asleep. He groggily opened his eyes, waiting for his vision to focus. The kid was kneeling beside him, a bowl of something that smelled amazingly appetizing in his hands.

Jim braced himself and struggled to sit up. The kid took his good arm and supported him until he had his balance. Jim nodded his thanks, hoping he didn't look as weak as he felt.

His silent attendant handed him the bowl and sat back on his heels to watch. Jim felt uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but pointedly ignored it, focusing what little strength he had on the food instead. It wasn't anything he recognized, but the aroma was appetizing enough to awaken a hunger Jim hadn't previously been aware of. He balanced the bowl on his uninjured leg and began to eat.

Halfway through, his strength flagged, and he set the bowl aside. He took the cup of water the kid handed him and drained it, then sat back, looking at his silent companion. There had to be a way to communicate with this guy.

Jim had a sudden flash of this same face leaning over him, speaking in low tones. Jim closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on the memory. All he could remember was the tone. The words had been secondary to that gentle, guiding voice.

Jim's eyes snapped open. Guiding? Why had he characterized the voice like that? He glanced back up and found the kid watching him intently.

The puzzle gnawed at his mind, but he was too tired to contemplate it any further. As though reading his mind, the kid moved forward and gently pushed Jim back down onto the blanket. He started to move away, but Jim's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Thanks," Jim said. The kid might not understand him -- though Jim wasn't entirely convinced of that for some unexplained reason -- but Jim had a need to hear a voice, even if it was his own. "I don't know what happened or why you're doing this, but I'm beholden to you."

Jim thought for a minute the kid was going to smile, but the expression fled too quickly to accurately read. Instead, he stood and walked out of Jim's line of vision.

~~~

Blair wasn't sure why he was leading this white man to believe he couldn't understand him. It hadn't been a conscious decision, more of an impulse.

He took the dishes to the edge of the stream and washed them out. By the time he returned to the camp, the man -- Jim -- had fallen asleep again. Blair moved back to Jim's side, studying him for a minute.

The wounds were responding well to Blair's medicines, but it would be many days before they would be healed enough for the man to ride out of here on his own. He was as weak as a newborn colt, and could scarcely stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

Blair knew he had to make a decision. They couldn't stay here till Jim healed. It might not be safe. They had already stayed too long, but Blair had been reluctant to move the injured man until the wounds had begun the healing process for fear of starting the bleeding again. Jim could ill afford to lose what precious little blood he had left. But someone had shot this man and left him for dead, and that same someone could very well come back to finish the job.

He turned back to the fire, adding fresh branches to build it up against the chill. They didn't have a whole lot of options. And the most logical one was one that he didn't even want to consider.

Blair dropped heavily to the ground beside the fire, drawing comfort from its warmth. If he took Jim back to his village, there would inevitably be some that would see it as a bad sign. And Sangwe would certainly be the most vocal of those. The son of their chief held no liking for Blair, convinced that his white blood would one day lead to the betrayal of them all.

Blair sighed. He had no desire to provoke his future chief, and he knew that was exactly what would happen if he took Jim back to the village. But he also knew that the vast majority would support Blair's decisions, no matter what they were. Blair had earned the respect of most of the tribe with the power of his visions and dreams and, more importantly, at least in Blair's view, his healing talents.

Once he explained to the council that the Night Eagle had led him to this white man, there would be no more discussion on the matter. At least not openly. Sangwe would make trouble if he could. He and the handful of young men that followed him.

It wouldn't be an easy journey. Jim was in no shape for the ordeal. He was still too weak, and the leg injury would prevent him from walking. Blair could make a travois. Jim's horse could pull it. But it would still mean at least a three day trip over rough ground. The movement would not be good for the barely healing wounds.

Blair closed his eyes for a moment in silent meditation, part of him hoping that the Night Eagle would appear and solve this problem for him. When it didn't, he opened his eyes, and made a decision, the only decision that was possible.

He stood and headed into the woods in search of the materials he would need to build a travois.

~~~ An unbearably loud pounding woke Jim. He tried to open his eyes, only to have them painfully seared by a light so intense that he was convinced it had blinded him. He quickly squeezed them shut again, blocking out the light, but the pounding increased, the sheer volume almost deafening him. He instinctively moved his hands to his ears in an effort to muffle the sound, forgetting his injured shoulder, and was met by a pain so overwhelming that he found himself losing consciousness and welcoming the void that would end this agony of sensation.

As the black mist swirled around him, bringing the promised relief, Jim became aware of a new sensation. A touch of warmth on his shoulder drew his attention away from the overwhelming stimulation for the briefest of seconds, long enough for the blackness to recede. Even as the warm grip tightened its hold, a soft sound penetrated the avalanche of noise that was tormenting him. The sound grew in intensity, but not to the point of pain. It pushed away the pounding that threatened to devour him. At last the sound became words. Like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline, Jim latched onto the words and voice, knowing that they were all that stood between him and madness.

"Jim! Jim...listen to me. Listen to nothing but my voice. Focus on my voice alone. Let everything else slide away."

The voice continued, as soothing as balm on a burn. Jim grasped at it with all the strength he could muster, letting it become the center of his world. The soft, gentle tones pushed at the pounding in his ears, not stilling it, but allowing it to drift away.

"That's it, Jim. You're doing good. Just concentrate on my voice. Shut out the rest of it. Nothing else can get in."

The pounding receded a little more and was suddenly bearable. Jim allowed himself to relax as much as he could in the face of the still overwhelming pain in his shoulder. A moan filled Jim's ears, and he had to grasp again at the voice to keep the sound from pushing him back to where he had been moments ago. "Shut it out, Jim. It's not important. Nothing matters but the sound of my voice. Listen only to my voice. Let everything else go."

Jim obeyed the voice, and the pain began to ebb. When it reached a tolerable level, Jim tentatively opened his eyes, surprised and relieved that the light had also dropped in intensity. Above him, face filled with concern and compassion, was the kid. He continued to speak, his voice reflecting the same emotions as his face. Jim blinked up at him. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and he felt himself relax.

Recognizing that Jim was back in control, the kid released his hold and sat back. "You scared the hell out of me," he said, running a shaky hand over his face.

Jim stared, his eyes widening. "You speak English."

That observation brought a small smile to the young man's face. "Who says all white men are slow-witted?"

"Why did you lead me to believe you couldn't?"

The young man shrugged. "You made your own assumptions."

Jim closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the relative quiet and peace of his surroundings wash over him. He could still hear the pounding, but it was much more tolerable. He concentrated on it for a moment, trying to pinpoint its source.

The next thing he was aware of was the kid shaking him and calling his name. He turned wide eyes up to meet concerned ones.

"What happened?"

"You tell me. You just sort of...went blank for a few minutes."

"I was trying to figure out what that pounding noise is."

The kid frowned. "I don't hear anything."

Jim threw a nervous glance at his companion. "You have to hear it." He had to. Because if he didn't, then it meant that Jim really was losing his mind. He struggled to keep the desperation from his voice, but the noise was increasing. He attempted to cover his ears, but the kid placed his hands on Jim's arms, holding them in place.

"Jim! Hey, it's all right. Just calm down. We'll figure it out. Relax and take a deep breath."

Jim let the gentle words calm him. He focused on the voice and the warm touch on his arms. Slowly, the noise dropped in volume, but still didn't disappear.

Seeing the release of tension in Jim, the kid said, "All right, take another deep breath." He waited until Jim had complied, then continued. "Now, describe what you hear."

Jim blinked up at this stranger and took another breath. "It's a pounding noise, not as loud now as it was a minute ago, but still loud enough that you should hear it, too."

"Like knocking?"

Jim shook his head. "No, more of a..." he paused, listening again to the sound, "...more like the rhythmic beat of a drum."

The kid cocked his head to the side, frowning in thought. Suddenly, his eyes widened.

"What?" Jim demanded. "What is it? Do you hear it?"

The kid looked back at Jim, a stunned expression on his young face.

"Do you hear it?" Jim repeated, not caring now how desperate he sounded. God, please tell me you hear it, too!

With a slightly trembling hand, the kid picked up Jim's left hand and placed it to his own chest, just over his heart. Jim could feel the pulse that beat against the hard ribs. The pulse that beat in perfect rhythm to....

Jim snatched his hand back as though it had been burned. "That's not possible," he whispered, his throat tight with emotion. "My God...I hear your heart beating!"

The kid stumbled to his feet and backed away a few steps, murmuring soft words that Jim couldn't understand. His blue eyes were impossibly wide.

"What the hell is going on?" Jim demanded, frightened by what had just happened. No one could hear a heart beating! But he did; even now, he could hear the thunderous race of the kid's heart, as its cadence reflected the fear and confusion on the expressive face.

"What's going on?" Jim whispered, more than a little afraid himself.

~~~

The instant Jim fell into an uneasy slumber, Blair stumbled into the woods, as far away from the camp as he dared go. He couldn't just leave an injured man with no protection, despite the growing knot of panic in his chest.

This couldn't be!

But Blair had seen the proof with his own eyes. There was no doubt Jim had heard his heart beating. How had he known it was his heart Jim was hearing? It didn't make sense, but he had known -- known it instinctively, without a doubt. But why his? Why not Jim's? That would have certainly been more logical. Or even the horse? Why his heartbeat?

But it had been his heartbeat. And Jim had heard it!

That meant that Jim was....

Blair couldn't complete the thought. It was heresy, blasphemy to even consider that a white man could be...could be a...

NO!

Blair dropped to the ground, burying his head in his hands. There were legends. The bohiti had taught them to Blair, just as he had taught him the ways of The People -- the healing uses of herbs and roots, interpreting dreams and visions, how to seek his spirit guide, among many other things.

The legend called them Guardians.

Blair laid down, staring unseeingly at the bright sky through the canopy of trees. Guardians...the mere word brought a thrill of excitement to the young bohiti that he couldn't suppress. Acrocoel, the bohiti, had first mentioned the sentries of long ago when Blair was just a child, and the boy had instantly been enraptured by the tales of these special men that were entrusted with the protection of the village. They had been gifted with advantages that set them apart as Guardians of The People. And those advantages included sharpened senses...

Blair sat up abruptly, remembering the dream that had led him here to this white man -- the shadow cat with the sharpened senses that were precluded from use. The Night Eagle had known that this man...this white man was a...Guardian!

"No!" Blair shouted aloud. "Guardians are of The People! They always have been!"

~~~

It was almost dark when Blair returned to the camp, and then only his guilt at leaving Jim alone for so long drove him back.

Jim turned his head as Blair entered the clearing, but Blair studiously ignored him, heading instead for the horse. He grabbed the rope and led the animal down to the stream for water.

When he came back, Jim was still awake, though it was obvious to Blair that it was sheer stubbornness keeping him that way. Probably waiting for some kind of explanation, Blair decided.

That makes two of us.

He headed for the now dead fire, suppressing another surge of guilt for allowing it go out. The last thing the injured man needed in his condition was to get chilled. He quickly built a new fire, adding a few extra pieces of wood to hurry the warmth.

Jim watched all of this in a silence that was beginning to unnerve Blair. He knew there would be questions sooner or later. Questions that he would just as soon avoid, if possible. But he had seen the confusion in Jim's eyes as he realized it was Blair's heart he was hearing. That confusion had almost been clouded by fear. The man had no idea what was happening to him. Didn't Blair owe it to Jim to try to explain his supposal?

Yet, how could he explain something that he, himself, refused to believe?

Blair stopped what he was doing and looked at Jim, meeting the silent gaze -- a gaze that asked what the man's voice would or could not.

Blair suddenly felt like a cold-hearted bastard. How could he let this man believe he was losing his grip on sanity when Blair had at least part of the answers Jim needed?

Truth is the harshest reality.

The bohiti's voice spoke in Blair's memory. That proverb had never seemed more appropriate than at this moment. Blair knew what he had to do, but he also knew that to do it he would be forced to accept a truth he had been trying to reject.

Blair closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer for wisdom, then sighed and moved to Jim's side.

He was silent, searching for a place to start, but Jim spoke first.

"You know, don't you? You know what's happening."

Blair met the confused, desperate eyes.

"This isn't the first time it's happened," Jim said, not waiting for an answer.

The whispered confession caught Blair's attention. Curiosity pushed at his fear, taking an edge. "Tell me what happened."

Jim turned his head, looking up at the darkening sky. "I don't really remember, but I know that it was happening just before...before whatever the hell happened and I ended up here, like this."

"Can you describe what it felt like?" Blair was grasping at one last hope, that he was mistaken, that the evidence wouldn't support his theory.

Jim closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "It's like...everything is just...more. The pounding..." He opened his eyes and threw a cautious glance at Blair. "Your heartbeat was just suddenly so loud that it was painful. Before, when it happened, it was the sound of the stream. It was like I could hear each drop of water as it was slammed against the rocks." He opened his eyes, and Blair could see distress there. "Am I going insane?"

Blair instinctively reached for the man's shoulder. "No, Jim, you aren't losing your mind, though I imagine it must feel that way right now." Blair was surprised at how calm and steady his voice sounded, when he felt anything but. "I'll explain in a minute. First, I need to know more. Is it just the hearing? What about your vision?"

Something flashed in Jim's eyes, too quickly for Blair to read it. "The same thing."

"And smell, taste, touch?" Blair prodded.

"Smell, yes," Jim confirmed, "I don't know about the others." He turned his head and met Blair's gaze. "Are you saying that I have to worry about that, too?"

Blair ignored the question in favor of one of his own. "What about now? Is everything normal now?"

Jim's forehead wrinkled in thought, then he slowly nodded. "Yeah, all but the p--your heartbeat. Everything else is back like it should be. Did it even happen?" Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe I imagined the whole thing."

Blair took a deep breath, knowing that he had to offer Jim some kind of explanation. But where to begin?

"My people have a legend," he finally started. He risked a glance at Jim and saw that he had the man's full attention. "It's an ancient tale of men that were gifted with advantages, bestowed on them by the One Spirit in exchange for their service. They were charged with the protection of the village. These men were known as Guardians, Watchmen."

Jim drew in a sharp breath and let it out as an explosive laugh. "You're saying that I'm a...a Guardian? That's a fairy tale! Stories told to children. Maybe I'm not the only one that's crazy here!"

"It's the legend of my people!" Blair shot back, trying to keep rein on his anger. How dare this white man belittle what he did not know or understand!

"So that makes it gospel?" Jim struggled to sit up. Blair didn't move to help him, even though he could see the effort it took.

"You have a better explanation? Because I was under the impression that you didn't know what was going on."

"I don't know what the hell is going on, but that doesn't mean I'll buy any old cockamamie story you want to throw at me. More likely it's delusions or hallucinations, brought on by some of these Indian drugs you're feeding me!"

Blair clamped his mouth shut in fury. Finally, he worked the tense jaw muscles apart to say, "Go to hell, white man, and take your damn 'gifts' with you!"

Blair stood and stalked to the far side of the camp, pretending to busy himself with his pack. After a moment, he let out a long sigh. Why had he lost his temper like that? It was only natural that Jim would doubt the legend. He was a white man, after all, and as civilized as they claimed to be, they were incredibly closed minded to any way but their own.

He glanced at Jim from the corner of his eye. He was still sitting there, clutching his shoulder. From the look on his face, Blair could tell he was in pain. His conscience nagged at him, but he pushed it aside. What did he care about this white man? He was no different than any of the others Blair had ever known -- narrow minded bigots, convinced they held a solitary claim to truth and knowledge.

But he did care. Maybe it was the healer in him, or maybe it was just stupidity. He childishly flung the pack away from him in frustration and went back to Jim's side.

"I shouldn't have expected you to believe me," Blair admitted when Jim looked up at him. "You are a white man, after all." He tried to lighten that last statement with a smile but couldn't quite manage it.

Jim didn't answer for a moment. Blair waited, trying to read his expression. That was an apology, damn it. You either accept it or you don't.

"You talk like you don't think of yourself as white," Jim observed, dryly.

Blair bit back the angry remark that sprang to his lips. One temper tantrum a day was plenty, thank you very much. Instead, he sat down, still meeting Jim's eyes.

"I don't," he said simply.

"But you are. At least, partially."

"Only by blood," Blair returned.

"I don't even know your name," Jim said, allowing a small smile to curl his lips.

"My given name is Blair. My chosen name is Mucaro." Blair startled himself with that answer. He had not used the name his mother had given him since coming to live with The People. Why had he even mentioned it to Jim?

"Blair," Jim repeated, showing his obvious preference to the white name. "Well, Blair, I guess I haven't appeared too grateful to you for saving my life. I'm sorry." He paused, and Blair looked up, waiting. "And I'm sorry, too, for the things I said. You just caught me off guard. I...I guess I'm kind of shook up about this whole thing."

"It's not everyday you can hear another person's heartbeat," Blair said. Then, taking a chance, he added, "Or count the individual hairs on his head from twenty yards away. Or feel the breath leave his nostrils from across the camp. Or--"

He broke off at the expression of shocked horror on Jim's face.

"How could you know that?" Jim's voice was tight with barely contained emotion.

Blair braced himself for the backlash but plowed on determinedly. "Guardians had sharpened senses...all five senses. Hearing, sight, touch, smell, taste. It was their advantage for protecting the tribe."

Jim's face had paled, but Blair didn't think it was from his injuries.

"You aren't insane, Jim. You have been gifted. There hasn't been a Guardian among The People in many years, and I won't pretend to understand why you, a white man, was chosen to begin again, but it isn't our place to question it."

"You really believe this legend?" It was obvious that Jim still wasn't ready to embrace the theory.

"You have your legends," Blair countered. "Stories of Napoleon, Moses, Alexander the Great. Do you believe they existed?"

Jim threw a surprised glance at Blair. "That's not the same--"

"Why? Because your stories are printed on paper while ours are passed on by word of mouth? Does that make yours any more credible?"

Jim was silent. Blair could see the deep lines of thought on the man's forehead. At least he was considering Blair's words. It was a start. Deciding not to push until Jim had time to think it over, Blair changed the subject.

"We can't stay here."

Jim glanced up in surprise.

"Someone shot you," Blair pointed out needlessly. "Who's to say he won't come back?"

Jim nodded. "The closest town would be Hayden's Corner, south of here."

Blair felt his face pale at the mention of the name, and fought to control his reaction. Could Jim hear his heartbeat now? Could he hear how it was racing in remembered terror?

Swallowing hard to keep his voice steady, Blair said, "My village is closer, and the way is easier."

He saw Jim's eyes narrow. He guessed the man was no more anxious to be taken, helpless and injured, into an Indian village than Blair was to take him there. But it was the only logical course open to them. He told Jim so. He outlined his plan to transport Jim by travois. Reluctantly, Jim agreed.

The two men were silent for a long time. It was Jim who broke the silence.

"You speak English as well as I do," he observed casually. The question in the words went unspoken, but Blair understood it.

Blair glanced at Jim. Cautiously, he said, "I lived in your towns when I was a child." He hoped Jim would let it go at that. He had no desire to clarify the explanation.

"You're a half-breed?"

Blair flinched at the words, old memories awakened, but Jim didn't make the term sound like the vilest of curses. It seemed merely an innocent question, so Blair found himself answering.

"My mother was white."

"Your father...?"

"...was of The People," Blair confirmed.

Silence reigned again for a few minutes. Again, it was Jim that broke it.

"You said was. They're both dead now?"

Blair nodded, not meeting Jim's questioning gaze. "When my mother died--" He paused as his voice broke. Even after all these years, it still hurt to remember. A deep breath calmed him, and he continued. "When she died, I returned to The People, where I belonged."

"So," Jim ventured, reading between the lines, "until then you lived with 'the white man'?"

Blair nodded again, not trusting his voice. The memories were still too vivid, too painful.

"What about your father?"

"He died when I was small. I don't really remember him. We lived in the village until I was three, then my mother took me back to your world." He heard the bitterness of his words, and was ashamed. He thought he had long ago come to terms with his memories of those painful years. Evidently he was wrong.

Not wanting to continue the conversation for fear he would revel too much to this stranger, Blair rose and began putting together a small meal from his dwindling store of supplies. The biscuits and hard tack from Jim's saddlebags had supplemented the meals, but they, too, were starting to run out. Soon he would have to hunt to augment their supplies.

It wasn't until Blair served the meal, that Jim spoke again.

"What if it happens again?"

Blair looked up, startled by the words.

"If they...my senses...go crazy like that again..." His voice faded away as he locked gazes with Blair. "What did these...Guardians do when it happened to them? If they used their...gifts to help the tribe, they must have been able to control them. Could I do that? Learn to control it?"

Was Jim beginning to believe it? Did he really buy into Blair's explanations, or was he simply desperate enough to consider anything? "I don't know, Jim. But I know there is an answer. We just have to find it."

Jim didn't call Blair on that, for which he was glad. He didn't know how, but he was sure he could help Jim. He would just have to give it some more thought.

"Your village," Jim said into the silence, "how far is it?"

"Three, maybe four days at the rate we'll be traveling."

Jim finished eating and set the bowl aside. "They won't have a problem with you bringing a white man there?"

Blair didn't glance up from his food. "Most won't. Not once I explain that the Night--" He broke off, realizing what he was about to reveal. He wasn't quite ready to get into the vision right now. He knew white men didn't set much store in dreams and visions, and they certainly didn't believe in spirit guides. No, that story was best saved for another day. Instead, he said, "They will accept my decision."

He set his bowl aside. "I need to check your wounds, and then you should rest. We'll leave at first light."

Blair helped Jim to lay back on the blankets, then removed the bandages and applied more of the foul-smelling salve. By the time he had finished, Jim was asleep. He gently replaced the bandages and moved away to put the finishing touches on the travois.

~~~

**

They left the little valley at daybreak, with Jim strapped down to a crude litter that was pulled by his horse. Blair walked ahead, leading the way. The trail was rough, and it took its toll on Jim. His shoulder and leg pulsed unmercifully, jarred with each step the horse took.

In an attempt to distract his thoughts from the pain, Jim focused his thoughts on his strange companion. This kid seemed to really believe this mumbo-jumbo about Guardians, and if Blair had been the simple savage that Jim had originally mistaken him for, the belief wouldn't have been particularly surprising. The native tribes of the area had plenty of strange beliefs.

But Jim had come to the conclusion that this was no simple savage. For one thing, Blair was obviously well read, judging from occasional comments he had made. And he spoke like an educated man. Another surprise. Blair had mentioned living with his mother in towns before coming to live with the Indians, but Jim had trouble believing that a breed would have gone to school with white children. Jim himself had no trouble with the concept, but he knew that many white men were extremely prejudiced against the natives, especially in light of the increasingly bloody raids to the south. Indians had gained a reputation for violence, and though Jim could almost understand it, he couldn't condone it. But he also knew the dangers of judging the whole by the actions of a part.

So, if Blair was as well read and educated as he seemed to be, how had he come about the knowledge? And why would an educated man be so willing to buy into a fairy tale about abnormal humans with abnormal "gifts"?

But the kid's explanation was the only one Jim had, believable or not. If the tales of Guardians were make believe, where did that leave Jim? The only other option was that he truly was going insane. How else could he explain hearing another person's heartbeat from a hundred feet away? How else could he explain the hawk that sat in the top of a high tree, on the slope of the hill a mile or more to the west -- the hawk that Jim could count each and every feather of, if he so desired?

Jim closed his eyes to the temptation. If the story of Guardians was a simple fairy tale, then he really was losing his mind. Which was harder to accept?

The travois hit a particularly large bump in the trail and a spasm of pain shot through Jim's shoulder. A cry escaped his lips despite his efforts to control it. The horse stopped, and Blair was at his side instantly, concern and apology on his face.

"I'm sorry, Jim. Are you all right?"

Jim nodded, his jaw clamped too tightly to speak at the moment.

"We'll stop here for a while to rest."

Blair disappeared, returning moments later with Jim's canteen. He held it for the older man to drink, then pulled out a few strips of dried meat from the pack on the horse. He handed the strips to Jim and sat beside him on the hard ground.

The pain finally subsided enough for Jim to unclench his jaw. He chewed on the tough meat, watching Blair. The kid had closed his eyes, and as Jim watched, his face gradually softened and smoothed, as though he were falling asleep.

For a moment, Jim's hearing focused in on the gentle pounding -- Blair's heartbeat -- that he had finally managed to relegate to a background noise. He took strange comfort from the sound, without knowing why.

The rhythm suddenly increased, though the kid's eyes didn't open. With an effort, Jim pushed himself up on his left elbow, watching in mild concern as the expression of peace on Blair's face was abruptly replaced by lines of tension. Beneath the lids, his eyes darted rapidly back and forth.

Jim was debating what to do when Blair opened his eyes with a soft gasp. There was a wild, almost animalistic look in those blue orbs that startled Jim.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked.

Blair blinked several times, and by the time he finally focused on Jim's face, the expression in his eyes had calmed.

Jim sank back onto the travois. "You looked kind of...gone for a moment there," he said. Gone, hell! The look in the kid's eyes had been almost feral, scaring Jim more than just a little bit. Was this something he now had to worry about on top of everything else?

"Sorry," Blair murmured, starting to stand. Jim's hand on his arm stopped him. Hesitantly, Blair lifted his eyes and met Jim's. The older man was surprised to see confusion and a little bit of fear in their depths.

"Wait up, Chief," Jim said.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of slur?" Blair demanded hotly. "Because I've got to tell you, I've been called much worse."

Jim let go of Blair's arm. "Sorry. No offense meant. It's just something I say."

Blair searched Jim's face, evidently looking for sincerity. Finding it, or something close enough to satisfy him, he relaxed his frown.

"I just would like to know if something is going on with you," Jim said, returning to the original subject. "You looked a little strange there for a moment. If you're going to cross the fence here, I would appreciate a little warning. I'm not exactly in a position to take on a crazed Indian." He softened his words with a smile.

Blair drew in a breath and held it for a moment. His gaze turned inward briefly, then focused on Jim. "It's nothing like that, but I don't think you want an explanation. Let's just say I tend to daydream at times."

Before Jim could question him further, Blair stood and moved out of Jim's line of vision.

~~~

Blair hadn't been seeking a vision and had been unprepared for it. He had simply been looking for a few moments of quiet meditation while Jim rested.

Jim...

What must the man be thinking? Blair had seen the bohiti return from his visions and knew it could be a somewhat startling thing to witness. But he honestly didn't think Jim would accept an explanation. If the man was having trouble with the legends of the Guardians, surely his mind wasn't ready for the concept of visions.

Blair moved back to Jim's side, once more offering him water, then rechecking the bindings on the travois.

"We should continue. We have a long journey."

Without waiting for a reply, he returned to the horse, gathered the reins and led the way deeper into the woods.

~~~

Blair kept up a steady conversation most of the afternoon in an attempt to distract Jim from the pain of the journey. By the time they stopped to make camp for the night, Blair had managed to pry information from his companion about his ranch. Jim told how he and a close friend from his army days had settled side-by-side in a valley that he described as a little piece of heaven and were working to carve their respective spreads from the wilderness. How the cattle business was finally beginning to bring a small profit. About his plans to expand, move into horse breeding. Blair heard the excitement and pride in his voice as he spoke of all he had accomplished in a few short years with hard work and perseverance.

And Jim spoke of a younger brother, Steven, and how he had managed to work and put himself through college back east. He spoke with a brother's pride of the young man, who was now an upward bound lawyer in an eastern city Blair had only read about in his treasured books.

After awhile, Blair deftly turned the conversation to Jim's shooting, probing to see what the older man would tell him of the incident. To his surprise, Jim recalled very little of substance.

"I remember riding into Newcastle," Jim explained as Blair set about putting together a camp for the night. "But I don't remember being shot."

Blair heard the confusion in Jim's voice and stopped what he was doing to look at him. It was obviously something that Jim had already tried unsuccessfully to piece together.

Jim shook his head in frustration. "The memory just isn't there."

Blair knelt beside Jim. "What's the last thing you do remember?"

Jim frowned in thought. After a minute, he shook his head. "I don't know. It's all muddled together."

Blair thought for a moment. "Okay, maybe you're going about this the wrong way." He made himself comfortable on the ground beside Jim. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

Jim narrowed his eyes slightly. "What for?"

Blair stifled a sigh of irritation. "I'm trying to help you, Jim. Just relax and try this, okay? What could it hurt?"

Jim hesitated another minute, then did as Blair had instructed. After several deep breaths, he seemed to relax, and Blair continued.

"Rather than start at the shooting, let's go back a few days and work up to it, okay?" He waited for Jim to nod. "All right, another deep breath."

Jim complied and relaxed further.

"You left your ranch, why?"

"I had some business in Newcastle. And it was Steven's birthday. I wanted to send him a telegram."

"Did anything unusual happen in Newcastle?"

Jim thought for a moment. "No. I sent the telegram, visited with some friends, took care of my business, then I left Saturday morning for home."

"You were alone?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you're traveling to your ranch. You're alone. It's quiet, peaceful. There are sounds around you, but they are natural, they belong. Listen to them. Is there a sound that doesn't belong? Something out of place?"

"Voices..." Jim's eyes shot open. "I didn't remember that before. I had been traveling a few hours when I heard voices."

Blair allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. He hadn't been sure this would work, but he seemed to be successfully guiding Jim through the memories. "All right, you heard voices. Close your eyes and focus on them. Can you hear what they are saying?"

Jim closed his eyes again and concentrated on the memory. "No, they're too far away. I turned Soldier toward the hills, thinking that's where the sound was coming from, but I had trouble finding them. It wasn't as close as I thought."

Blair felt a small thrill of excitement, realizing what Jim was implying. "How far did you track the voices?"

"A couple of miles."

A couple of miles? It took an effort for Blair to control his enthusiasm. Of course, the voices would have been amplified by the hills, and under the right conditions, sound could carry a good distance, but still, if Jim's hearing was half that....Blair forced his thoughts back to the conversation.

"What were the voices saying?"

Jim was silent for a long time, his frown growing. Finally he shook his head. "I can't remember." He opened his eyes and rubbed at his temple. "That's where it gets fuzzy. I just can't remember."

"It's okay, Jim," Blair reassured the frustrated man.

"Why would I come this far north? It's not on the route home from Newcastle."

"I don't know," Blair admitted. "Just be patient. Let it come back in its own time."

Blair returned to setting up the camp. Once he had the fire going, he made Jim a bed of branches and blankets and helped him get comfortable. Blair then turned his attentions to the horse, securing it for the night.

"You know," Jim observed, watching Blair offer the animal some water, "Soldier doesn't normally let anyone near him but me."

Blair rubbed the horse's neck with a smile. "I have a way with animals."

"So it would seem."

When Blair had finished, he sat beside the fire. He tossed a stick into the flames. "Can you still hear my heartbeat?"

Jim nodded. "It's kind of like a background thing, but yeah, it's still there."

"What else can you hear?"

Jim was quiet for a minute. "Water. Nearby, I think."

Blair's lips curled into a smile. "The closest stream is half a mile behind us."

Jim threw him a startled glance.

"What else?"

Cocking his head to the side slightly, Jim said, "Night sounds...you know, insects, animals...there's a wolf howling somewhere close--"

Blair smiled again as Jim broke off. He would have to learn that just because he could hear something that didn't necessarily mean it was close by. Jim would have a lot to learn. He would have to make many adjustments to his life to accommodate his new-found abilities.

Struck by a sudden idea, Blair scooted closer to Jim. "My heartbeat is close. Listen to that for a moment." He paused to let Jim comply. "Now listen again to the water. Do you hear it?"

Jim nodded.

"Great. Now by comparing the two, you should be able to feel the difference in distance." He was silent for a few minutes, letting Jim concentrate on the sounds. He saw the look of frustration cross Jim's face and instantly realized the problem.

"Let the other sounds become background noise. Don't think about anything but the sound of my heart and the sound of the water. Push away everything else."

As Blair's words soaked in, the tension began to visually fade from Jim's face.

"Okay, now compare the two sounds. Do you feel the difference?"

A slow smile softened Jim's features. "Yeah...yeah, I can."

"Okay, let's take it a step further. Find the wolf again. Is it still there?"

After a moment's search, Jim nodded.

"Great," Blair encouraged, "now use both my heartbeat and the water, and see if you can feel the difference in distance to the wolf."

Blair quieted for a moment to allow Jim to focus. Then, dropping his voice to almost a whisper, he said, "Push away everything but my heartbeat, the water, and the wolf. Don't let anything else in, just those three sounds. Can you feel the differences, Jim?"

"The wolf is there," Jim pointed to the north. "It's not as close as the stream, but I can't tell how much further away it is. And I can hear another wolf just beyond that one."

Blair grinned openly now. "That's okay, Jim. That's good. That's really good."

Jim grinned back at him. "I didn't lose myself to it this time. I didn't blank out like before. It can be controlled, can't it?"

"Yes, it can," Blair agreed. "We just have to figure this out, one step at a time."

~~~

By the end of the next day, it was clear to Blair that the trip was taking its toll on the injured man, though Jim had yet to complain. Their progress was slower than Blair had anticipated. He figured it was still a full two days travel to the village. Which brought up another problem Blair knew he would have to address. Their food supplies wouldn't last two more days.

After setting up camp and tending to both Jim and the horse, Blair opened his pack and took out a cloth wrapped bundle. He carefully unwrapped the object, and handed it to Jim.

Jim took the offered revolver, casting a curious glance to Blair.

"I have something to do. I'll be gone for a couple of hours. I think you might feel safer with your weapon."

Jim tucked the gun under the edge of the blanket. "Going courtin'?" he quipped.

"Someone tell you you were funny, Jim? Because I feel I owe you the truth: They lied." Blair brought the canteen to Jim, along with the remaining bits of food from the pack. "This is the last of our supplies. I'm going to set some snares before dark." He glanced up at Jim with a smile. "Unless you prefer a breakfast of wild onions and acorns?"

"Good luck with the snares, Chief," Jim grinned back.

Blair stepped into the woods and was gone with scarcely a sound.

~~~

Jim was asleep by the time Blair returned to camp, his mission complete. He ate the handful of nuts he had gathered while he worked, then curled next to the fire and slept. By morning, the snares had provided enough for a small breakfast for the two of them. Then they were on their way again.

Throughout the day, Blair worked at coming up with ideas for testing the limits of Jim's abilities. They needed to know the boundaries that they would be working within, and Blair felt he could help Jim determine the edges of those boundaries.

Each time they stopped for a break, Blair prodded with questions and advice until he got Jim to stretch his hearing, smell and sight. Blair was amazed at the results each time. If Jim's other two senses were equally as enhanced, Jim could be a true Guardian.

The thought sent a shiver of excitement dancing up Blair's spine. He had grown up on such legends, thrilling at the prospect of a man so blessed by the Spirit. But at the same time, he wondered at the awesome responsibility of such a man. What a burden it must have been to have the care of the whole village resting on one's shoulders.

"We made good time today," Blair announced over their meager meal of ground squirrel. "We should make the village by late tomorrow."

Jim nodded, trying to get comfortable as he leaned against a tree. "There's rain coming."

Blair looked up in surprise. He had seen none of the normal signs for rain. He glanced up at the bright stars above them.

"I know," Jim said, following Blair's eyes. "Not a cloud in sight. But it's coming. I can feel it."

Blair had seen enough of the man's abilities to believe almost anything at this point. He studied the sky again. How far away would the rain be? Would it move in during the night?

Grabbing his knife, Blair headed into the woods without a word. Before long he returned, dragging a few long branches. He made several such trips, bringing back more of the limbs each time. Then he dug through his pack, pulling out a handful of rawhide lacings, and began to lash the branches together.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked.

Blair answered without turning from his work. "You said it was going to rain. The last thing you need in your condition is to get wet and chilled."

"You're building a shelter?" The astonishment in Jim's voice caused Blair to stop and turn around.

"It'll be crude, but it should keep the worst of it off."

"You believe me." The simple statement, barely whispered, was laced with emotion.

"Why wouldn't I?" Blair was confused by Jim's reaction. "Jim, you've shown me that you can hear, see, smell for great distances. Why would it be any more difficult for me to believe that you can feel the rain in the air in the same way?"

"You don't even know me," Jim pointed out. "Why would you believe such an outrageous claim?"

Blair turned back to his work as he answered. "How long do you have to know a person to know them, Jim Ellison? I know that you are a strong-willed man, you are a man of integrity; you are used to being in total control, yet you have let me take charge and make decisions that will most certainly affect you profoundly."

"Integrity, huh?" Jim observed. "What makes you think that?"

Blair worked in silence for a moment, then said, "I know how most white men feel about Indians. I saw the suspicion in your eyes that first day, when you woke up. But you've treated me fairly, talked to me like I have half a brain. That says a lot to me."

"So, I'm not threatening to shoot the man that saved my life, and you think that says something about what a decent person I am? Chief, that's just common courtesy."

"You might want to drop that 'chief' before we get to the village," Blair suggested. "A few of The People understand English. They might misunderstand your intentions."

"So noted," Jim agreed.

Blair finished lashing the branches together, then topped the crude shelter with a thick layer of leaves and pine needles held in place by a blanket spread over them and tied down. Satisfied that it was as secure as he could make it, he helped Jim into the shelter, then spread his own blanket beside him and laid down.

Blair was almost asleep when Jim spoke.

"Thanks for believing me, Blair."

Blair smiled into the darkness.

~~~

"I hear them."

Blair pulled the reins gently, stopping Soldier's forward movement. He had asked Jim to let him know the moment he picked up the sounds of the village, but he hadn't expected the man to make the announcement so soon. They were still several miles away.

He dropped back to Jim's side, barely containing his smile. "What do you hear?"

Jim paused a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Children...they're laughing, and dogs barking, horses." He listened another moment. "And someone singing. A woman, I think."

Blair released the smile he had been holding back.

Jim noticed and questioned, "What?"

Blair shook his head. It was amazing. Jim was hearing the village from several miles away. Of course, the wind and the surrounding hillsides certainly would be aiding the man, but still...miles! The thought boggled the young man's mind.

"I'm impressed," Blair admitted.

Blair stood, adjusting the blanket back over Jim as protection against the rain. True to Jim's prediction, rain had moved into the area during the night and continued still at a steady drizzle. Blair had done his best to protect the injured man, worried that in his weakened condition, he would be more susceptible to a chill.

Grabbing the horse's reins, Blair began moving again toward home, anxious now to get there and end this journey. He had much to discuss with Acrocoel.

~~~

The old bohiti stood slowly, his old bones protesting the movement. With a regretful sigh he turned away from the comfort of the fire, and made his way to the edge of the village. A steady drizzle fell, chilling the old man. He drew the blanket tighter about his bony shoulders.

Though not yet night, the heavy clouds darkened his surroundings, making it difficult to see beyond the edge of the woods. Acrocoel strained his age-weary eyes trying to peer into the shadows.

They would be here soon.

The rain increased, but still the old man stood, waiting and watching. He knew his disciple would be coming home tonight. And he knew that Mucaro would not be alone. Just as the young bohiti had had his vision, so, too, had Acrocoel. And that vision had held the promise of both unlimited happiness and unlimited sorrow. Its interpretation was still not completely clear to the old man, but he knew that it signified the beginning of many changes, just as Mucaro had suspected.

A soft noise from beyond the trees warned the bohiti that the anticipated pair was approaching. He straightened, drawing as much dignity to himself as his age allowed, and watched as the small procession moved into view.

Mucaro let the way, his young eyes immediately finding Acrocoel and widening in surprise. Behind the young bohiti came a horse, pulling a travois. Acrocoel waited until they drew closer before speaking.

"You have brought the Guardian to us."

~~~

Blair stopped short at the words, confused and surprised. "You know?"

"The spirits have spoken of his coming."

Blair urged the horse forward, drawing closer. "You had your own vision. I believed you would."

Acrocoel's eyes moved to the injured man on the travois. "Are his injuries grave?"

"They are no longer life threatening, but they will take time to heal."

"You take a risk bringing him to the village. There are those who will not welcome him."

Blair nodded. "Sangwe...yes, I know. I considered that, but there was no other choice. I feared that those who attacked him would return. I knew the risks, and found them acceptable."

"You chose wisely, Mucaro."

The old bohiti turned, leading the way into the village. Rain had driven most of The People into their hogans, but at their passing, a few stuck their heads out in curiosity. Blair knew that within minutes, the whole village would be aware of the visitor.

At the hogan that he shared with his mentor, Blair stopped the horse and loosened the straps to the travois. The bohiti held the hide door covering aside for Blair to drag the injured man into the warmth of the building.

"I will see to the horse," Acrocoel said, disappearing back through the door.

"He didn't seem very surprised to see me," Jim commented as Blair set about loosening him from the travois.

"He wasn't," Blair affirmed. He helped Jim move to a soft pallet of furs in the corner of the large room, then retreated to the fire to add a few more logs, increasing the warmth for Jim's sake. Satisfied, he turned back to Jim, and busied himself removing the bandages to check the wounds.

"What happens now?" Jim asked, wincing a bit at the touch.

"I wait," Blair said with a sigh, "By now, word has reached the chief. He will call the council together, then send for me to explain my actions."

"Bringing me here."

Blair nodded, pulling away the last of the bandages. He moved to the far side of the hogan, filling a bowl from the water jar there. He spoke as he returned to Jim's side. "Don't worry. They will give me a chance to explain. There won't be any problem."

Acrocoel entered the hogan and moved to Blair's side. Blair moved back a bit to allow the bohiti to examine the shoulder wound.

"It is healing well, Mucaro," the old man observed.

Blair smiled at his mentor's words, feeling a warmth at the approval in the tone. Jim noticed the smile and raised an eyebrow.

"He said it's healing well," Blair translated. He finished cleaning the wound and then rebandaged it.

Before he finished, a boy stuck his head through the door, nodding to the bohiti.

"It is time, Mucaro," the old man said.

Blair drew in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Will you go with me?" He was pleased to hear that his voice was steady.

To his dismay, Acrocoel shook his head. "No, Mucaro, you do not need me. The council will not dispute your decision once you have explained it to them." He glanced toward Jim, who was curiously watching the exchange between the two of them. "Besides, I don't think we should leave the Guardian alone just yet."

Blair nodded, knowing Acrocoel was right. It was selfish of him to want his mentor to accompany him before the council. Jim shouldn't be left alone right now, and Blair was more than capable of stating his case to the elders of the tribe.

He turned to Jim. "I have to go now, but Acrocoel will stay with you until I return. He'll fix you something to eat, then you should try to sleep." He stood, glancing once more to the bohiti for confidence, then left.

~~~

Jim watched Blair leave the hogan, then turned his eyes to the old man. What had Blair called him...Acrocoel? But he had also called him bohiti, hadn't he? One was a name, and one was a title, Jim was sure, but he didn't know which was which.

The old man was studying Jim with an intensity that made Jim uncomfortable. He had to consciously tell himself not to fidget beneath the scrutiny. Finally, the old man looked away, filling a cup from the water jar and handing it to Jim, who sat up awkwardly to accept it.

"Thank you," Jim said, not knowing if the man understood.

"You are welcome," the old man answered, startling Jim.

"You speak English."

Acrocoel nodded, handing Jim a bowl of what looked like soup of some kind, then sat on the hard, earthen floor. "Mucaro has lived with me since he was a boy. I have learned as much from him as he has from me, I think."

"He's gone before the council now, hasn't he? To explain me?"

Again, Acrocoel nodded.

"Will there be trouble for him? I mean, for bringing a white man into your village?"

"There will be questions, but they will accept Mucaro's decision. He is bohiti."

Okay, so that one was the title, Jim concluded. And whatever it was, Blair was one, too. Healer, perhaps?

"Some will not be happy with the ruling, but it will be accepted."

Jim ate in silence for a moment, trying to ignore his audience. When his strength began to give out, the old man moved forward and took the bowl from Jim's trembling hand.

"Rest, Guardian," Acrocoel advised.

Jim tensed at the words. "Blair told you about..."

"About your gifts?" Acrocoel filled in, raising an eyebrow at Jim's reaction. "No, Mucaro said nothing."

"Then how did you know?"

"I am bohiti," as though that simple declaration should have been explanation enough. "You do not believe." The old man shook his head sadly. "It is the way of the white man to discount that which cannot be seen or touched. But you are a Guardian. You must learn to open your mind as well as your eyes."

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "No offense, I mean, I respect your people and your ways, but you have to admit that the idea of a man with heightened senses is a bit difficult to wrap the mind around."

"It is what you are. You cannot deny truth that you have witnessed for yourself. You were chosen. You must now lay aside your fears and seek to understand your gifts so that you may repay the Spirit for this generosity."

What if I don't want these gifts? Jim wanted to ask, but wisely kept it to himself. Instead, he changed the subject. "You said Blair had lived with you since he was a boy?"

"He was brought to us twelve winters ago."

"Brought to you?"

"By the mucaro, the night eagle. The child sought to find The People; a difficult undertaking for one so young, but the Night Eagle took pity on the boy and led him to us. He was marked by the mucaro as one who would become a great bohiti, so he was brought to me for his training."

The soft pounding rhythm that had been identified as the kid's heartbeat intruded on Jim's conscious mind at that point. He had long since become accustomed to the sound, seldom even taking note of its existence. But now it made itself known again, the beat becoming more pronounced, increasing its cadence to a pace that set off a warning tingle on the back of Jim's neck.

Concentrating on the sound to the exclusion of all else, Jim felt his grasp on his surroundings begin to slip, and he momentarily lost himself to the sound. A gentle touch to his shoulder served to reestablish reality, bringing his thoughts back into focus. He shook his head, as the more immediate sights and sounds again registered in his mind.

"What is it?" the bohiti asked, his wrinkled face impassive, but his eyes brimming with questions.

"Blair's heartbeat..." he stopped, not comfortable disclosing this information, but at the same time aware that the old man already knew his capabilities. "Blair's upset about something."

Acrocoel smiled a knowing smile. "You can hear him. That is good. A Guardian must have this connection to his Guide."

Before Jim could question the reference, the old man turned away, tending to other business. After a few minutes, Jim laid back down. Without meaning to, he fell into a light doze, awakening again to hear soft voices nearby. He opened his eyes to see Blair and Acrocoel sitting not far away. Blair was eating some of the same soup Jim had had earlier.

Blair lifted his eyes, catching Jim's gaze. The kid managed a small smile, before returning his attention to his food. Jim returned the smile and closed his eyes again, allowing himself to drift back into the gentle embrace of slumber.

~~~

Blair set his now empty bowl aside and moved to the sleeping man's side, checking the dressings on the wounds once more. The trip had exhausted the injured man, though Blair was glad to see that the wounds had not reopened and still appeared to be healing well. Rest was the best thing for him.

"You should rest, also."

Blair glanced up at his mentor. He had long ago ceased to be amazed at the man's seeming ability to know the paths of Blair's thoughts.

Seating himself once more before the fire, Blair met Acrocoel's gaze across the flames. "There will be time to rest later."

"You are worried about Sangwe." It wasn't a question, Blair realized. It was never a question. The bohiti made his deductions, and proclaimed them boldly, and never had Blair known the man to be wrong.

"He will not take well to being called down before the council," Blair observed, recalling how the brave had been forced to back down in the face of his father's wrath. The chief had made his decision, to let Jim remain in the village until he was healed enough to travel again. But, as Blair had predicted, that decision had not been well accepted by all of the council, most notably, the chief's own son, Sangwe, and his small band of followers.

"Sangwe sees betrayal in all that you do," Acrocoel reminded him. "It has been so since the mucaro brought you to The People. The Night Eagle chose you for the training, and Sangwe has never forgiven you for that."

"He considers me white," Blair pointed out needlessly. All of The People knew of the future chief's feelings for Blair and his white blood.

Acrocoel nodded solemnly.

"I am not white," Blair stated adamantly.

The old bohiti gazed intently at the young man for several silent moments before replying. "Do not deny yourself, Mucaro. You are of The People. You are also of the white man. To deny this is to lose a part of yourself."

"I have chosen The People as my people." Blair didn't want to have this conversation now.

To Blair's relief, Acrocoel didn't pursue the point. The old man stood. "You should rest, young one. Your journey has been long, and you have far still to go." Acrocoel pushed aside the heavy skin door covering and was gone, leaving Blair to ponder the cryptic words.

~~~

Jim opened his eyes, giving them a minute to adjust to the dim light of the room, before looking around. The old man was sleeping on a pallet of furs on the far side of the room. Blair sat close to the low fire. He was hunched over, his nose almost to his knees, an open book in his lap.

"You'll go blind like that," Jim quietly observed.

Blair jumped, his startled look quickly replaced by a sheepish grin. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry." He carefully marked his place in the book with a small strip of cloth and set it aside.

"You didn't. All I've done for days now is sleep. I guess I've had enough for now."

"Your body heals quickest while resting."

Jim nodded toward the book beside Blair. "What are you reading?"

"A Tale of Two Cities," Blair said, picking the book back up and running his fingers reverently over the gold inlayed title. "It's one of my favorites."

Jim smiled, amazed at the contradictions in this young man. He seemed so natural and at home here among these savages, yet in some ways Blair seemed more civilized than most white men Jim knew. And, judging from his choice of reading materials, more educated.

Blair, evidently noticing the question in Jim's eyes, said, "Yes, I can read. Not your average Indian, huh?" He smiled to let Jim know he was not offended. "My mother taught me to read when I was very young. She shared with me her love for the printed word. It's difficult to get books here, but I've managed to gather a small collection."

He pointed to an impressive stack of books in a wooden box behind him. Again, Jim was amazed. He doubted there were this many books in all of Hayden's Corner.

"Where do you get them?"

"There's a trader comes over the mountains a couple of times a year. He always brings a book or two with him. The People give me furs and skins in payment for my healing services when times are good. I trade them for the books."

"You trade half a years wages for one or two books?"

Blair shrugged. "It's worth it to me."

Jim shook his head. Somehow, he wasn't surprised at the comment.

"You should rest now."

Jim started to protest but was stopped by a jaw popping yawn. He frowned at the knowing grin on the young man's face. "Okay, okay. I can take a hint, even if it is from my own body."

Blair opened his book again. "Goodnight, Jim."

Jim watched the young man through half opened eyes for several minutes. Blair had lifted the book to within inches of his face in an effort to read in the dim light from the fire.

"You really will go blind like that," Jim repeated.

Blair grinned, never taking his eyes from the book. "Go to sleep, Jim."

~~~

Jim staggered briefly as his crude crutch came down on a rock, but Blair's hand was on his arm immediately, steadying him until he had his balance again.

"Take it slow, Jim," the young man cautioned. "You're putting pressure on both your leg and your shoulder, you know. I don't want to have to stitch you back up if you fall."

Jim scowled good-naturedly at Blair before turning his attention back to the effort it was taking just to take a few steps. For three days, Jim had been anxious to get on his feet and start moving around. Now that Blair had finally agreed to let him, Jim was having second thoughts. The crutch made his shoulder ache, but without it, Jim knew, he wouldn't be able to put any weight on his leg. It was a trade-off that Jim was willing to make. But he didn't have to like it. He had to get his strength back quickly, and getting on his feet was definitely a move in that direction.

He hissed as a sudden spasm shot through his shoulder.

"That's it," Blair declared. "Sit." He pointed to a bench made from a roughly hewn log.

Jim thought about arguing, but one look at the young man's face and he changed his mind. He hobbled over to the bench and lowered himself, his leg stretched out before him.

"You're pushing yourself, Jim," Blair said, sitting beside him. "I know you're anxious to shake the dust of this village from your boots--"

"It's not that, Chief," Jim interrupted, forgetting Blair's warning about the term. One look from the young man reminded him. "Sorry. It's not that I don't appreciate the hospitality you and your people have shown me, it's just that..."

"I understand, Jim. You don't have to explain. You want to go home, to your own village, your own people. I'm sure they are wondering what's happened to you."

Jim's gaze turned inward for a moment. By now, it would be evident to his friends that something had happened. But there was no way for Jim to contact them, let them know he was all right. He couldn't very well ask Blair to send an Indian to his ranch with the news.

"Yes, I'm sure they are, but that's not what I was thinking about. It's Sangwe and some of the others. I've seen the way he looks at you, the hatred in his face. I don't want to make trouble for you. Maybe if I left..."

"It wouldn't make any difference," Blair said. "Sangwe hated me long before you came here. And he'll hate me long after you're gone."

"So it's an old feud."

"You could say that." Blair looked out across the village. He seemed lost in thought. Finally, he said, "I was chosen to be bohiti, to live with Acrocoel and take the training. Sangwe resented that, because of my white blood. I think maybe there are several who feel this way. Sangwe is just the most vocal."

"Why does it matter?"

Blair took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Bohiti is a powerful position. In some ways, even more powerful than chief. Sangwe feels that it is a risk to the whole tribe for a white man to have this power."

"He's jealous," Jim observed.

Blair turned a smile toward Jim. "Now you sound like Acrocoel." He glanced away again. "If Sangwe had been chief, I would not have been allowed to stay."

Jim studied the young man's profile for a silent moment. There was something in the kid's voice that told Jim there was a story there, behind the words, but he didn't know if he had a right to ask. He decided to test the waters a bit. "Why did you come here?"

For a long time Blair was silent, and Jim wondered if he had crossed a line with the question. Finally, Blair said, "When I was ten, my mother died. I didn't have any family, no one to take me in. I remembered living with The People as a small child, and I remembered that the times here were good. They didn't treat me like the white man did. Here I was accepted. So I made up my mind to find the village."

"That couldn't have been easy for a ten year old."

"It wasn't, but I was determined. And I had...help."

"The night eagle?"

Blair snapped his head around, his wide, blue eyes filled with surprise.

"Acrocoel told me," Jim explained. "He said the night eagle guided you here, marking you as a bohiti. I won't pretend to understand -- I'm not sure I even know what a night eagle is, much less how it could have guided you -- but I don't think I'll question it. Maybe one day you can explain it to me."

Blair nodded and turned back to his silent surveillance of the busy village. After a minute, Jim did likewise. But his thoughts were still on his companion. His heart ached for that small boy, faced with losing his mother, then with the daunting prospect of trying to survive in a world that didn't look too kindly on children of mixed heritage. Say it, Ellison. Half-breed. You never had any trouble with the term before. Just because there's a face and a person attached to it now, you're suddenly thinking of it as a profanity. How hypocritical is that?

It seemed Jim was going to have to revise a lot of his thinking after this adventure.

~~~

"That one is stubborn. He will be difficult to work with. Yet, I envy you. "

Blair lifted his head in surprise at the bohiti's words. "Envy me?"

"To have a Guardian...it is the dream of all bohiti. So rare are they now. The People have not see a Guardian since the days of legend. You are fortunate to be chosen to work with this one."

"Chosen..." Blair considered the word and its implications. "I found Jim. I recognized what he is. I wasn't..." He paused, wondering how to word his reply without sounding disrespectful. "I don't think I was chosen. Jim will need someone to help him, to teach him control. That could take a while." He shook his head. "I can't be the one to help him."

"You are mistaken, Mucaro. You have already taken on this role for the Guardian. He is vulnerable now while he has no control. He will need a Guide to direct his path, protect him as he learns. To watch over him. This Guide is you."

Blair let out a small laugh and turned his gaze to the cluster of women working their looms nearby. Their idle conversation and sporadic laughter drew his attention for a brief moment, as he allowed himself to enjoy the comfortable setting. But his thoughts were again assaulted by the older man's words. "You are the one who is mistaken, Acrocoel. Jim is weak now, but that's just the injuries. It is easy to see the man that he is. He's strong, powerful, intelligent...Jim doesn't need anyone's protection, much less mine."

The old man shook his head sadly. "You see yourself through the eyes of a child, my son. You are much more than you realize. The Guardian is all of these things you say, but still he is in need of protection. You have seen how he loses himself to his senses. He needs a Guide to hold him to this world, to watch over him as he learns to control and use the gifts as they were intended. I have seen you with him. You know his needs instinctively. He trusts you."

Jim trusted him? Blair met his mentor's gaze. Acrocoel would not have said so unless he truly believed it, but...trust? That was a powerful word. What reason would Jim have to trust an Indian he hardly knew?

"I saved his life," Blair stated, thinking that was what the old man had seen between them.

"You saved more than his life. You saved his sanity. You have helped him find himself again in the midst of his confusion."

"I recognized him for a Guardian, but it was only because of your stories, bohiti."

"It was because of what you are, Mucaro. Why do you fight the idea so vehemently?"

Blair was silent for a moment, considering his answer. Why was he fighting the idea? Because Acrocoel was speaking of a long term commitment. Watching over Jim, helping him learn to control his gifts, would take more than the few days Jim would remain in the village. Already, Jim was getting around much easier. Before long he would be able once again to travel, and he would leave here to return to his home. What could they hope to accomplish in a few days?

Knowing the path of his thoughts, Acrocoel spoke again. "You will go with the Guardian."

Blair jerked his head around. "No, bohiti. That is not an option. This is my home."

"The calling has been made, and you have answered it, young one. You were chosen to guide the Guardian. To do so, you must follow him."

"No, Acrocoel. You are mistaken." He no longer worried about disrespect. He had to make the bohiti understand his error. There was no way the Spirit would ask this of Blair.

"You will not be asked for more than you can give." The old man gazed sternly at Blair, the ancient eyes alight with a strange fire.

"I...I can't...You can't ask me..." Blair stuttered to a stop.

"It is not I who asks, Mucaro." The old man's eyes softened suddenly. "You have painful memories of the white man, young one. You have tasted his cruelties and deceptions. But you have also seen, in this man that you yourself brought here, that not all men can be judged by the deeds of some. He is a good man. He will not let harm befall you. You must trust him to protect you, just as you will protect him. It is the way of Guardian and Guide."

Blair let his eyes drift to the dark clouds that rolled on the horizon, but his gaze was focused on the questions that plagued his soul. Leave the village? The People? How could he even consider it? For how long? How long would it take for Jim to learn to control his abilities so that Blair could return home? Would Jim even allow Blair to accompany him when he left? How could he explain the bohiti's words in a way that oh-so-practical Jim Ellison could accept?

Blair shook his head, realizing with a sharp pang of sadness that he was actually considering the reality of the bohiti's suggestion.

Thunder suddenly rolled loudly in the distance. Blair noted it with a nagging fear that took a minute to register.

"Jim!" He turned and took off in the direction of the hogan where Jim was resting.

~~~

The old man watched his docent enter their hogan. Mucaro's instinctive thought had been for the Guardian and the pain of the sudden noise of the approaching storm. More proof of the young man's calling.

Not that Acrocoel needed the added evidence. He had known from the day the Guardian had arrived what was to be required of them all. It saddened his old heart to lose one so close. For twelve winters he had loved and treasured Mucaro as a son, a precious gift from the Spirit. From the start, Mucaro had shown signs of becoming a great and powerful bohiti. Acrocoel had trained the boy, believing that he would one day serve the village, perhaps even the entire tribe, so great was his power. But the Spirit had chosen Mucaro for other duties. It was not Acrocoel's place to question that choice.

But it didn't stop his heart from aching at the loss.

~~~

Blair waited until the tension had completely left Jim before he allowed himself to release the breath he had been holding. Just as he had feared, the unexpected clap of thunder had caught Jim unprepared, leaving him reeling from the intense pain it had caused his sensitive hearing.

Jim unclenched his jaw and managed a hoarse, "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Blair replied, keeping his voice soft. "That storm is still brewing, and it looks to be a nasty one."

Jim's face paled as the implications of Blair's statement sank in.

Blair hurried to reassure the man. "It's okay, Jim. I'll think of something." A stab of guilt rushed through him. He shouldn't be making promises he wasn't sure he could keep. But there had to be a way around this problem. Guardians of old didn't suffer like this, did they? They wouldn't have been able to function if that were the case. No, there had to be a solution. Blair's mind sifted back through the stories Acrocoel had taught him, but after several minutes, he had to admit that the tales had been too vague to offer much practical help.

He looked back at Jim, startled to see the man watching him with a hopeful, expectant expression on his face. Jim was waiting for Blair to offer him a solution. The responsibility of such trust made Blair take a mental step backward. How could he live up to such faith?

"You know, when I was a kid, I was in this assayer's office," Blair began, not really sure where he was going with this. "I was totally enraptured with the scales. They had all of these precise little weights that they used to measure the ore." One glance at Jim showed that the man was growing more confused by the moment. "Have you ever seen a scale like that, Jim?"

Jim narrowed his eyes in confusion, but nodded.

"Good. I've got an idea. Let's try something. Close your eyes." The bigger man hesitated only a moment before complying. Blair continued. "All right, now picture that scale in your mind. Can you see it?"

"Blair, I don't see how this--" Jim began, opening his eyes.

"Please, just humor me, Jim," Blair sighed, trying to contain his frustration. The bohiti was right. Jim was a stubborn man. When Jim had again closed his eyes, Blair said, "All right, do you see the scale?" He waited for Jim's nod. "Okay, now on one side of the scale is a pile of these tiny weights. Do you see them? Good, now these weights are your hearing, and everything is so loud because there are too many weights on the scale. To tone down the hearing, you have to remove some of the them. So, one at a time, pick up the weights and take them off of the scale. Keep doing that until your hearing feels more normal."

Blair stopped a moment to gauge Jim's reaction. The man's brow was wrinkled in concentration. After a minute, the wrinkles smoothed out a bit and a small smile lit Jim's face.

"Keep taking them off, Jim, one at a time, until you reach a comfortable level. Balance it out."

A flash of lightning lit up the dwelling for a moment, and Blair braced himself for the coming thunder. He instinctively reached for Jim's shoulder in preparation for the man's reaction, but Jim scarcely flinched at the loud rumble. Nothing like the earlier pain that had resulted from the sound.

Jim's eyes popped open. "It worked...My God, Blair, it worked!"

A bright smile lit Blair's face. He hadn't been sure it was a viable idea, hell, he wasn't even sure where the idea had come from. He had been operating purely on instinct.

"Great! That's great, Jim. You did real good. You should be able to use that same image to help balance your other senses. We'll have to try it out sometime."

Jim leaned back against the wall of the hogan, his still limited strength fading as a result of the emotional strain of the overload on his hearing.

"You should rest," Blair said, starting to rise.

Jim stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Blair...thank you. I don't think I could have handled that without your help." Jim paused, but Blair sensed there was more, so he waited. Finally, "This isn't over, is it? I mean, it isn't as simple as 'balancing out' my senses. There is still a lot I have to learn. And the spells, the blanking out...What am I supposed to do when I return to my ranch? Will I be plagued by these senses for the rest of my life?"

"Your gifts are not a plague, Jim. You can learn to control them, and then you will find ways to use them. They are an advantage. Try not to see them as a curse."

"How long will it take me to learn control?"

Blair hesitated. Before he could find an answer, a voice spoke behind him.

"It will take a lifetime."

Blair turned to see Acrocoel standing in the doorway. How long had he been there?

"Then I will never have control," Jim said, confusion and fear warring for a place in his voice.

"You will achieve control," the bohiti answered, moving into the room to kneel beside the two men.

"But you said--"

"That it will take a lifetime," Acrocoel finished for Jim. "Yes. Being a Guardian is a life service. You will spend your life learning about your gifts, but you will achieve control and you will learn to use your abilities. Mucaro will help."

Blair turned to find Jim's eyes on him.

"Mucaro will go with you when you leave," the old man said.

"No. That's not possible," Jim stated flatly. "It's out of the question."

Though Blair had no desire to accompany Jim when he left, he couldn't control the small sliver of hurt at Jim's adamant refusal to even consider the idea.

Acrocoel stood. "Do not be so stubborn that you deny that which you need, Jim Ellison. Accept what is and what must be." He turned away. "It's not a good idea, Blair," Jim said, drawing Blair's attention back from where the bohiti had retreated to prepare the meal. "He doesn't understand the way it is out there, in my world. But you do. Explain to the old man that--"

Blair fought to keep his tone even. "You're right, Jim. It's not a good idea. I have no intentions of following you back to your world. I can imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to have to explain the half-breed at your heels. Don't worry, I'll explain it to Acrocoel."

Blair stood and turned away.

"Wait, Blair. That's not what I meant." Blair tuned out Jim's protests, and continued out of the hogan, ignoring the rain that had begun to fall.

~~~

"Damn it!" Jim cursed, realizing belatedly that he had hurt Blair's feelings. That's not what he had meant at all. Until he had noticed the expression that crossed the kid's face, Jim hadn't even realized how his words must have sounded.

"Mucaro's heart is much too fragile."

Jim looked up the see the old bohiti watching him with an expression much like that of a long-suffering parent dealing with a impertinent child.

"He misunderstood what I was trying to say," Jim argued in his defense.

"What were you trying to say, Guardian?"

Jim mentally cringed at the title. "What Blair is...He is accepted here. I can't promise it would be so in my world."

"What he is? You mean a man? A healer? A bohiti?"

Jim forced himself to hold the old man's gaze, resisting the urge to flinch away from the fiery eyes. "You know what I'm talking about, Acrocoel. Blair's a half-breed." No matter how hard he tried, the word still came out sounding profane. "That might not mean much to The People, but white men, some white men," he amended, "would give him a hard time."

"Mucaro is no stranger to the white man's world," Acrocoel calmly informed Jim.

"Then he should understand what I meant."

"So," the bohiti spoke slowly, "your refusal was to protect Mucaro from the cruelties that you anticipate he will encounter?"

Jim finally lowered his eyes, realizing how flimsy that excuse really was, knowing deep in his heart that perhaps it wasn't his only reason.

As though seeing Jim's thoughts, the old man spoke again. "Perhaps you need to examine your own heart, Guardian."

Jim lifted his head, again meeting Acrocoel's stern gaze.

"Mucaro is aware of what would await him in your world, Jim Ellison," the bohiti continued. "He is not as vulnerable as he appears. You must learn to trust him with your life, even as you trust him with your senses."

For a long moment, their gaze held in silence. Finally, Jim admitted softly, "I do trust him. I don't know why. God knows I scarcely know the kid, but...there's something..."

"You are a Guardian, he is your Guide. It is enough."

There was another long pause, before Jim asked, "Is he willing to accompany me? Even knowing what awaits him?"

A small smile touched the old man's mouth briefly. "There is fear in the heart of Mucaro. Here he has known safety and peace. It was not so in your world, Jim Ellison. The journey will not be an easy one for him. He knows this. But his duty is to the Guardian. He will follow."

Jim frowned. "Why would he do that? Why would he willingly step into a world of persecution and bigotry just to help me out with my senses?"

"Because he knows the Guardian's duty is to the Guide. You will protect and strengthen him, just as he will guide and strengthen you."

"I won't pretend to understand this Guardian/Guide nonsense," Jim said shaking his head. "But I know that I owe Blair for whatever sanity I can still lay claim to. Until I can get a handle on these...gifts, well, I guess it can't hurt to keep him within arms reach. I have to admit, the kid seems to know what he's doing. Besides, I can always use another hand on my ranch. Especially one that has such a way with horses."

Acrocoel smiled tolerantly at Jim, as though he had known what the answer would be all along and had only made the argument for Jim's benefit. Somehow, Jim had no trouble believing that could quite possibly be the case.

"Good. Now that this is settled, I must go and convince Mucaro."

Jim watched, open mouthed, as the bohiti stood and stepped into the rain beyond the hogan door. He had the distinct feeling that he had just been had.

~~~

Blair hesitated outside of the dwelling he shared with Acrocoel and, temporarily, Jim. The bohiti had found him at the pen that housed the small herd of horses belonging to the village, and they had talked long enough for the rain to soak them both through. Blair had been surprised to hear that Jim had acquiesced, agreeing to allow Blair to accompany him when he left the village. Blair was surprised even further to hear himself giving in to the bohiti's insistence that it must be so.

Blair had no desire to leave the village. It was his home. Twelve years ago, it had been a safe haven for a young, frightened child. Here, he had found his place in life, and had been told he was to become something special, something wonderful. He had been taken in by Acrocoel and treated with all of the love that he had thought lost when his mother had died so unexpectedly, leaving him to face the acrimony of a people that considered him no better than the swine they kept in pens. To willingly put himself back into that situation was immensely stupid, Blair told himself. And the idea terrified him more than just a little bit.

Quickly schooling his expression, Blair pushed aside the heavy hide door covering and entered the hogan. Jim was still sitting up, but Blair could see he remained awake only by sheer determination.

The two men locked eyes for a moment. It was Jim that broke the silence.

"I owe you an apology, Chief."

Blair bit back a smile at the nickname that insisted on being said, no matter how many times he reminded Jim of its inappropriateness.

"Do you?" Blair asked, not willing to make this too easy on the man.

Jim sighed. "I think so. I didn't mean to sound like you wouldn't be welcome to accompany me. Hell, I wouldn't even be alive if it hadn't been for your finding me like you did. But it's more than that." Jim hesitated, and Blair remained silent, letting him search unaided for the words he needed to say. "These gifts aren't going to go away. I think I know that, despite what I've been telling myself. And I know that I can't handle them alone. At least not for the time being. I..."

Jim broke off, and Blair lifted an eyebrow in silent question, though he thought he knew what the man was trying to say.

"Damn it, Blair, this isn't easy for me to admit, even to myself. I've never needed anyone before. Never. I was raised to believe that a man is stronger if he stands on his own, if he depends on no one but himself. To suddenly realize that I...that I need someone else just to function, well, it's more than I can comfortably deal with. It's going to take some time."

Blair finally decided to let Jim off of the hook. "I know it isn't easy for you, Jim. I realize that you are a fiercely independent man. I saw early on that you like to be in control. It's your nature. I have no intention of intruding into your life. I'll work with you, help you regain control. Then I will leave and come back here, and that will be the end of it."

Jim nodded. Blair turned his attention to the fire, building it up a bit in deference to the storm that was blowing a cold, wet wind under and around the hide coverings on the doors and windows.

"So, Acrocoel convinced you, huh?" Jim asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Blair couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "He is a hard one to refuse."

"So I noticed."

~~~

"You have a horse?"

Blair looked up from where he sat in the soft grass on the river bank. Nearby, Jim was shaving with the aid of a small sliver of mirror wedged into the crook of a tree. He thought of the pile of furs stacked carefully in the corner of his hogan; his "payment" for his healing services. It was a substantial stash, coveted by many. He would have no problem trading for a horse.

"I can get one," Blair replied. "How far to your ranch?"

"Well, if I'm right about where we are, probably four or five days of hard riding."

"Then you'd better plan on at least a week," Blair commented casually, then waited for Jim's reaction. It wasn't long in coming.

"What?" Jim jerked the razor from his throat and turned to face Blair.

"You aren't up to hard riding, Jim," Blair pointed out. "You're scarcely up to any riding at all. Five day