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Written by

**Bil** **Howard**

Produced by

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Copyright © 2013 Senserial Publishing

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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from publisher.

First Published: **March 2013**

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**Episode 1**

Ray Barrett stepped into the saddle and turned the face of his horse to ride off alone. There was a great ache and emptiness in him. What had been was no longer and there was no reason for him to stay. What answers might be waiting to be revealed in those snow-capped peaks beyond the gently rolling hills? He did not know. In many ways, he did not care. He just had to go. So with a gentle tap of his spurs, his journey began.

The rolling hills changed to valleys and steep slopes. Through the valleys flowed streams of clear water and on the slopes were fir trees, aspen, and juniper. Beside the streams, grass grew in abundance and wild flowers decorated the green with hues the color of the rainbow. Birds and small animals of every sort were busy in the grass and in the trees beside the stream. On the slopes, they worked tirelessly at the task of living and storing up for the winter.

His eyes continued to look upward towards the snow-capped peaks which seemed to loom near, and yet as he moved closer to them, seemed so very far away. They were vast and massive. What seemed like the ride of a few miles to reach them would stretch on to dozens of miles. The very grandeur of them humbled him and he began to see that he was only a very small part of the world around him.

At night, he sat beside a small fire and enjoyed its light and its warmth. Out in the darkness, the creatures of the night moved and called to each other with a ghostly wail which sent chills throughout his entire body. He could hear sounds of them beyond the light of his fire and he caught his breath as he measured their intentions. The night was cold and seemed to last forever. It was when the fire died out during the eternal night that he was most aware of the ache within. He was unable to shed tears. The ache was so deep that it was nothing but dullness inside of him and he wondered if he would ever again find his heart.

In the morning, however, all of the gloom of the night was washed away by the sun as it broke over the jagged line of the peaks and began to spread its light to wash away the darkness. It was a cleansing of all of the hidden things that lurked in the darkness. Along with its light came warmth and a lifting of the spirit. The birds and the small animals began their daily toil once again in a joyful manner that raised his spirits in spite of the gloom that lingered inside.

He continued on his journey and reached the peaks that he sought. He rode up among them where he could and sat in his saddle upon their sharp ridges and looked out across the vast land. More peaks loomed, and valleys and ridges wandered away in every direction. Clouds settled below and around him. At times, it felt as though he were riding on a winged horse as they drifted about him.

He tried to put away all memories, the good with the bad, and vowed to start anew. Life had given him much, but it had taken much from him as well. Somehow, he had to find meaning in it all. As he sat on a sharp ridge one morning and watched the mists clear below him, he saw a lone wolf only a short distance away. He raised his rifle and sighted down the barrel at a creature that was a sworn enemy of man. The wolf did not move. He simply sat there with his tongue hanging from his mouth as he panted and watched with his cunning eyes. The wolf was undisturbed by the prospect of death. In that moment, he could think of no reason to pull the trigger. He lowered his rifle and slipped it back into his scabbard and continued on.

He rode from the ridge and down into the valley below where he had made his camp, looking back to see that the wolf continued to follow him. As the day stretched on, he lay in the grass and watched his horses graze. He noted that his new companion was not far away, stretched out on the grass and enjoying the sun as well. Ray watched as the wolf hunted the small animals as they went about their daily business. He listened to their calls of alarm and watched the cunning of the hunter as he worked to capture a marmot for his dinner. It was almost playful how he leapt through the grass, and the man chuckled a little bit at the thought of a puppy or a kitten pouncing upon a toy. In the end though, the grim reality for the prey was the swift snapping of powerful jaws that put an end to its life.

Ray did not begrudge the wolf his dinner. He understood nature and the need for one animal to feed upon another. He too had taken a deer for his prey and had eaten many meals since the day he had taken its life. He began to see a purpose in the most primitive nature of man and animal, small and simple as it was, it was a purpose. Each part of the cycle of life was a part of the beauty and vastness of the mountains, of the valleys, and of the slopes. Each had its place and its function and formed a part of the dance that his eyes observed. Each had its place except for him. He was a part of it, but set apart, not completely within the cycle and not completely without.

As he sat in the cool darkness that night with only the fire for light and warmth, he realized that he was set apart. Only he could make light and warmth in the cold darkness. The others had fur and dens to keep them warm and they huddled in the darkness and waited for the dawn, but he could sit in light and be warm. Near him in the darkness, he could hear his companion moving closer. Perhaps it was curiosity or perhaps some other desire to be near the light and warmth. A creature of the night that hunted, killed, and brought terror to those who huddled together in fear was inching closer and closer to the light and the warmth.

"Might I share yer fire?" the voice spoke and Ray looked up at a man standing just at the edge of the circle of light that his fire cast. He had seen no man nor heard one's voice in many days. He thought it was an illusion and ignored the voice. He looked away and then back again. "The name is MacGregor. I'm just lookin' for a little warmth and some light."

"Well, come along," Ray replied. "If you're real."

"Oh, I'm real enough," MacGregor replied. He added a soft chuckle. His voice had the characteristic accent of a Scot. "What are you doin' a way up here in the cold a' by you'self?"

"Just ridin'" he said.

"Ah, so you'll be returnin' to your life soon."

"Not likely," Ray replied.

"You're a rather surly at present," MacGregor mused. "You don't have a name, do you?"

"Not that I care to share it," he replied.

"I would just like something to call you."

"You don't need to be calling me anything," Ray mumbled. There was a long silence while they listened to the crackling and popping of the wood on the fire. A wolf moaned long and low far out on the ridge.

"Kind of gives you a chill, huh, Brock?" MacGregor commented in a quiet voice.

"Brock?"Ray answered. "That's not my name."

"Maybe not," MacGregor replied. "But it is what I'll be callin' ya." He stood and turned his back to the fire and let it warm his backside. "Brock is the Scot's word for badger," he chuckled and started to walk, disappearing into the darkness.

Ray wasn't sure if what he had seen was real or not. He pushed another piece of dry wood into the fire and looked deep into the flames. He saw an image there of his wife and children. They were crying and he was swept up in the deep emotion that came with seeing them this way. He heard a deep, low moan and the image in the fire changed to a man in chains wailing as he was being led to the gallows. Suddenly, he was running across the prairie in broad daylight. Something was pursuing him. He looked back in fear as he ran. He looked down at his feet covered in beaded leather and stopped to examine them.

He was clothed in beaded leather and he stopped to look at his clothing, forgetting whatever it was that was pursuing him. When he looked up, his mother stood before him with MacGregor.

"What are you doing Brock?" his mother asked. How could she call him by that name? That wasn't his name. He started to protest, but was interrupted.

"What are you doing out here alone, Brock?" MacGregor asked.

"Surly like a badger," his mother added. Again, he started to protest to the use of the name, but found that he was alone. He turned in a full circle and saw nothing but the waving prairie grass. Then he saw the wolf. The wolf asked him to follow. He didn't ask in words, but somehow, the thoughts of the wolf were in his own mind and he knew that he was being asked to follow. The wolf loped away through the tall prairie grass, pausing and turning to allow the man time to catch up.

They continued on over the rolling prairie grass until they came to a small stream which flowed in a low place amongst the rolling hills. There was fire there and horses. There were men sitting around the fire with spears, bows, and arrows. He looked around, but could no longer see the wolf. When he looked towards the fire again, the men there saw him.

"Brother, come," they called to him. "Sit by our fire and warm yourself for the day."

"Our brother, Hoka, has returned," one of them called to the others. "Come with us, brother, hunt with us today." He started to protest at the name, Hoka. Somehow, he knew that it meant "badger" and he was perturbed at the idea of being called a badger.

"Our children cry to us with empty bellies," one of the men began. "Our women have nothing to cook for them over the fire. Our old ones grow weak and their silent gaze sears our hearts."

"Come with us brother, Hoka," another called to him. "Hunt as a wolf, not as a badger. Add your spear to our number and bring honor to yourself and fill the bellies of our children."

Hoka joined them by the fire and saw the glow of joy in their dark eyes. They slapped him on the back and gave him a seat of honor among them. He had never felt as much a part of a group of men in his life. His heart warmed as they spoke to him as a special guest and listened to him as he told the story of the ghosts of his wife and children, of the ghost of his mother, and of the man who had spoken to him sharply. They became solemn when he told them of the wolf who had called him to follow and had brought him to them.

One of the men began to speak and all of the others turned to him in reverence. The lines of his face were deep and showed that he had obtained an age greater than all of them. Hoka understood that the lines were the marks of wisdom. They were not painted there by the hands of men, but by the finger of God. Hoka turned to him in reverence as well.

"The wolf, my son, is the most cunning animal of all of the hunters. He does not have the soft feet of the puma, or the wings of the eagle. He cannot crush his prey with a single blow like the bear. He is not as swift as the antelope or the deer. The wolf must rely upon his brothers in order to fill his belly with meat. He uses his cunning and his clan to feed his pups and his old ones. It is good that the wolf brought Hoka to us. It is good that he is teaching and guiding our brother in honor and wisdom. For the wisdom of the wolf is beyond the wisdom of all of the others; he is able to restore the soul of a lost brother.

"The old ones say that a wolf alone becomes evil and wicked. Over time, he will become more wicked than the badger. They say that a man has two wolves inside of him always and they are in a constant struggle for the honor of the man. There is a wolf that is selfish, angry, and tells lies inside of every man. There is also a wolf that is loving, peaceful, and kind. The one that a man feeds is the one who will win the struggle. It is good that this wolf has become your guide. He is a wolf of love, peace, and kindness, because he has returned you to your brothers."

After a time of silence, they took up their weapons and went to their horses. Hoka stood for a moment not knowing what to do. "Father, how will I follow without a horse?" he asked turning towards the elder of the group. The elder was not there. He looked after the others and counted them. There were five. With the elder, there should be six. Confused, he again turned in a full circle looking for the elder, but saw only the wolf. Again, the wolf called to him as he had done before, but this time, the wolf did not lope away as he had done before.

When Hoka arrived at the wolf's side, he was told in his mind to step over the back of the wolf, which he obeyed and suddenly found himself galloping behind the others. The mane of the horse he was riding was jet-black, though he was white everywhere else except in his hooves and around his nostrils and eyes. It was not long before he overtook the others and galloped out ahead of them. The wind rushed through his long hair and was cool upon his face. He felt as though he was floating above the ground, so smooth was the gait of this magnificent animal. The others joined the race for a time, laughing and competing against each other to attain the lead, but none could come near the white horse of Hoka. When they would close in to overtake him, he would find a little bit more speed and leave them behind.

Finally, they slowed their pace. Hoka turned back to join them. They laughed and joked with each other. The sound of the horses blowing to catch their breaths began to calm and they steadied into a slower pace. Their eyes were ever vigilant upon the horizon as they searched the low spots and rolling hills. The pain of hunger grew in their bellies as the day stretched on, but still they saw no sign of buffalo. When night came upon them, they were silent and looked at each other with one deep lingering question, which none had to speak. There was little to celebrate around the fire that night and little to talk about.

With the pain of hunger lingering, the night was longer, colder, and darker for Hoka. He finally slept and had dreams of his life in the real world. He had dreams of going to school and learning about the Lakota people. He had often wondered about them, about what it was like to live wild and free without all of the worries of his daily life. He awakened from his dream by the light of dawn and the chill in the air. It took him a moment to discover where he was. He expected to see the mountains and the valley surrounding him, his horse picketed on the pasture nearby, perhaps even the wolf. He felt the hunger and rose up to leave his bed and cook his breakfast, but there was no breakfast. The others were rising quietly from their sleep as well. None of them bothered with a fire. The dawning brought a grim promise after the long night of hunger. There was nothing to do but mount their horses and start out across the prairie.

It was late afternoon and they were weak and weary when Hoka felt and heard the thunder in the distance. He turned to look at the sky, but it was clear of clouds and was blue. The others were doing the same and the question was on their faces, then suddenly they knew what they had heard and what they were feeling. It was not the thunder of a coming rain, but the thunder of a massive herd of buffaloes. With yells of excitement, they rode toward the sound and soon topped a hill to watch the sea of shaggy, brown bodies flowing by in the low place below. They cheered, slapped each other on the back, and watched the herd slip by below them. Though the temptation was strong to kill one of them and feed themselves right away, they did not fall to it. Two of them were chosen to return to the lodges and bring the rest of the tribe, while the rest trailed the herd and kept it in sight.

Hoka rode with Chetan to where the lodges were along the river. They rode through the night and arrived at the camp near mid-day. They were exhausted and weak, but they called out as they rode into the camp. "Buffalo! We found them! We found the buffalo!" they cried. Men, women, and children came rushing to them and formed a circle around them, asking questions and talking with excitement. Soon they would have full bellies. Everyone was silent as Chetan spoke to the elders and told them where they had found the buffalo.

There was no time wasted with talking beyond the simple directions of the elders to the people. Hungry people do not waste time when they will soon eat. Within less than an hour, the entire camp was packed and moving away from the river and across the prairie. Dogs, horses, men, women, and children had jobs to do and every one of them carried goods or led an animal. The things they had were simple and of greatest necessity, and Hoka watched in amazement as he compared what he saw to what he remembered from moving. He remembered trucks and boxes and wrapping all of those fragile things. The thought of moving made him sick to his stomach. Then the thought passed into confusion. How could he be in this place and feel, smell and see what he was seeing and still recall things that were in his memory, which would be in the future? He shook his head. He must be in a dream and yet, it wasn't a dream. The idea lingered as they rode through the night.

He was exhausted when the morning came. They were met by one of those who stayed behind to watch the herd. After he had spoken to the elders, they began directing the tribe to set up camp. As quickly as they had broken camp, they had it set up. It was amazing how quickly they were able to move. They were hungry. The men prepared themselves to join the hunt. The women and children prepared to gather and prepare the meat. Hoka considered how in the movies, they would have danced around the fire that night and waited until the next day to hunt. He scoffed at the movies as he felt the pain of hunger. Again, the confusion of his memory swept over him. Where was he? What was he doing? How was he here? The questions stopped again as he rode out with the men to hunt.

When they topped a small rise, he could see the vast herd grazing over several miles. There was no cliff nearby to drive the herd over, another dramatic Hollywood scene, just men with bows, arrows, and spears. They spread out slowly along the edges of the herd which looked at them curiously. The bulls snorted, pawed and shook their heads threateningly, and the herd began to stir restlessly. But for the main part, they remained calm as the men rode along the edges shooting arrows or driving spears into their quarry. The restlessness began to make them drift, leaving those who had fallen behind them. The hunt continued until the elder raised his spear in the air and called out. The herd had moved far across the prairie and several dozen animals lay dead in their wake.

The hunters gathered around the elder and dismounted as he approached one of the fallen bulls. He cut into the belly of the bull and pulled out the liver, held it in the air, and gave thanks to the provider of their meat. He then handed it to Chetan who took a large bite and passed it to Hoka. Though the mere scent of liver normally turned his stomach, his hunger made him take a large bite. It seemed like he chewed forever and was near gagging on it by the time he swallowed. The liver was passed around to all of the hunters and when each had taken a bite, there was little left to pass back to the elder.

Hoka watched as the women and children began butchering the animals and then assisted by pulling a travois carrying meat, hides, and other parts back to the camp. Little was left to waste. Everything had a use. He was intrigued to watch over the next several days as every part of the animals was processed and put to use. He finally had his belly full and slept the night after the hunt and much of the next day. He was then called upon to ride out and keep the herd in sight with Chetan. All of the hunters and warriors took turns at this task. When all that could be used of the several dozen had been processed and stored, they would move the camp and hunt again. The process would continue several times and therefore they needed to be in constant contact with the herd. Other Sioux clans would come and harvest from the herd without any animosity between them. At times, it even allowed for some interaction between them.

On one lazy afternoon, Chetan and Hoka were lying in the tall prairie grass, keeping watch over the herd. Hoka was in deep thought about how he could dream things that were a part of his other life and how every morning, he expected to awaken by the campfire in the mountains. As he puzzled over it, Chetan noticed the expression on his face.

"My brother is in a faraway place today," Chetan commented.

"I am deep in thought," Hoka answered.

"For thoughts so deep, there must be something deep behind them," he replied.

"I don't know if you would understand," he answered.

"Maybe not, but sometimes when you can hear your voice speaking your thoughts to another, it helps you to think better," Chetan suggested.

Hoka considered what he said. It made a lot of sense. He had noticed that very fact before. "You could be right," he answered.

"Then tell me your thoughts on this lazy afternoon," he replied.

"I have been having dreams," he began.

"Dreams?" he asked. "Then the Spirit is speaking to you."

"Perhaps," he answered.

"Tell me your dreams," Chetan said.

Hoka began to tell his dreams. He was tempted to leave out some of the parts because they would be beyond the understanding of Chetan, but he did not. He watched as Chetan's eyes grew larger and his face became full of confusion, and then he stopped. "I knew that you would not understand," he said.

"These dreams that you are having are far beyond my understanding," he responded. "They are the dreams of the Spirit and they speak of things from the future. These are things that you must tell the elders. Perhaps they can tell you more than I can." Chetan was silent for a moment. His face was twisted with confusion. "Some of the things you talk about are like they are coming from someone whose mind is not right and yet your mind is good. I do not understand your dreams."

They laid back into the grass and relaxed again. Hoka's mind returned to his dreams and rustling in the grass behind them. For a moment, they thought that it must be the scouts that would be relieving them or trying to trick them. The two looked at each other smiling and waited a moment for the scouts to reveal themselves again. When they heard the rustling again, they leapt from the grass and started toward them, but it was not their relief. Four Pawnee warriors were sneaking up through the grass behind them.

Hoka and Chetan went from lazy relaxation to mortal combat instantly. Hoka caught and turned the first Pawnee over his back and slammed him into the ground, knocking the wind out of him. The next was on him in an instant, but he found his belly with his blade as he turned to meet him, his enemy's tomahawk whistled past his head, missing him only by the breadth of a hair. As the second went down, the first was recovering. He had no time to see how Chetan was fairing as he tumbled over and over through the grass with the first. Each was fighting for a position that would allow a fatal blow. Hoka was able to strike out with his fist and his enemy was dazed for a moment. It allowed him time to turn him and plunge a knife into his chest.

As he turned with his knife held low to help Chetan, he felt the sharp pain of a tomahawk striking down into the meaty part of his shoulder. He screamed in pain and went down with the force of the warrior who was attacking him. He was in a bad place. His right arm was useless and the weight of the warrior was pinning him to the ground. He struck out with his left fist and there was a deep thud to his blow, but the Pawnee was not fazed. His knife was raised above his chest for the kill and Hoka was helpless to defend against it. He heard a low growl and then suddenly he was free from the weight of the warrior. He scrambled to his feet. The screams of his attacker were ringing in his ears and he turned toward him, expecting to see Chetan, but instead he saw grey and white fur and heard a deep snarling growl as a large wolf buried his fangs into the Pawnee's throat and put an end to his screams.

The wolf turned and looked deep into his eyes. It was the same one that had guided him to the hunters. Where did he come from? He trotted off away from Hoka a short way and then turned to stare at him again. Hoka turned to see what had become of Chetan and was horrified to find the body of his friend lifeless not too far from where they had been lying. He had been able to defend himself from the first Pawnee who lay lifeless a few feet away, but the large warrior had been too much for him, just like he had been too much for Hoka.

It had all happened in a matter of seconds and then it was over. Hoka was fighting through the onrush of feelings that went from surprise to battle, to killing to fear of death, to survival and to grief at the sight of his friend. He stood looking down at Chetan. His eyes were seeing, but his mind was not yet able to grasp how someone who was there only moments ago could now be gone forever. He had forgotten the wolf for a moment and when he turned to look at where he had been standing, he was gone.

He stood for several moments longer in a trance as his body and mind came together. It was out of some instinctive action that he stooped and lifted the body of Chetan onto the back of his horse, then mounted his own horse and started slowly towards camp. Grief and tears were not able to come out of him. The shock of the battle still had him in its grip and he wandered into camp still lost inside of himself. The screams of Chetan's mother and wife awakened him and the deep emptiness inside of him ached, but he was still unable to let his grief escape.

In that moment, he realized that he had no place to go. He had been the guest of Chetan and had been given a place to sleep inside his teepee. He was alone. He wanted to wander off into the deep grass of the prairie and hide himself, but the elders called to him. They needed an explanation. They drew him aside from the others and stood around him in a circle waiting for him to speak.

"We were lying in the grass watching the herd," he began. "We heard a rustling in the grass and we thought it was the other scouts coming to take our place. We waited for them to make their rush at us and foil their trick. When they came up out of the grass, we turned to meet them." He paused a moment as he remembered the smile on Chetan's face as he was eager to foil the trick of their brothers. He remembered the sudden horror that came over them as they realized that it was not their brothers playing a trick on them.

"It was not our brothers playing a trick on us, but four Pawnee warriors with tomahawks," he swallowed as he began to replay what happened next, just as he had hundreds of times since it was over. "I put my shoulder low as the first warrior came and turned him over my back. He landed on the ground and lost wind for a moment. I felt the brush of the tomahawk of the second as it whistled past my head, but I had my knife in his belly as I was coming up from the ground." The elders listened silently with solemn eyes watching his every word.

"The first warrior found his wind again and came upon me, but I was able to wrestle with him until I was on top." He could still see the frightened eyes of his enemy as he realized that he was about to die. "I plunged my knife down into his chest. In the next moment, I felt another tomahawk cutting into my shoulder and my arm became weak and useless. I struck out at the warrior who was on my chest and struck him hard on his jaw, but he was not fazed by my blow. He was too strong for me and he raised his knife for the fatal blow." He paused again as he tried to figure out how to explain what happened next. What had he really seen? It was the wolf, he was sure of that, but not just the wolf. Had he in a split second, seen a man? The elders grunted and urged him to continue. They would not be rude and interrupt him with words, but they were eager to hear the rest of his story.

"He came out of nowhere and took the warrior off of me," he started again. "I heard a deep growl and then suddenly I was free. I thought that it was Chetan, but it was a large white and grey wolf. He tumbled the Pawnee through the grass and I could hear his screams along with the snarling of the wolf. His screams ended when the wolf sunk his fangs into his throat. The wolf looked into my eyes. He trotted off a short distance and then looked at me again. I turned to look for Chetan and saw his lifeless body lying in the grass. He had killed one of the Pawnee, but the larger warrior was too much for him, just as he was too much for me." He paused and considered how much more he should tell them. Should he tell them about the wolf and about his dreams as Chetan had suggested? This really was not the time for that.

The elders waited in silence for some sort of a conclusion to his story. "When I turned to look at the wolf again, he was gone. I lifted Chetan onto his horse, mounted my own and brought him back to the camp." With the last statement, he was finished and bowed his head to his chest.

"The wolf walks with you, my son. He protects you and provides for you. By his side, you will find much wisdom," the eldest began. "The old ones say..."

His story was interrupted by screams of terror which peeled through the camp. He and the elders turned in time to see what appeared to be a hundred Pawnee warriors streaming over the hill into their camp. Hoka, the elders, and the warriors rushed to take up weapons in order to defend the camp, but the weapons of the others were not close at hand and Hoka found himself rushing out to face them alone.

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**Episode 2**

Hoka charged the Pawnee warriors with his spear held low. He drove it into the nearest throat that came into his vision and swung his club at another head, hearing the smashing impact. He heard the war cry of his Sioux brothers behind him. He continued to attack, swinging, slashing, and smashing. He was in a whirl of adrenaline-charged violence. He would avenge Chetan ten times over, perhaps he would die trying, but nothing else was in his mind. They had killed his brother and his rage drove him forward. He was like a swirling animal, striking out at all flesh that surrounded him. He felt a burning in his side and then the weight of several bodies crushing in upon him. He felt himself peacefully drifting away and wondered if this was what it was like to die.

He was sitting in front of his campfire. He could see the outline of MacGregor disappearing into the dark. His brain was a fog of confusion. He felt a pain in his side and in his shoulder from the wounds he had received in the battle with the Pawnee's, but he was physically back to the mountains and his campfire. It was a dream, but it wasn't a dream. How did it happen? While he was there, he truly believed he was there. He dreamed like he was there and lived like he was there. He felt the pains of hunger and the need for sleep. He felt the rest and pleasure of a full stomach. It was all there and it was all real, but it was gone now, except for his wounds. He winced as he shifted his weight and rubbed his shoulder.

He sat in the darkness after the fire had died out. He was exhausted and he wanted to sleep, but he found that he was afraid of sleeping. He pulled his blankets around him and waited for the darkness to pass. Had MacGregor been real? Had he simply imagined him? Had he had a dream? He still had reminders of the reality. In the deep darkness just before dawn, he drifted off to sleep.

The sun was warm on his face and he awakened with a start, sitting up quickly. His sudden movement spooked the wolf which was no more than 30 feet away from him in the grass. He dashed away quickly and then stood and watched Ray. His cunning eyes penetrated his soul. For a moment, Ray wondered if he were back in one of his "dreams" again, but as he looked around and saw his modern utensils and tools, he knew he was living in reality. The wolf sat tentatively and watched as Ray went about making his breakfast. Then as he saw the easy and quiet manner of the man, he stretched out and laid his muzzle on his paws.

Ray looked up and tossed several slices of the cooked venison towards the wolf, who snatched them up and eyed him as he swallowed them, barely taking time to chew. Man and wolf stared at each other while Ray continued eating. Ray wondered if the wolf would become bolder over time or if they would always have this distant companionship. The wolf watched the man, waiting for another bit of meat. How were they different? There were many obvious physical differences and of course, Ray had the ability to reason and to feel emotion. However, they were also similar. They were each trying to survive.

Again, he pondered his "experience". He couldn't call it a dream, because it had been all too real, so he decided to call it his "experience" and let it go at that. He had survived the hunger and killed buffalo along with his people. How did he feel that they were "his people"? They were his family and he felt the pain of missing them, but how could they have been his family? He had no blood ties to the Sioux people; his lineage was Scotch and English. However true was his lineage, he missed his brother Chetan. He missed hearing them call his name, Hoka, which really wasn't his name. It was all so very real and yet impossible.

Sudden curiosity seized him. MacGregor had to have made tracks. He got up and searched all around the campfire. He followed the path that he remembered seeing MacGregor take as he left the fire and wandered off into the darkness. He saw no sign of his passing. It must have been a dream then, but it was so real. He was no better off than he was before. He looked up at the wolf. "You're lucky," he told him. "You probably don't have the same problem with possibly being out of your mind."

The wolf raised his head and watched him. His tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth while he panted and observed the man, listening to his voice. He licked his lips and continued panting until the man sat down on a log in his camp, then he put his head back down on his paws and closed his eyes.

Ray spent the day in deep thought. He tended to his horses, led them to the stream for water, reset their pickets in fresh grass, and brushed them. Through every part of his chores of the day, the wolf was close by observing him. He enjoyed the companionship, even if it was a distant one. He shared a larger chunk of his meat with the wolf as he ate his noontime meal, and then another smaller meal as he sat in front of his fire after dark. He couldn't see the wolf in the darkness, because he stayed just beyond the firelight, but he heard him snatch up the steak that he threw out to him and heard him chewing and licking his lips when he was finished.

"I see you didn't run away back to civilization," MacGregor's voice cut through the darkness. Ray gave a start as the quiet of the night was interrupted. Then MacGregor appeared, just like he had the night before, passing from the darkness into the light of his fire. "Could I have a cup of your coffee? There is a bit of a chill out there tonight. I think a fog is rolling in."

Ray said nothing. He poured the coffee in a cup and handed it to him. His hand brushed against MacGregor's hand as he passed the cup to him. He was real enough. His puzzle only grew more impossible to comprehend by that simple touch. How did he come and go without leaving tracks?

Ray suddenly leapt away from him. He landed on his four paws. He looked down at what he thought were his hands and feet and saw instead furry paws. He had paws? What was happening to him? He could feel the hair on his back standing on end. A low growl was coming from his chest.

"It's okay, Brock," it was MacGregor's voice. "I know they are there." Brock could smell them and they brought up a mixture of fear and rage inside of him. He could hear them breathe and their quiet steps in the woods. He forgot all consideration and reason of his circumstances. His instinct to defend himself and his companion were strong. "Sit quiet. The sneaky bastards think they can put an end to us. Exterminate MacGregor's along with the wolves."

He felt the comforting hand of MacGregor on his shoulder and sat on his haunches. The growl lingered in his chest and he fought it back. They had to be quiet. They were hiding. He wanted to attack and kill, but his fear and the command of MacGregor held him back. They seemed to be everywhere, all around them. Their scent was strong as they moved closer. He huddled closer to the ground and was prepared to leap and run, or attack at any moment. Only MacGregor's hand kept him steady.

He crouched in the darkness, hidden from the view of his enemies until their scent and the sounds of their passing had faded. He felt himself relax more and more as the danger passed. MacGregor's hand was still on his fur and he felt the soothing caress of it. He lowered his head to his paws and listened to MacGregor's voice. The sounds meant little to him, except in moments of certain commands, but he enjoyed the soothing tone.

"Seems that you and I are outlawed, Brock," MacGregor began. "You, because you have a taste for mutton and I, because I have a name that kings have grown to hate. But we will survive it. Centuries from now, there will still be wolves in Scotland and there will be MacGregors all over the world. It is an interesting thing how freedom makes a government cringe in fear. Those that simply want to be left alone to go about their businesses without having to bow down to some ruler are not very welcome among tyrants. You, for instance, you hunt for your dinner and you kill a sheep or two in the process. And why not, right? They are easy to catch and they make a decent meal for a hungry belly. Come to think of it, my belly has a bit of a grumble to it. Let's sneak off to our den and enjoy a bit more of that beef that we borrowed a few nights back."

He rose up when MacGregor stood. The two of them walked with silent feet through the forest toward their den that was situated among the rocks on a steep hillside. He stopped not far from their den and he sniffed the air. MacGregor stopped with him, trusting Brock's senses. When Brock relaxed, they moved forward on the narrow trail that led them along a ledge of rock to a cave in a cliff above a deep narrow valley. The valley was hidden in blackness below them as they made their way into the den.

He was greeted at the door of the den by two wolf pups which jumped upon on him with excitement, their tiny little teeth nibbled at his ears and his mouth. He nuzzled them and rolled them away with a push of his nose. They scrambled back up and attacked again. He softly closed his jaws over one of the small furry grey backs and rolled him around on the floor of the cave while the other continued to nip at his ears. He continued through the cave with the two pups playfully attacking him until he saw his mate lying against the wall on their bed of soft grass and brush. Her eyes followed MacGregor. There was still a certain reservation towards him and his mate. She tolerated him because he provided meat and warmth for her and her pups, but she had not given her entire trust over to him.

Brock went to his mate and nuzzled her. He sniffed of her and licked her mouth and face. Their teeth clicked together in playful nipping as they greeted each other. The two pups leapt onto their mother with a renewed attack. A low growl from her and a look at each of them made them sit on their haunches and settle themselves. Brock curled up beside her and they shared their warmth. He laid his muzzle on his paws and closed his eyes while his mate's cunning eyes followed every movement of the man.

He could hear the man stirring around as he started a fire. Were he interested at all in the ingenuity of men, he would have noticed that MacGregor had built his fire under a hole in the roof of the cave. Above that hole was a covering of brush. They were able to remain undiscovered in their den because the smoke from their fire would dissipate through the brush and go unnoticed to searching eyes. Had he even the smallest inkling toward reason, he might have gazed in wonder at the magical way that man was able to create light and warmth from striking stones together. He had no reasoning of these things though. All he knew was that MacGregor kept them safe, fed, and hidden.

The man knew all the cunning tricks of men and was constantly on guard except when he slept. And when he did, he trusted the keen ears and nostrils of Brock and his mate to alert him of any dangers. Brock and his mate simply enjoyed the warmth and the meat that he provided for them. Brock also enjoyed his touch, although his mate would have sooner bitten off his hand than allowed her fur to be touched by him.

"There you go," MacGregor said as he tossed meat towards them. Brock enjoyed the meat when it was warm. Warm meat reminded him of a fresh kill, but oftentimes, it lacked the blood which was the best part to the palate of the wolf. The wolves and their pups snatched up their meal and disposed of it quickly. They then eyed MacGregor as he finished his dinner, hoping that there would be a scrap or two left when he was finished. When they were convinced that no more meat was forthcoming, they stretched out and relaxed near the warmth of the fire. The pups were snuggled together next to their mother and Brock was on the other side of her.

MacGregor nestled down into his blankets and by the sound of his breathing, was soon asleep. Brock kept watch, with his eyes lolling at times, but his other senses keenly aware of every sound, scent, and movement near the cave. His mate arose and went out of the mouth of the cave. He raised his head and watched her as she disappeared out into the night. He heard the deep wail of her call to all things wild. At the sound of her wail, he arose and exited the cave. He joined her as the moon continued to follow its path up over the horizon and into the night sky. The deep moan in his chest built and then poured out of his throat as he called to the moon. The two of them bayed into the darkness and then waited for a sound to return to them. There was no returned call. They sat in the darkness and watched the moon. They smelled the air, listened, and focused on any movement that might present itself under the glow of the moon.

When his mate trotted off down the trail which led into the valley, Brock followed her. On the valley floor, she stopped and raised her nose to the air to check for scents. He raised his as well. The smell of sheep was strong and the two of them trotted toward the path of the scent, which was lit slightly by the moonlight. When they were near the flock, they stopped and surveyed the air with their nostrils, listening for any sound which would indicate that they had been discovered. They then proceeded forward with caution, stalking a ewe on the edge of the herd. His mate worked her way into a position to cut off the ewe from the rest of the flock while he hunkered down. It took only a moment for the restless ewe to stumble into a position close to him. He leapt onto her back and sunk his teeth into her neck. He could taste her blood running into his mouth as his mate pulled her down by the flank.

There were only a few startled sounds from the flock to indicate that something had happened. He felt the ewe go limp under his teeth and he dropped his grip on her. His mate was already ripping into the soft, fleshy flank of the sheep and eating hungrily while the blood and meat was still warm. Brock eagerly joined her. The man's food was good, but it was never enough and nothing could replace the flavor of a fresh kill. They gorged themselves on the entrails and flesh of the sheep, and when they were well satisfied, they began a slow trek back up the trail to the den. They both packed fresh meat in their jaws for the pups.

As they arrived in the den, the pups caught scent of the fresh meat and stretched as they awakened from their slumber. They hungrily attacked the fresh meat which had been brought for their early breakfast while Brock and his mate lay down and began cleaning the blood from their fur. When the pups were finished with their breakfast, they stretched out again and were soon asleep. Though MacGregor could hear them stirring in the den, he paid little attention to them and went on sleeping. With his belly full, Brock stretched out on the bed of brush and grass and was soon asleep.

Were he a regular wolf, he would have dreamt of whatever things wolves dream of. As it was, his dreams wandered off into the things of his human life. He dreamt of his family and of the life he once had. He dreamt of sitting in a university classroom with a Spanish professor who seemed to call upon him often and was regularly at his side, touching his shoulder. He remembered the way that she smiled at him and spoke to him in her thick English accent. He wondered what had become of her. He could not recall where she had been from. He thought that it was some country in South America, but he wasn't sure which one. His dreams were vivid and real and he had the sudden realization that his Spanish teacher, Elena, whose name he had been surprised to remember, had been flirting with him. He approached her and watched her twist her hair nervously and smile at him... and then he awoke and all sense of his dreams were lost as his mind snapped immediately back to that of a wolf.

He had awoken from the stirring of MacGregor and raised his head to see what his companion was doing. He was out of his blankets and stoking up the coals of the fire to start breakfast. "You hungry, Laddy?" he asked cheerfully when he noticed that Brock's eyes followed his every move. "I'll have you something for to eat in a moment."

Brock cocked his head at the sound of his voice. He watched the flames come to life and the heat and light begin to spread throughout the den. In only a few moments, a large chunk of meat landed between Brock's paws. He sniffed it and licked it a few times, but the fullness in his stomach made him turn his nose away. His mate had raised her head and looked at the meat which landed before her. The pups were stirring and began a half-awake frolicking, which was lazy and lacked any sort of aggression. They too looked at the offered breakfast and ignored it.

"I hate to think what that means," MacGregor spoke aloud. "You and the missus can't be going down into the valley at night to get a midnight snack. They will begin to start looking and it will only be a matter of time before they discover this den." The tone told Brock that the man was disturbed about something, but he was not sure what it was. He perked his ears and looked out toward the mouth of the den. He raised his nose, but he found nothing in the air to worry the man, so he lowered his head again.

When MacGregor finished eating he arose and started out of the den. Brock was close at his heels as they stepped into the darkness of early morning. They had to come and go from the den this way or risk being discovered in the daylight. There were many others who were relying on their cunning, both two-legged and four-legged. As a team, they scoured the countryside watching for signs of hunters. They were hunters that had extermination as their purpose and the full backing of the crown as their authority. It was a simple purpose on the whole, but not an easy one to accomplish. Eliminate all of the descendants of clan Gregor from Scotland and send the wolves to hell with them. Though they had a simple purpose, it was extremely difficult to execute, because neither wolf nor MacGregor was so easily eliminated.

The MacGregors were to be hunted and eliminated for their routing of the Colquhouns in the battle of Glenfruin. The Colquhouns were allegedly acting on behalf of the crown when a force double in size of that of the MacGregor clan stepped onto the field of battle. Though the Colquhouns had a sizable number of cavalry, they were rendered ineffective by the boggy ground and were outright slaughtered by the outnumbered MacGregors. Thus, in 1603, the crown issued an edict that made it lawful to hunt and kill any bearing the name, MacGregor. The enemy clans of the MacGregors were happy to comply. Therefore, the "Sons of the Wolf" were hunted just as the wolf was being hunted.

In the 16th century, James VI ordered that there was to be a mandatory wolf hunt three times a year. They were to be completely exterminated from Scotland. The hunts proved effective at eliminating the wolves and there were numerous claims that the last had been killed in one place or another. However, Angus MacGregor was very well acquainted with four wolves that shared his home.

They were sitting on a large stone, like a table for giants, well away from the den upon a high ridge, looking out across the ridges and valleys of the highlands when the sun pushed the first sliver of dawn above the horizon. Brock could feel the warmth of the sun begin to creep over his fur. He raised his muzzle towards the bright rays with his eyes closed and welcomed its coming. He took in the surrounding scents and perked his ears for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. He then laid his head back down upon his paws.

MacGregor closed his eyes and took in the warmth of the rays as well and sighed with contentment. "Brock," he began. "There's a premonition in my bones today. Something bad is going to happen today. They say that the mound people sometimes come and visit us in our sleep and whisper secrets in our ears. Did you see any mound people in the den last night?" He reached over and aimlessly scratched the wolf behind the ears.

Brock listened to the sound of his voice, which was calm, though he could feel a little tension in the air. The touch of MacGregor's hand soothed him and he lay quiet as he spoke.

"Of course, you and the missus out killing sheep last night will probably bring bad luck on all of us," he continued. "Can't blame you for wantin' fresh meat, I guess. But I fear it will bode poorly for your family. Well, laddy, we better get on with our scouting. There is likely to be Campbells here at any moment. There's been word that they wanted to stretch Alaistar's neck." He rolled his own and felt up around his throat with his hand at the thought of being hanged.

He slipped off of the rock table and onto his feet with Brock beside him and they wandered off of the ridge and down through the forest where they could keep an eye on the trail. They were very near the place where they had hidden and waited yesterday, but in a different place, in case their presence had been discovered and a trap was set for them.

They were a part of a network of MacGregors which were watching for the groups of Campbells, which were essentially hunting parties looking for MacGregors to collect the bounty that was offered by the crown. When a hunting party was spotted, they would alert the others with a stone representing each individual in the party laid in a particular spot that was checked regularly by another scout. The location of the stones indicated which direction they had been traveling when sited. In a country that had no lack of stones, the signal went completely unnoticed by any, except for those who checked the signal every day.

MacGregor had checked the signal place that morning and noted that the signal he had left the night before had been received; a simple matter of the stones having been removed from the place where he had placed them. In another location, he received information as to where the party went and discovered that they had moved on to the south and was no longer in his area. He picked up those stones and scattered them about before he and Brock hid themselves beside the path. If anyone was wise to their system, they had not yet proven it and it was likely that they would not.

Brock and MacGregor spent the day watching the path that led through the forest near their den. MacGregor dosed from time to time, trusting to the keen senses of Brock to alert him of any who approached. Brock stretched out and slept several times during their long wait, but mostly he just lay in the deep grass and enjoyed the sun on his fur.

It was mid-afternoon when Brock heard a very faint sound on the path. His ears perked up and picked up the sound long before MacGregor was aware of it. Soon, his nose caught the scent and a low growl started to rumble deep in his chest. MacGregor had his eyes locked onto Brock instantly. His touch let Brock know that he was awake and aware of what was going on. He signaled Brock to lie still and wandered to a point where he could get a better view.

As MacGregor was moving into a new position, he was suddenly struck from behind by a blow which knocked him senseless. He was gathered up by two men who dragged him down to the path. They whistled for the others to join them. Three more appeared with a fourth tied and gagged. The leader of the group, a large hairy man with a shaggy mane and beard, pulled the gag from the man's mouth and pushed his head forward so that he could see the prostrate man in the path. "Is this one of them?" he demanded.

"It could be," the tied man answered. "I would be able to tell better if you wouldn't keep me tied and gagged."

"I wouldn't want scum like you running around free," the first replied. "Nor do I want you calling out to warn them. Is this one of them?"

"I'm not one of them," the man replied. "Why are you treatin' me like I am?"

"Because you're worse than one of them," he said. "We may hate them and hunt them like the animals that they are, but they aren't traitors and they stand like men when they fight. They don't crawl around on their bellies. Is this one of them?" His giant hand squeezed tighter on the traitor's throat.

"Yes," he answered gasping. "This one they call Angus."

"You two," he ordered, pushing the traitor away from him. "Get him tied before he comes awake. When he comes awake, take him and put him with the others. You two come with me." They jumped at his command and started off down the path with the informant again gagged as they led him by his elbows.

The two who were left to tend to Angus had his hands tied behind his back in an instant. They set him upright and leaned him against a tree, and then they began the process of waking him up. They were not gentle about the way they slapped him and shook him to come back to consciousness, but the blow had been a strong one and the others were far along the trail before Angus stirred to life. He shook his head and let the cobwebs begin to clear.

As he was coming to his senses, he saw a grey flash fly through the air and strike one of his captors, who sprawled across the ground. In the moment of surprise, the other turned to look. "It's a goddamned wo..." he was interrupted by a sharp blow under his chin from MacGregor's foot, which knocked him senseless.

The screams of the first ceased and MacGregor saw that Brock's strong jaws were locked over the man's throat. He was reaching out toward him. His eyes were bulging and full of terror.

"You seek to destroy a son of the wolf and you might be bitten by one," was his calm reply as he watched the recognition fade from his eyes as he fell dead under the crushing weight of Brock's jaws.

Brock moved to the other prostrate body and sniffed him. The blood from the first was still dripping from his jowls. As he sniffed him, the man stirred from being knocked cold. Brock growled at him, his hot breath was on the man's neck and he was ready to strike another blow.

"Wait," MacGregor said. His command made Brock pause with his jaws only inches from the man's neck. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Shut your hole," the man replied.

"I can always let the wolf have you," he answered.

The man rolled his eyes towards the grey fur of the large animal that hovered over him. He considered for a moment and then replied. "I'm a Campbell and we're huntin' MacGregors and perhaps wolves too."

"Who was the man with you?" he asked.

"Go to hell," he said.

"He's just a damned traitor," MacGregor replied. "What is he to you?"

The man considered for a minute. "He's a McKee."

"What has he told you?" MacGregor asked.

"He tells us nothing," the man replied. "He just points out which ones are MacGregors."

"I need a favor from you," MacGregor said.

"I won't be doin' any favors for you," the man cried out to him. "To hell with you, you're a dead man already." Brock locked his jaws around the man's throat and started to apply pressure. "Fine. What do you want? Just call off this wolf."

"I want you to cut me loose," he replied.

The man considered the fact that he was being allowed to sit up and take a knife into his hand. MacGregor saw him think through what he might do and he waited patiently as the man moved cautiously to cut him loose. Brock's muzzle remained only inches away from the man's throat and a low, vicious growl came from his mouth as he demonstrated his sharp teeth for the man. He had no choice but to cut him loose. When MacGregor was loose, he began rubbing his wrists where the rope had cut into him and Brock backed away. A flash of revenge slipped across the man's eyes briefly as he swung the blade up to stab MacGregor. MacGregor dodged the blow and struck his elbow, so that the blade moved harmlessly past him and into the air.

With the sudden movement toward his master, Brock attacked instantly and viciously. He sank his jaws into the wrist above the knife and it fell from the man's hand instantly. He dragged him away from MacGregor and began tearing the man's hand off of his arm.

"Get him off me," the man screamed in pain and terror as Brock moved for another, more deadly place to sink his teeth.

"He's a wild animal," he answered. "Not much I can do." MacGregor turned and gathered up his weapons from the "hiding spot" where he and Brock had spent the morning, and then started to run up the path. Behind him, he heard the screams of the man fade away and then stop completely as Brock finished him off. In mere seconds, Brock was loping alongside of him.

He cut off of the path and into the forest which ran alongside of it. He leapt over fallen logs and rocks. He dodged and turned between boulders and advanced rapidly adjacent to the path until he was certain that he had gone past the other three and the traitor. They did not have time to go far and they were moving a bit slow due to nearly dragging the traitor along with them. Well in advance of the hunters, he slipped down into a hiding place and waited for them. They came along the path arguing with each other about their prisoner.

The two thought that he was completely useless and they had no real need for him. The leader insisted that he was valuable for guiding them and for pointing out their quarry, but the other two would not budge on their position. They were quite confident in themselves and certain that they had dispatched the only threat near them.

MacGregor's hand was on Brock's shoulder, holding him steady and quiet as they set their trap for the ambush of the small group of hunters. He had to kill the traitor before he was able to give them any more information and deliver the entire clan into their hands. He would need to have one of them able to answer some questions for him, so that he could find the "others" that the leader had mentioned earlier. He could hear the low growl in Brock's chest and feel the vibration of it. His teeth were bared and his legs were braced for attack. He would need to find them and set them free before they could hold any executions.

The small group came into the clearing and was only a few yards away from them. Brock's vicious snarl was still wet with the taste of blood as he watched them approach, but the growl remained trapped in his throat. The group moved ever so close to them. It was all he could do to hold himself back, but as long as MacGregor's hand was on him, he would remain still and quiet. When Brock felt MacGregor's hand slip off of his shoulder, he knew it was the signal to attack and Brock leapt through the air toward his sworn enemies.

#

** **

**Episode 3**

It was only a few feet to the nearest man and Brock was on him before he was aware that there was any sort of attack in progress. He sunk his teeth into his throat while a deep growl exploded from his chest. His fangs found warm blood which began to spew out into his mouth. He felt the man go lifeless. He turned from that man and attacked another. He saw MacGregor drawing a knife across the throat of the third. It was the big man who had been in charge and his body fell lifeless to the path. The second man soon collapsed under the sheer power of Brock's jaws as he crushed his throat. All that was left was the traitor.

Brock turned toward the traitor, the deep growl in his chest was muffled by his closed jaws. Blood was around the edges of his mouth and dripped to the path. He could still taste it in his mouth. He was crouching to lunge, and then suddenly, he was sitting by the fire in the mountain valley again. He looked at his hands, which were no longer paws. The taste of blood was in his mouth and he turned and retched from the horror of it. He grabbed the cold coffee in the pot and drank it down, washing the last swallow around in his mouth to kill the taste and then spitting it out.

"Who are you?" he screamed. "What the hell are you doing to me?"

"So you're wantin' to talk now," MacGregor replied calmly.

"Yes, I want to talk," he shouted. "Who are you?"

"I told you that my name is MacGregor," he answered. "Who are you, Brock?"

"I told you, that's not my name," he responded, still shouting.

"So, you do have a name," he replied.

"Yes, I'm Ray, Ray Barrett," he answered.

"Thank you, Ray Barrett," MacGregor said. "I already knew that, of course, but I wanted to see how polite you were. Who am I? A good question for all of us I suppose. Who are any of us? Who are you, Ray Barrett? That is what you came out here for, right?"

"Cut the philosophical crap," Ray growled. "Why are you here? Where do you go when you leave? What is happening to me? Who are you?"

"Okay," MacGregor answered. "I am here to help you. I go into the mound. You are trying to figure out who you are. I am Angus MacGregor, one of your ancestors I might add."

Ray waited for more, but none came. "Great. Thanks, that's all I needed to know," he mocked. "You're patronizing me. Cut to the chase."

"The bear in you is coming out," he responded. "The MacGregor in you is showing too. Very well then, let's see how much you can understand. It is complicated." He paused searching for the place to begin. "I am Sidhe, the mound people, to the Celts. To the native Americans, I would be a spirit guide, like the wolf or the eagle."

"Is the wolf real?" Ray asked.

"Oh yeah, he's real," he replied. "He's taken something of a liking to you, I'd say. Seems to be just curious enough to be near you, but still not quite comfortable. They are intelligent creatures, they sense a lot of things that a human probably wouldn't. They can read our emotions..."

"I am not interested in a zoological lesson on wolves," Ray interrupted. "I just wanted to know if he was real. So many things aren't real these days."

"You've been a bit out of your head at times, huh?" MacGregor responded. "Being alone in the mountains can do that to you."

"Cut the crap," Ray snapped. "You know what's been going on with me. Now tell me what this is all about."

"Like I was telling you," he began again. "I am Sidhe. I am what you would call a spiritual guide."

"Why me?" Ray asked simply.

"Why not you?" he replied. "You are obviously locked in some sort of a spiritual struggle. I'm just here to guide you toward the answers that you're lookin' for."

"You are supposed to be guiding me?" Ray questioned. "You nearly got me killed twice and then I'm sinking my teeth into men's throats. Do you know how sickening that is? What is the meaning of these experiences?"

"I don't know," MacGregor answered. "I'm just a guide."

"Who _does_ know?"

"I don't know that either," he replied.

"You aren't much help for a guide," Ray said in disgust.

"Actually, I've been a lot of help," MacGregor answered. "The horse, the wolf, pulling you out of that scrape with the Pawnee warriors, and I kept you fed."

"Gee, thanks," Ray mocked. "How much longer are these experiences going to go on?"

"Until they are finished," he responded. He rose from his place near the fire and started off into the darkness. "Best be on my way."

"You are about the least helpful guide I've ever been associated with," Ray called after him. He pondered what he had just been through. It was an experience unlike anything he had ever imagined. He had been in the body of a wolf. He had no reasoning capacity. He remembered only that everything was based on sound, smell, and instinct. There had been an understanding on a deep psychological or instinctive level, but without reasoning. It seemed that he simply felt what he needed to do in the moment. He knew where to go in the dark. He knew what his mate was doing when she ran the ewe to his jaws. He knew where to lock down his jaws. He had felt no remorse in killing the ewe or in killing the men. He recalled how deeply the fear was manifested in him and how quickly it became rage, beyond anything he had ever known before.

He was able to rest that night after the fire had died out. His body, mind, and emotions were beyond their limits and he slept soundly and awakened late the next morning. With the sun shining, he was able to put away the torments of the night, and the dawn began to bring him back to life. He saddled up mid-morning and the time in the saddle began to drain away the deep strain which had lain upon him. He was finally able to relax and consider deeper questions of his life. What things were really important to him? He didn't have a complete answer, though he and the wolf had found a grassy spot in the shade of an aspen grove, which seemed to offer at least a temporary comfort, if it solved nothing else. They could lie in the grass and listen to the bubbling of the small stream that meandered through the willows and consider deeper thoughts, though Ray knew the wolf was doing nothing more than relaxing and enjoying the contentment of being alive. The sound of his horse grazing nearby and the rustle of the small birds and animals busy at their daily tasks were a pleasant, musical background. A fly buzzed here and there and he could hear the sharp swish of his horse's tail and the stamp of his feet as he tried to discourage a biting pest. His mind emptied itself of all worries and he was simply soaking in what lay about him.

Suddenly a spear flew past his head and stuck into the chest of the man beside him. He raised his shield and the head of another spear struck it with a deafening clang. He thrust it aside and continued to advance, peering through the thin slot of his helmet. He had no idea how he had so suddenly been thrust into the midst of a pitched battle. The instinct of the wolf and of Hoka took over and he rushed towards the enemy with sword and shield. The fear that he had felt as he was thrust into this sudden fight for life rapidly turned to rage. He struck out with his sword and felt its blade slice through the flesh and bones of a man. He had no time to watch him fall, but was quickly turning to run another through. He pulled it out and raised his shield in time to deflect a blow which drove him to one knee, but he recovered and thrust again with his sword, another man went down. All about hima he could hear the groans and gasps of men in the midst of a deadly struggle. He could smell sweat and blood all around him and the stench of fear and danger permeated through his senses. There was no time for thought, only action and movement. His breathing was ragged with exertion and his chest burned. His arms and legs were fatigued, but he ignored them and pressed onward.

He felt himself tumbling across the ground and something hard struck him. A blade had slashed past his head, dangerously glancing off of his helmet. He realized that he had been struck by the chest of a charging horse and its rider had barely missed his head. The better part of valor was to lie and wait as the cavalry charge passed him by. He was assumed dead and left alone as the horsemen cleared a swath through the middle of the ranks of his fellow fighters. A counter charge of opposing horsemen rode down upon them and there was soon a mêlée of swirling and turning horses. He could hear their screams of pain as they were struck with swords or spears. They were rearing and falling and plunging as the men on their backs parried and thrust with swords and shields.

He was on his feet again and rushing into the ranks of foot-soldiers which were rushing down upon them. It seemed like he would have to face a thousand men alone, yet he fought on. There was nowhere to run and no place to hide. His instincts told him that he must fight to survive and he fought viciously. Had he the fangs of a wolf, he would have sunken them into the throat of a man and thought nothing of it. The taste of blood was already in his mouth, but the drive to live was yet stronger.

The morning continued on, it seemed like hour upon hour was spent thrusting and swinging his sword and parrying blows with his shield. In reality, it was not quite an hour of time which passed. However, in that span, he thought his life would surely end more than a dozen times. He saw the enemy retreating and he sank to his knees with exhaustion. He pulled off his helmet so that he could breathe and looked toward the sky. He was still alive. He had scrapes and cuts and bruises in various places of his body, but he was able to feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach and he could only heave, cough, and spit. The blood he had tasted was his own blood. He had bitten his tongue as he fought and he rolled it around in his mouth, wondering how it was still attached.

A cheer went up among his fellow soldiers and he threw back his head and added his own deep roar which had built in his chest with the thrill of being alive. He remembered his deep baying moan from that night on the ridge of the highlands of Scotland and knew that it was a sound of rejoicing. He was soon swept up in the task of helping his fellow wounded from the field. On his third trip back into the mass of wounded and dead bodies, he was accosted by a man on a horse.

"Hey, Christian," the man called to him weakly.

He turned toward him. "Yes, Sire?" he replied. It was an accent he had never heard coming from his mouth before. The word, "sire", was not one that he normally used either, but it had flowed from his tongue almost automatically.

"I am in need," the man replied. "I fear that I will not make it back to the king's side. Can you help me?"

"What need have you of me?" he asked humbly.

"Could you tie my hands and feet in place so that I will not fall, and then lead my horse back to the king?" The man pointed in a general direction where some horsemen were gathered beneath a red banner with two golden lions upon it. Ray recognized it as the flag of the "Lion Heart", though he wasn't certain why and how he had gained that knowledge.

"Certainly, sire," he said. "It will be my honor, indeed." He tied the man in place and took the reins of the horse and started across the battlefield and up the rise towards the flag. He plodded along slowly. He was exhausted and his throat burned with thirst. He kept his face turned towards the ground as he approached the group of horsemen. He was not of their rank and class and especially not worthy of being in the presence of the great "Lion Heart".

"By our holy Lord, it's Henry," one of the horsemen called out. "He looks nearly done in. Send for my physician at once." The man who spoke had a deep voice with great power and authority to it and all of the horsemen scrambled at the sound of his bidding. Ray knew that it was the great man himself. "Hey, you there, the one with the reins," the voice boomed again. Ray was afraid to look up. "You have done me a great service, Christian." There was a deep chuckle which came from a large, deep chest. "You may look up at me," he said. "As a Christian soldier in this crusade, you are considered a brother."

Ray looked up at him. His eyes were piercing and intense and his face was stern, though there was a crack of a smile at one corner. He could hardly believe that he looking at and being spoken to by "the great Lion Heart". He dropped to one knee.

"Ah, stand up, soldier," he laughed heartily. "By the looks of you, you've done a day's work and if I were to wager, it wasn't done on one knee. You fought well today? Without regrets?"

"Yes, your majesty," Ray replied. He croaked from the combination of his dry throat from battle and the fact that it would have been desperately parched had he not just fought a raging battle of swords. "Without regrets."

"May our Lord bless you," he boomed. "What is your name?"

"Raymond, Your Majesty," he replied.

"Raymond, you've done me a great service by assisting Henry. It shows the goodness of your soul. Are you thirsty?"

"No, my lord," he lied. "I am fine."

"Ha ha hah!" the king bellowed. "You're parched to the point of exhaustion and yet you will not admit your thirst. I'm telling you, gentlemen," he addressed the other horsemen. "I'm telling you that a Christian son of England has as big of a heart and as much courage as a lion. Someone give this good Christian man a drink of water."

Ray drank from the pouch of water that had been brought to him and he felt the soothing liquid flowing down his throat. It brought life back to his exhausted body and mind. He was struggling with getting his bearings, but the struggle wasn't nearly as intense as in the past. He was beginning to get used to "the experiences". It was exasperating to leave quiet solitude and appear in the middle of a heated battle. However, he had survived it and after having a good long drink, he discovered that in spite of a few scratches and bruises, he was okay. It was also rather intriguing to be speaking to one his historic heroes.

As he handed the pouch of water back to the man who brought it, another man snatched at the reins in his hand to take the horse away from him. The action spooked the horse and it reared high in the air, plunging and jerking its head to the side. On instinct, Ray reached for the reins again, gripped them tightly, and then in a calm voice he said, "It's okay, buddy, I got ya." The horse calmed from his rearing and as he did, Ray stepped in close to him and spoke to him quietly. His eyes were still full of fear, but the sound of Ray's voice and the calmness of his presence soothed him and soon his dark eyes were soft again. Ray stroked his velvet nose softly and the horse responded by tucking his muzzle under Ray's arm. The others watched in awe of his seemingly effortless skill.

"Good Christian, Raymond," King Richard said quietly. "You have a true gift. That beast is known for his tantrums and in nothing short of a miracle, you have calmed him. Where did you learn such skills and why are you not in my cavalry?"

"It was nothing, Your Majesty. He was only frightened a little. As for where I learned these skills, well, we had dozens of horses on our ran..." he stopped before he said the word, "ranch". "We had dozens of horses where I grew up. As for not being a part of your cavalry, it was not by my own choice."

"Dozens of horses?" the king boomed. "You must be some sort of nobleman's son, or at least his groom. No such man should be found in the ranks of our foot soldiers. Gentleman, I believe we have found the man to tame our Ghoul. Bring him with us." He turned back towards Ray. "Step into the saddle and ride with me, Raymond."

"My lord, I couldn't possibly impose," Ray protested, knowing that his station was well below that of the king and it would be serious trouble for him among the others to be riding with nobles.

"Nonsense," the king replied. "You are my new groom. He will be granted every protection and every privilege as though he were my son. Is that understood?"

The others nodded agreement, though there was one whose eyes flashed with hatred. It was he who had been made a fool by Ray's actions, actions that were only necessary because of his clumsiness when he came to take the reins of the horse. Ray made note of him as he mounted and turned the face of his horse to join the others.

"Ride with me, Raymond. I need to tell you of the challenge that is ahead of you. You don't mind a small challenge, do you?"

"No, Your Majesty," he replied. "I rather fancy them." The event with the horse and the feel of strong horseflesh between his knees had calmed him. He decided that he might enjoy this experience rather than fighting it as he had the others. He was riding with one of his historic idols and was accepted as his guest; even as his personal groom. How could he not enjoy it?

The king laughed. It was a loud, rich laugh which came from his deep chest. "When you see Ghoul, perhaps you will lose that youthful eagerness. You must understand, dear Raymond, that this creature has a demonic spirit. He is horse, but I think perhaps only a horse in his current form." Richard was making reference to the Arabian monster after which the horse had been named; a shape-shifting desert monster which most often appeared as a hyena and preyed on young children, robbed graves, and drank blood.

"I guess his last meal was a horse?" Ray added, indicating that he understood the king's reference. Ghoul was said to take on the form of the last thing that he ate.

"Indeed," the king chuckled. "Perhaps he'll soon be in human shape in the form of Raymond Barrett."

"Perhaps," Ray smiled. "Or perhaps I will next be in the form of a horse." The thought was truer than he cared to admit, given his past "experiences".

The king bellowed with laughter. "You are a confident young man. If many more of my soldiers are like you, Saladin will be fleeing across the desert with his tail tucked between his legs in short order. We are approaching the stable where the monster lives. We'll soon test your mettle, good Christian." His voice boomed and he turned to the others as though presenting a circus spectacle. The others were gleeful in their response. The eyes of the one however, held an evil hatred for him. The sparkle in them was the hope of a sweet revenge. They arrived before the stables. They dismounted and several handlers came out to take their mounts and tend to them.

"Would you like to see the devil?" the king asked.

"Sure, let's go pet your gentle, little pony," Ray answered. He had never been afraid of an equine-related challenge in his life. He had feared many vicious members of its kind, but he had always found a way to overcome that fear. Fear caused paralysis in some, but in Ray, it only helped him to focus himself and conduct himself with careful precision. He hoped that he wasn't being overconfident just to impress the king.

They walked down through the dark center aisle of the stable and stopped before a stable door. It had two doors; one atop the other like is common in stables. Both doors were barred tight. The effect would be to leave the stall in complete darkness. "You there," the king called out to one of the handlers. "Unbar that top door."

The large, fearful eyes of the handler bore witness to the character of the animal which lay behind it. The handler hesitated, but realized that the command was a direct order from the king himself and the consequences of disobedience were perhaps more fearful than the response of the animal. He gingerly eased the bolt back on the door and creeped quietly to place himself behind the door when he opened it when the door burst open suddenly, striking him in the face and knocking him to the ground. The force behind the blow broke his nose and knocked him unconscious in one stroke, and the black head of the monster lunged out of the dark stall with its teeth bared.

The others scrambled back. The king even raised his arms to protect himself and move away. The handlers slipped in stealthily, grabbed the limp body of their companion, and pulled him away. Ray sidestepped the first thrust of the snapping teeth and then stood just beyond their reach. The high-pitched squeal of the enraged beast echoed throughout the stables. To those who heard it, it was nothing more than the sound of an angry horse; however, Ray's ears heard something else.

"Who are you?" cried the demonic voice.

"Hey, buddy," he replied calmly, careful to stay beyond the reach of the snapping teeth. "You seem to have an attitude problem. I can't say as I blame you, being locked up in the dark that way. Probably piss me off too."

"Get away from me," the voice shrieked. "I will kill you and eat you. I am Ghoul. I am lord of the demons of the desert."

"You're just a gentle little cow-pony under all that," Ray answered.

When he heard this, he shrieked even louder. "Stay away from me, Cowboy!"

"Not a chance, buddy," he replied. "You see, I need to put a saddle on you and ride you. I have to show these people how nice you are." He turned toward one of the handlers. "How long has he been locked up?"

"It has been several days," the handler answered. His eyes were large with astonishment as he watched the black horse snap at Ray's neck, missing him only by inches. The others, including King Richard, looked on in amazement.

"Food and water?" he asked simply.

"It is very dangerous to try to feed him. I cannot say when he has eaten. There is water flowing in the stall."

"Is there an open pen, preferably round?" he asked.

"Yes," the handler replied.

"Put him in it and give him feed and water," Ray commanded.

The handler looked at his former boss, the man with the hateful eyes. The man did not respond.

"Do as he says," the king commanded. "He is my new groom." His eyes flashed toward the old groom and he watched him shrink away. "Very well, you have made your acquaintance. I will have someone tend to your wounds, bathe you, and expect you at my table at dinner."

"A groom at the king's table?" one of the others asked.

"You fool," the king responded. "Can't you see that this man is no mere groom? No man I have ever known could stand before that beast as tranquil as he has. I will know what keeps this man calm in the face of danger. Come."

"Don't think your kindness will matter, Cowboy," the demonic voice of the horse called after him as Ray turned to join the king. "I will still eat you."

Ray looked back over his shoulder and smiled. "Take care, buddy."

"Some of your words are strange to me," the king said. "Where did you come from?"

"A very remote part of the Highlands of Scotland," Ray replied, tongue in cheek from his own private joke.

"Scotland, you say?" the king mused. "I have not heard that dialect in Scotland."

Ray was taken to a room where his wounds were cleaned and looked after. One of them needed some stitches, which were not easy to take without anesthesia, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and managed to make it through the ordeal. He was given a bath by several ladies and it felt good to be clean and refreshed. One of the ladies lingered behind as she helped him dress.

"Do not fear him, Ray," she said.

His heart leaped at the sound of her voice and he turned towards her, stunned. Her dark eyes looked up at him. They were large with thick lashes. Her eyebrows were thick and dark as well. Her nose widened a little at the nostrils and her lips were full and thick, they created something similar to a triangle when she pursed them. Her hair was long and thick and spilled down her back to her behind. "How did you know my name? Who are you?"

"I am Alexia," she replied simply. "MacGregor sent me."

"Oh, he did," Ray mused with a smile. "Fine, what is our purpose in this one?"

"I'm not sure that I understand your meaning," she replied.

"Oh great, another evasive spirit guide," he answered.

"I am just here to tell you not to fear Ghoul," she said. "Your power is greater than his."

He felt his heart leap within him again. Something in her eyes penetrated him to the deepest level of his being. He turned his eyes away from her for only a moment as he slipped his feet into his shoes. When he looked up again, she was gone. He felt a deep pain in his chest that he had never felt before. It was emptiness so complete that he drew his hand to his chest. He shook his head and dismissed the thoughts that had begun there. The thoughts left him, but the emptiness lingered.

He dined at the king's table that evening and at every meal for a couple of days afterward. He spoke humbly of his secrets. They did not seem to be such secrets to him, but the others still marveled at him. He had been raised on a ranch and had seen many a tough case where it came to horses. He had learned that showing his own fear only intensified the fear of the animal; therefore, he had learned to control it.

"I don't believe this creature is afraid, Raymond," King Richard responded.

"Everyone and everything fears," he answered. "Fear often turns to rage and fear often paralyzes." He was drawing upon his experience as a wolf and remembering also the wisdom of the Sioux elders. "Inside of a man, there are two wolves. One is dishonest and bitter, the other is honest and kind. The wolf which is fed is the one which will manifest itself in a man's character."

The king sat silent for a moment and considered what he had just heard. It made little sense to him. In his mind and in the minds of those around him, a wolf was a detestable creature which ought to be killed and exterminated. To have such a reference made to the character of a man confused him. "You are strange to me, but you challenge me as well. Is today the day that you will calm the demon?"

"It is," he answered.

"When will you begin?" he asked.

"Right now is as good a time as any," Ray replied.

"Then we will all go to observe it," he smiled. He called out to those who were dining with him. "Come. We will go to watch this man tame our demon."

They cheered and followed the king and Ray out to the round pen where Ghoul had been placed. Ray understood that it was an enormous undertaking and several of the handlers were critically wounded in the process. There was a place for the others to observe from above the walls of the pen and as they started in that direction, Ray called out to him, "Your majesty, I will need those who are watching to remain silent."

"I will command it," the king replied. "I am anxious to see you work, Raymond. Godspeed."

He turned to the handler who was standing there. "Be ready to bring that bridle and saddle when I give you the signal."

"Godspeed, indeed", he thought as he opened the door to the pen and stepped through, closing it behind him. The moment he was settled inside, the black horse rushed at him with bared teeth.

"Welcome to the day of your death, Cowboy," the demon screamed as he charged him. Ray stood on the balls of his feet ready to step aside from the charging teeth. Ghoul's ears were laid flat against his neck and his eyes were vicious, like those of the former groom.

"Stop!" he snapped, raising his hands above his head as the horse was not more than a dozen strides in front of him. He was rather shocked at the power of his command, but witnessed the black setting his feet and sliding to a stop a few feet in front of him. He heard a gasp from the spectators above the wall.

"Who are you?" Ghoul hissed at him and tossed his head in circles.

"I am Ray Barrett," he whispered in return. He took a step toward him and raised his arms as though they were claws and he hissed back at him.

Ghoul shook his head at him and backed away a few steps. "You are a son of the wolf." The recognition changed the rage in his eyes to fear. "What do you want with me?"

Ray did not speak. He stepped toward him again, raising his claws and hissing sharply again. Ghoul backed away several more steps as Ray advanced. When Ray had advanced to the center of the round pen, Ghoul's rear was pressed against the wall. His eyes were full of fear. "Do not harm me, son of the wolf," Ghoul pleaded in a whisper.

"Run!" Ray commanded sharply and again, he stepped toward him with his claw-like hands in the air.

Ghoul began to gallop around the wall of the pen. Ray's eyes were fixed upon his eyes and neck. He recalled how he had sunk his teeth into the throat of the ewe and held her until she was lifeless in his jaws. His focus was upon the throat of the horse now, not as a means of taking its life for a meal as the wolf would do, but as a means of controlling the nature of the horse. "If I were not in this weak body," Ghoul protested. "You would have no control over me, Son of the Wolf."

Ray did not respond. He kept his focus on the throat of the horse. In time, Ghoul slowed his pace and Ray shifted his eyes from the throat to the shoulder. The shift in focus brought instant relief to the horse and he slowed his pace. He lowered his head and began moving his jaws like he was chewing and licking his lips. The demon was still there, but he had weakened because he was bound by the nature of the beast which he possessed.

The nature of the horse was to slowly give in to the predator and come to an understanding that if the predator would not harm him, then they could coexist. The shifting of the eyes to his shoulder was a signal from the predator that no harm would be done. Ray crossed his arms across his chest and turned away slightly, his eyes focused further away from the throat of the horse. The pace of the animal slowed even more and in time, he stopped and faced Ray. His eyes were soft and gentle and Ray turned his shoulders away from him.

The first steps were tentative, but those that followed were confident and the black horse came to Ray and began sniffing his back and neck. Ray turned slowly and began caressing his muzzle. "Hey, buddy. I aint so bad after all, huh?" he whispered softly. He looked toward the door, where the handler peeped in and nodded his head. The handler entered and brought the bridle. The silence from those who observed from above was intense. The shock of what they had witnessed was set deep in their souls. Some even felt as though they had been released of some demon, so intense was the contrast of the horse they had known with the one they saw now.

"Here you go, buddy," he said. The demon was quiet. He was unable to speak as he was lulled by the sound of Ray's voice. He slipped the bridle over his nose. "This might be a little spooky," he said softly, "but it will be okay." He continued stroking the horse on his neck, to his shoulder, up over his withers and across his back. The reins of the bridle stood slack, hanging from the bridle as Ray walked around him, rubbing him, and stroking him.

He finally moved to his side and nodded back toward the door. The handler brought a saddle to him. He moved deliberately, without any sudden movements, and soon had the saddle in place. This horse had been saddled before, he determined. He had probably been ridden before as well. With the demon subdued, the horse was remembering and his fear was gone.

"Here we go, buddy," he said as he stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side.

#

** **

**Episode 4**

As soon as Ray's behind touched the saddle, the demon awoke. Ray wasn't surprised, in fact, he expected it. Though he could lull a horse to cooperation with his technique, it all changed when a new fear presented itself. The fear was less intense than it would have been if he had begun the process by fighting with the animal, but there was still an instinctive fear born within the primitive nature of a prey animal. Their instincts told them that a creature on their back was only there for the purpose of killing and therefore, every means possible needed to be taken to be rid of their attacker. The demon inside of Ghoul made good use of every means possible.

He heard the gallery above his head gasp in unison as the demon took the first strong leap into the air. Ray responded by driving his feet downward and forward to brace for the coming stiff-legged landing. It came and the jarring was incredible. His behind separated slightly from the saddle, but he used his knees to pull it back into place. The demon began to scream at him as he threw everything he had at the Ray.

"You are finished, Cowboy," Ghoul screamed. "This is where the horse tosses you helplessly on your back and stomps you in the dust."

Ray did not reply. He concentrated on keeping himself in his seat. The demon made a sharp turn and attempted to get him out of place to one side and then made another strong leap in the opposite direction. Ray shifted with him and felt the power of the horse being unleashed on him. He was nearly unseated when Ghoul thrust upward and then twisted his body in the air. His hind feet went in one direction and his front feet in the other. The movement rotated Ray to a position that was nearly parallel to the ground, but Ray was able to shift his weight back to center.

"Here comes the finish," Ghoul threatened. He gathered himself for one more powerful leap and lunged with every fiber of his being focused upon it. The two of them went high into the air... and Ray was suddenly seated in the cock-pit of a Mirage fighter-bomber.

"Shit!" he exclaimed aloud as he tried to get his bearings. "How the hell did I end up here? MacGregor, you son of a bitch!"

"What seems to be the problem, Ray?" MacGregor asked over the speakers of Ray's helmet.

"Nothing like a little Mach 2 cruise to get your blood pumping in the morning, huh?" he chuckled.

"Where the hell am I this time?" Ray asked. He had always dreamed of flying, but he had never even touched a flight control on a Cessna, let alone a Mirage fighter-bomber. "I don't know how to fly this thing."

"Sure you do," MacGregor responded. "You've logged several thousand hours of flight time. Besides, you are a part of the spear-point."

"The spear point?" he asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, Ray, you and I and the rest of your Israeli fighter-bomber squadron are going to perform a surprise attack on the buildup of Egyptian TU-16, 'Badger' bombers," MacGregor explained. "Kind of ironic, huh Brock?"

"Hilarious," Ray answered. In spite of the frustration of trying to find his bearings after transporting to a completely different experience without any warning, he was in heaven. The feel of the speed and power of the jet, rocketing through the air, was a fulfillment of a dream.

"Okay, just go with your instincts, Ray," MacGregor encouraged. "You're actually inside of the body of a very well trained Israeli pilot. You speak Hebrew and you're leading the attack. We need to get down over the water of the Med and go in low below their radar..."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I planned this attack. They have very poor air-defense warning systems along the coast and we can be upon them before they finish their breakfast," he said in Hebrew. He clicked the mic three times as a signal to the rest of the squadron to go low. He looked over at MacGregor who was his wingman and made a sharp dive towards the water, then turned southwest towards the Egyptian coast.

The waters of the Mediterranean Sea flashed below him with astonishing speed. His squadron was the spearhead to the surprise attack on the Egyptian air bases. His attack specifically targeted the Badger class medium range bombers which were seen to be the biggest threat to the Israeli's. There were more than 200 Israeli jets and planes set to attack Egyptian air assets. If they were successful, Israel would eliminate the only significant air threat in the region and immediately assure their air superiority. He, or rather, the pilot whose body he was inside of, had named their part of the attack "The Hand of Yahweh". It was the most critical part of the entire plan. Without total destruction of the 30 Badgers, Israel was left vulnerable to a counter-attack.

Ray's radar picked up on the weak signal of the Egyptian air defense system along the coast at nearly the same instant that he saw the coast looming faster in front of him. It was mere seconds from the moment that they were "feet-dry" over Egypt until they were coming up on the air field. He broke radio silence to give only one command. It was the first thing the Egyptians heard that morning and the last for a large number of them. "Hitqif!" he said. He took his Mirage up to the proper level for bombing and the Egyptian air defense suddenly sprung to life. However, his bombs had already left the rails and scored hits on a line of Badger bombers parked on the Egyptian airfield before a single bullet could leave the anti-aircraft guns. They had been successful in their surprise. He rolled out of his bombing run and circled back around the airfield to make a run at the guns. If he could take several of them out, then the others would be safe. He swung around and dove low to make the strafing run, found his first target, and let go of a barrage of 30mm shells from his canon into the anti-aircraft installation. It went silent and he attacked a second. With these two sites taken out of commission, it would be safer for the aircrafts that were following him. Other pilots would also make strafing runs and cripple the air defenses further, but they were to make only one pass each and then head back out to sea.

Ray had made his pass and turned out to sea when a SAM installation along the coast came online. There had been no indications of any SAM installations in that area and Ray flew right into its targeting zone. The site let go of a missile before Ray was able to make any evasive maneuver and he was so close that the chances of a miss were little to none. He saw his right wing explode and disappear. His hands went immediately to the ejection handles.

The violent jarring of Ghoul was nothing compared to the sudden thrust of the rockets under his ejection seat which sent him into the air. The thrust was so intense that he felt all of his internal organs up in his throat and chest. At the apogee of the firing of the seat, his chute opened and he felt the upward jerk of his body. He clasped the release of the harness which tied him to his seat and it dropped away from him into the water below. He pulled another line and his floatation vest inflated around him. He had been flying so low, that he only swung a half-dozen times from the cables of his chute before he felt his feet go into the water. He plunged below the surface for a moment and then felt the buoyancy of his vest pulling him back to the surface. He felt the weight of the chute on him and he immediately detached it from his body. His helmet was heavy and unnecessary, so he got rid of it as well.

Since the chute was a huge marker for finding a downed airman, he needed to get away from it. Those most likely to discover him were not friends, but enemies. He was now alone in hostile territory. He was not far from the coast and he knew that his best chance for survival lay in finding a way to infiltrate the Egyptian city nearby and blend in. Once again, Ray found himself fighting to survive. He was a proficient swimmer and covered the couple of miles as quickly as he was able. He knew that the Egyptians would be busy for a while as he heard the sounds of Israeli jets coming and going overhead. They would be busy for a while, but they would remember the downed Mirage and be in the water as soon as they were able. He didn't want to be there when they arrived. When he made it to a secluded place along the coast, he removed his floatation vest and hid it as best he could.

"Thanks a lot, MacGregor," he said aloud.

"Not a problem." The voice came out of nowhere. He looked around, but saw no one.

"What the hell?" Ray exclaimed. "Where are you?"

"I'm in a jet flying over the Med," MacGregor replied.

"How the hell are you talking to me, then?"

"There are lots of things that you don't understand about this still," MacGregor answered.

"I guess not," Ray said. "Have we been able to do this all along?"

"Yes," MacGregor answered.

"So why didn't we talk when I was a Sioux?"

"You weren't in much of a talking mood at that point, remember?"

"Okay, sure," Ray agreed. "But what about the wolf?"

"You were a wolf," he said. "You would never have thought of it."

"And when I was with King Richard?"

"You were pretty much in control of that one," he answered. "Besides, I sent someone to help you out on that one."

"Ah, yes, Alexia," he answered. His heart skipped a beat when he began to think of the dark eyes which had so completely penetrated into his heart. Again, he felt that deep empty ache of being apart from her. It was stupid and he knew it. He had only seen her for a brief moment. He had only heard her musical voice at one time. Still, he felt the ache and he rubbed his chest.

"Are you ready to see her again?" MacGregor asked.

"Yes, sure, can you?" he stumbled through the barrage of words. It wasn't exactly what he was expecting, but then again, what could you expect when you traveled through space and time at the whim of a crazy Scotsman?

"She is waiting for you not more than a hundred yards inland from the coast," MacGregor said. "She will get you into hiding and help you make it out of Egypt. A sort of Exodus, if you will." MacGregor chuckled at his own cleverness.

"So, will we be able to talk whenever I want from now on?" Ray asked.

"You won't need to talk to me once you are with Alexia," he answered. "There isn't really much point in it actually. Why Ray, are you missing my company already?" He chuckled again. "It was only yesterday that you didn't want to talk to me at all."

"Thousands of Sidhe," Ray muttered sarcastically. "And I get the smart-aleck one." He started up off of the beach staying low and moving slowly as he watched his surroundings for any sign of patrols. He knew that they were still busy as he looked up at the sorties of Israeli bombers coming and going from their raids on Egyptian air-defenses. He knew that time was critical for him though so he moved cautiously, yet quickly. He had reached a low wall and slipped behind it.

"Hello Ray," she said simply. "You found me."

"Alexia," he said. He knew it was her in the instant he heard her voice. His heart leapt inside of him. It was a strange mix of feelings. He had contentment mixed with excitement even while he was locked in the anxious struggle of survival. The mix of human emotions could be a little confusing at times and for a short moment, he envied the simplicity of the wolf.

"We must not speak and we must hurry." She ordered, turning as she spoke. "I have a place where you will be safe for a little while."

Ray fell in behind her as she wove her way through alleys and openings that were no more than cracks in the wall. She was graceful and she moved with a swiftness that reminded him of a small bird. He felt like he was lumbering along behind her like a large bear. He was certain that the noise he was making would give them away.

They moved swiftly through another alley. They reached a door which she opened and they slipped into a small room. "There are clothes in that room." She indicated a curtained doorway. "Change into those rapidly and leave your flight-suit behind. Hurry, this is not the safe place, but you must be rid of those clothes."

He slipped behind the curtain and saw the clothes on a small stool laid out for him. He slipped out of the flight-suit and into the clothes while she continued to instruct him from behind the curtain.

"We will be out in the street like normal civilians," she said. "Relax and walk along with me as though we are a couple. Your best chance for survival is to appear to be a normal part of the daily life of the city. If you draw attention to yourself, then you will be discovered. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly." He answered. He sat on the stool and slipped the shoes onto his feet. "What will happen with the flight-suit?"

"Someone will come get it and they will burn it," she said. "It is critical that you completely disappear."

"Aren't I sort of immune to being killed or something like that?" he asked. "I am from another world really and I can be transported from one place to another. Why can't MacGregor just send me back to my real world and avoid all of this hassle?"

"There are clearly many things that you don't understand about this." She answered. "Now, act normal and try to relax. This is something that you can handle with ease."

He stepped from behind the curtain dressed in the civilian clothes. She looked up at him and their eyes locked with each other for a moment. There was a fleeting feeling that rushed through him which told him that he had known her forever and that she was that thing which filled the empty place in his chest, the only salve that could take away the ache that was deep inside. She took his hand and started through the door and back out into the alley.

He lumbered along behind her until they came to a larger opening which brought them to a busy street. There were people crowded together and busy with whatever tasks people perform as they pass from one place to another. He and Alexia slipped in among them as though they were a couple on their way to the market, some other errand, or returning to their home. None of the others paid them any attention.

He was afraid that his presence would scream "Israeli" to every passerby, but no one seemed to even notice that he existed, nor did they lift an eye to take him in. It was in that moment that he understood the need for silence. He did not speak the Egyptian tongue and he would be immediately spotted if he spoke Hebrew or English. It was difficult for him not to speak though, because he was a gentleman and had been raised in a small town. It was normal for him to greet those that he met on the street. And whenever he bumped into people or needed to get around them, every part of his being wanted to say, "Excuse me or pardon me." But he was able to refrain from doing so and passed along the street as a part of the crowd until they came to another alley. Alexia guided him into the alley and then took up the lead again. He followed her through the twisting, turning maze of the passages and marveled at how anyone could find their way in that mess.

They finally arrived at another doorway which she opened, and they passed through it into a large room. There was a large woman standing over a stove and there was a skinny, frail man sitting by a table. "Come and sit," the man said in Hebrew. "Eat with us."

"Thank you," he replied. He was very hungry so he pulled out a chair and sat. He turned to see what Alexia was going to do and she was nowhere to be found. He wasn't sure how she did that, but it was likely some magical thing from the world of the Sidhe. He felt the ache of the emptiness again and would have lingered over it, but a plate of steaming food was placed before him. The smell of it caused him to dig into it like a man who has been without food for many days.

"It is good to have a hero of Israel at our table," the skinny man commented.

"I don't know how much of a hero I am," he replied. His response was muffled by a mouth full of food. "They shot me out of the sky."

"Yes, but they shot you after you destroyed your target, yes?" the man answered.

"Yes, I had first destroyed the target," he responded.

"Then you are a hero of Israel," he announced with an air of authority. Ray accepted what he said, though a part of him was very humbled by such a declaration. "And in a few short days, you will be back in Israel and ready to lead another attack."

"I hope so," he answered. "I would rather be fighting than running."

The man boomed with laughter. It was amazing that such a frail man should have such a commanding voice, but things weren't always what they appeared to be. The skinny old man only appeared old and frail because of the way he was dressed and the way he slumped over the table. As Ray spoke with him, the wig came off of his head and he was a young man again.

"I am Aaron and the woman by the stove is actually not a woman, but my partner Uriel," he spoke and waved his hand towards the woman at the stove. "We are Massad."

"Aaah, yes," Ray caught on quickly. "You are the intelligence link that provided the information for our strike this morning."

"We are, indeed," he replied. "The strike was a success then?"

"Our part of the strike appeared to be a success," Ray answered. He suddenly realized, perhaps too late, that he should not be sharing information so openly. This might be a setup. He didn't think so, because he didn't believe that Alexia would do that sort of thing to him, but he really didn't know much about Alexia either. He had seen her in two different "experiences", which added a great deal to her credibility. How many women can appear in the same general area roughly 400 years apart and not have some sort of credibility? "Do you have a rack? I'm pretty well wiped out."

"Yes," Aaron replied. "Come this way." He led Ray down a short hallway. At the end were three doors. There was a door on each side of the hall and one in the end of the hall. The door at the end of the hall was open, revealing a bathroom. "Shower and toilet are in there. And you can have this room all to yourself." He opened the door on the right of the hall. "The missus and I share the other room," he said. "Not at the same time, mind you. One of us is awake and on watch at all times."

"Would you like me to take a shift?" He grinned. "So you and the missus can have some alone time?"

"Not necessary," he laughed. "Our marriage is like most others, no sex. Get some rest. If we need you or there is a problem, we'll call. You are safe for the time being. But who knows how safe. There are too many people who will sell knowledge of something they saw for a little bit of silver."

"I appreciate it," Ray said. Aaron left him and closed the door. "Well, that was certainly interesting," he said aloud.

"Yes it was, wasn't it?" MacGregor's voice chimed in.

"So you're back," he said.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

"Not so much," Ray replied. "Tell me, who is Alexia?"

"She is Sidhe like me," he answered.

"I figured that one out on me own," Ray said. "Who is she?"

"That's really all I can tell you. Are you in love, Ray?"

"Aaah, it's just..." he cut it off. "I am just curious."

"You're in love, then," he asserted. "Sorry, can't help you."

"You're not much good as a spirit guide," Ray answered. "I think I'll take a little nap."

He lay back on the bed. His head was full of images of her large dark eyes, the thick black lashes, the way her soft lips made a little pink triangle. He thought of the way that her hair flowed down her back. And he remembered the smooth, flowing curves of her body. The sound of her voice was forever etched in his memory. Maybe he was in love, but what good would it do? How could you be in love with a spirit guide? Still, the ache that he felt when she was away and when he thought about her lingered on. He felt the emptiness and wondered about her as he drifted off to sleep.

Like before, his dreams were about the real world. They were of the real life that he had led; the joys, the heartaches, and the normal parts of everyday life. They were so real and so vivid that within his dream, he believed that he had returned to the shaded grove of aspens and was again lying in the grass. The wolf was not far away, stretched out in the grass and feeling the sun on his fur. He relaxed and forgot about the peril that he was in as an Israeli pilot who had been shot down behind enemy lines. His horses cropped grass nearby and the afternoon was passing in contentment when suddenly the wolf was standing above him. "David! David! Wake up!" He said. "We have a problem."

"Huh? What?" He muttered as he opened his eyes and came crashing back into the reality of his "experience". It was overwhelming. "Who's David?"

"Huh? David," Aaron was standing over him. "Are you okay?"

Ray was trying to clear his head. Things came rushing back to him suddenly. He was David. He was a pilot who had been shot down behind enemy lines. "What's wrong?"

"Some soldiers are coming," Aaron said. "We must hide. Hurry!"

His body and mind were still trying to come back to reality, but Aaron was tugging him along. They went into the bathroom and he stood for a moment looking at himself in the mirror. It was the first time he had seen himself in a mirror. It wasn't him at all. It must be the likeness of David. It was a strange experience. A person grows used to how they look in a mirror and to see the image of another person in the mirror when you are looking at yourself is something that takes some time getting used to. He didn't have any time to get used to it though. Aaron had knelt down and turned the knob that turns the water valve on the toilet on and off. When he stood back up, the floor under the toilet rose up and pivoted to the left, revealing an opening.

"Under there," Aaron instructed. "Hurry! We must not be caught."

Ray was too dazed and confused to argue. He slipped down the hole into complete darkness. Aaron was sliding down into the hole to join him. He clicked on a pen light, shined it on a handle on the wall and turned it. The floor slid back into place and they were closed in below.

"What about the missus?" Ray asked.

"He'll be okay," Aaron said. "He's pretty convincing as the matronly type."

"This little hiding spot is amazing," Ray admitted. "That little trick with the toilet is nothing short of incredible."

"They learned many things from the Holocaust," Aaron said. "Secret doors, false floors, and hiding places are nothing new."

Ray considered what he knew about the Holocaust. He knew plenty about it from history and from movies, but he did not know it the way those who lived through it had known it. He was wondering what it would have been like when he heard the sound of muffled voices and boots up above. He caught his breath and held it, his heart was pounding and he just knew that they would hear that as well. Aaron shined the pen light on his face, saw that he was holding his breath and then shined it on himself. He signaled to Ray to breathe normally. Ray didn't realize that gasping for air after holding one's breath was actually louder than just breathing normally.

He strained his ears to listen to the muffled words from above. The "missus" was pretty convincing or at least, seemed to be. The footsteps of several soldiers had made their way down the hall and checked the two rooms. One of them had gone into the bathroom and looked in the shower. His boots were silent above their heads. They heard the sound of him urinating in the toilet. Ray hoped that the toilet was not just a prop, but a real working toilet. The sound touched on his own urge to urinate. He wanted to curse. What a time for that to come along. The toilet above flushed, interrupting his thoughts. It was a working toilet and it was very kind of the soldier to flush. He heard the boots retreating out the door above and he sat in the darkness with Aaron in total silence.

Were they gone? Would they come back? Why were they just sitting there? He touched Aaron's arm. Aaron shined the light on his own face. With his lips he formed the word, "wait."

Ray tried to signal that the soldiers were gone, but received a shaking of the head as an answer. Could he not open the secret hole in the floor from below? Why did they have to sit in the dark under the floor? He needed to urinate and the urge was growing stronger by the second. Ray pulled on the arm of Aaron and directed the pen light toward his crotch. Aaron shined the light on his face and shook his head with a big grin. Ray pulled the light back onto his face and shook his head, then directed it toward his crotch and mimed his hand holding his penis and waved it back and forth like a watering hose. Aaron understood, but he formed the words, "wait", again.

They heard a brief, muffled scuffle above them, then a heavy thud. That sound was followed by someone dragging something heavy. Whatever was being dragged was being dragged right over their heads. They waited for a moment as it became silent above them again. Then a small motor began to hum and a crack of light appeared and then grew bigger as the toilet was raised again and they were able to scramble out of the hole.

Ray forgot about urinating when he saw the dead body of the Egyptian soldier lying on the bathroom floor. Aaron and Uriel unceremoniously pushed the body off into the hole that they had just left. "He sat down to wait," Uriel said, simply. "I had to wait until the right moment. The place has been compromised."

"How many other places do you think?" Aaron asked.

"It is hard to say," he replied.

Ray watched them as they discussed the next move. His nerves were on edge. He had been awakened out of a sleep which made him think that he was at home. He had been shoved through a hole under the toilet to hide. He had waited while he heard the boots of the enemy above his head. He had seen the dead soldier and the way the two of them casually shoved it into the hole and replaced the toilet, and now, from their conversation, he was gathering that the entire system of "safe houses" and the entire Massad network in Egypt could not be trusted. Fear and panic started to rise up in him, but he had faced them before. Rather than become weak with fear, it caused him to become stronger. "Then we must go," he said simply. "Find another place. Get me out of Egypt. Do something and do it now." His voice carried some authority.

The two Massad agents looked at him. They had not expected him to interrupt them. He was their charge to keep, not someone who would even consider giving them a directive. "I will need to make a call," Uriel said at last. "But he is correct, we must move him and we must do it now."

Uriel left and Aaron went back down the hall to the kitchen. The need to urinate came to him again and he took care of that issue, flushing the toilet and wondering how the mechanism worked. Everything about it appeared to look like a normal toilet. He wished that he could open it back up and examine it underneath. There had to be a way for it to connect and reconnect itself from the water and sewage lines. As he was pondering over the toilet, Uriel came back in. He could hear the two of them talking again and went down the hall to join them.

"It is dangerous, but we have to try it," Aaron was saying. "Our orders were to get him back to Israel at all costs. He is too great of an asset to lose and he knows the entire air defense system. If he fell into their hands..." He didn't want to even think of the consequences of such a blunder.

"Then we have to risk it," Uriel said. "Who will go?"

"I will go," Aaron said. "You will need to clear this place and lose your disguise."

"What about the unwanted guest?" He indicated toward the bathroom.

"Leave him," Aaron said. "There's no time. He will never be discovered."

Ray considered what had just been said. The man was already in his grave. What about his family? His family would never know what became of their son, their father, their husband or brother. "You can't leave him there," he said. "His family doesn't deserve that."

"What do you suggest that we do?" Aaron turned to look at him.

"I don't know," Ray said. "It's just... well, think of his family. They will need an answer. They will forever wonder what happened to him."

Aaron looked at his feet for a moment. He knew that Ray was right. Uriel seemed to think that something else should be done as well. "Fine, Uriel, take care of the soldier. I don't know what to do with him. Just use your best judgment and don't compromise us. We have to get moving."

They went through the door, leaving Uriel behind. Again, they moved through the maze of alleys and streets, staying out of sight as best they could. They saw a group of soldiers moving down the street and they ducked into a small darkened porch and waited until they passed. They were still looking for him. Did they know who he was or were they just looking for a downed pilot?

They moved on until they were once again back into a crowd of people on the street. They were doing their best to blend in and hide in plain sight. Aaron's eyes were always vigilant, seeing everything, knowing the faces of his enemies. Ray's eyes simply scanned the sea of faces without any recognition of threats or friends. He had to trust the training and skills of his guide. They again slipped out of the crowd and into another maze of alleys, porches, and doorways. They ducked into a dark alcove and slipped behind a crate which sat outside of a back door.

"I have to go check on the next place," Aaron said. "You stay right here and don't make a sound. Do not move until I come back. Do you understand? I will only be a moment. If I don't come back, stay here. Do not move until someone comes for you. Is that clear?"

Ray nodded. The suggestion that he might not come back was a little bit hard to swallow, but he had to trust his guide. He would be captured instantly if he attempted to go anywhere or do anything on his own.

"I will be back," Aaron said. He slipped off down the alley.

But Aaron never came back. Ray stayed hidden in the alcove behind the crate and stayed silent. He thought about talking to MacGregor, but didn't want to risk making any noise. Could MacGregor do anything about his current situation? Was he aware of it? What exactly was a spirit guide? What about Alexia? Could he talk to Alexia whenever he wanted? Suddenly, he had a collection of questions that he wanted to ask of them both, but he was afraid to speak out.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone coming down the alley. He assumed that it must be Aaron coming back for him. He watched the man turning into the alcove. He seemed to be searching. Then he spoke. "Ray?" he whispered. "Aaron sent me for you."

The fact that he had used the name Ray didn't register until he had stood to reveal himself. The recognition of the fact that Aaron only knew him as David came to his mind at the same moment that he saw the man. He knew those dark, hateful eyes instantly.

#

**Credits**

Written by

**Bil** **Howard**

Producer

**Christian** **Jorda**

Executive Producer

**Manja** **Haensel**

Technical Director

**Baljeet** **Singh** **Kalsi**

Music

**Johnny Lucas**

Editorial

**Kate** **Teng**

Project Co – Director

**Adam** **Azani**

Art Director

**Abner** **Dumandan** **Jr**

Marketing

**Liliya** **Dimitrova**

Customer Support

**Erin Bell**

Voice over

**Eric Saint John**

Production Management

**Christian** **Jorda**

**Manja** **Haensel**

**Adam** **Azani**
