"There," Sentinel whispered, "Just like I said, a story with you in it." Not meeting the eyes of the Shaman looking at him questioningly, he added, "Maybe next time you'll be able to stay awake for it."

PAST TO FUTURE

Cuddling the sleeping boy in his arms, Sentinel rose to carry him to Nursery, effortlessly finding his way through the thick darkness. Shaman watched him go, hardly able to take his eyes off the nearly perfect male body moving with such grace. Only when the shape of it was lost to the firelight did he turn back to the fire, smiling cheekily at the knowing looks directed his way.

So far Freedom Tribe had accepted his new role with their sentinel with much less suspicion that he had expected. From all that he knew about the relationship between tribe and guardian, they tended to be very protective and nurturing of each other, but, oddly, that wasn't the case with Freedom. They seemed to take their sentinel for granted, giving him no more thought or consideration than they would any other healthy fighter.

Their Cap'n was the exception. Even now he was glaring at Shaman as if about to Challenge him, and he wondered tiredly if it was the jealousy of a lover that he would have to deal with from the man. That would certainly explain why, other than the one incredibly sweet, chaste kiss they had shared the day they met, Sentinel had never so much as smiled at him with sexual interest. Let alone touched him like a lover.

That afternoon had been one of the most remarkable in a life filled with remarkable days. Shaman had meandered from one side of N'merica to the other, and even into S'merica during his travels. Dealing with the different tribes, holders, and even the ragged remnants of Ravagers had given him a broad understanding of his fellow humans. It was why he was a Shaman at such a young age, why he had survived those many, many miles.

But for all that, he was baffled by the Sentinel he had promised to guide for a time, bemused by the tribe, and somehow unwittingly at odds with the Cap'n. Meeting the eyes of the subject of his thoughts, hearing a snort of derision, Shaman suddenly came to a decision and rose to join the tall man on the other side of the fire.

The Cap'n tensed, but hid it well, sipping at his tea with realistic nonchalance. "Coming to tell me you've changed your mind about breaking camp with us tomorrow?" he asked sarcastically.

"Why would I do that?" Shaman replied mildly. "Unless, of course, you think I’ve noticed that you don't want me to, and hope I'll bow out to make it easier on us both."

Gripping his cup tightly, Cap'n shot back, "Isn't that what a Shaman does? Makes things easier for the tribe, keeps it happy and working smoothly?"

Surprised at the contempt in the other man's voice, Shaman studied him, then deliberately shrugged, as if not caring about the Cap'n's opinion of him or shaman in general. "That's part of it," he admitted easily. "But we are also Healers, Scholars, Historians, Storytellers, Teachers - whatever the tribe needs of us."

"Well *this* tribe doesn't need a Shaman; we haven't had one for several generations and it hasn't done us any harm at all," the Cap'n said firmly, as if expecting an argument. "Just like Jim doesn't need another *teacher.*" He told more than he probably intended with the use of Sentinel's given name, and it took most of Blair's training to keep his expression neutral at the revelation. "He needs a Guide, a real one who can do the job properly."

There was so much whirling through his head, it was hard to know which trail to take next, so Shaman carefully chose to touch on the one word that had been emphasized. "Another? How many teachers has Sentinel had?"

That pulled the Cap'n up short, and he sat up straighter, eyeing Shaman speculatively. "He doesn't like to talk about his background," the older man admitted grudgingly.

"I'd noticed," Shaman agreed dryly.

That earned him a snort of amusement, then the Cap'n surprisingly volunteered, "Simon, Jim's friend doesn't want to talk about him without his knowledge. But the Cap'n...." Trailing off, he looked into the darkness the way the Sentinel had gone, as if he could see the subject of their discussion. "The Cap'n knows you need to know as much as possible if you're going to be any help at all."

"It's...unusual," Blair encouraged as diplomatically as possible, "For a sentinel to be as old as Freedom's and *not* have a guide. They usually die young without one. Or go insane and have to be granted Mercy. Whoever his teachers were, they must have been extraordinary for him to survive."

Surprisingly the Cap'n shook his head. "No, Sentinel is the extraordinary one. He wasn't even born to a Tribe and still managed to make it somehow until he was brought to us."

"Not Tribe?" Shaman blurted. "Bard?" The last was a wild guess; usually even bards left their children with the tribe they lived with at the time of birth. Nomi, Blair's mother, had been a rare exception, and the agonized expression in her eyes the very few times he had asked why she'd kept him with her was the only straight answer he'd ever gotten from her.

"No, son of a Holder, if you can believe it," Cap'n said, unintentionally derailing Shaman's wool-gathering. He looked around furtively as if to see if anyone was listening, but the late hour had made the central fire deserted, and he settled himself comfortably, unconsciously taking on the air of a storyteller.

"When I was a boy, not even out of Nursery yet," he began a little awkwardly, "Our Range had a hard, hard year. From one winter to the next it stayed cold, so cold and stormy that there was no growing season at all. Food was hard to come by, and Freedom had to change camps constantly to keep from using up our resources.

"Joel, our Cap'n then, decided to approach the Elson Hold, which is a few days march from the southern-most part of our Range. That area hasn't been kind to Tribes - no one claims it right now - but the Elson Clan has been doing well there for some generations. We had some excess wool from the wild sheep grazing in upper pastures and thought we could trade the warm stuff for any excess food the Hold might have. They depend more on hydro and hot houses than field growing, and usually have extra for trading.

"Cap'n came back with the food - and a young boy in tow.

"None of the people traveling with them knew how the Cap'n came to have a boy with him. Not even Jim knew why his father ordered him to leave with the Tribe. The *only* explanation any of us ever had were the bruises and whip marks Jim carried. The Cap'n refused to say anything at all."

"Oh, my," Blair breathed, not bothering to hide his shock. Only Ravagers beat their children, and even they wouldn't put up with an adult who was too severe. Bad enough for a child to adjust to a new Tribe when they Transitioned and were ready to find a new family. But to go to strangers who didn't even have the same customs, already irrevocably different - his heart ached for the child Sentinel had been.

They watched the fire at its eternal dance for a few moments, then Shaman asked, "Who was his first Teacher in the tribe, then?"

"In the beginning," the Cap'n said sorrowfully, "No one. We didn't know he was a sentinel."

"What!"

"You heard me."

"That's not...I mean...I *never*..." Shaman sputtered to a stop, not wanting to sound any more foolish than he already did.

"Joel may have suspected it," the Cap'n went on unperturbedly, undoubtedly expecting the reaction he'd gotten. "He pulled me aside Jim's very first day with us and asked me to take him under my wing. Keep the other kids from making things too hard on him, hold the teasing down to a minimum. You know the sort of thing I'm talking about."

Indeed, Shaman knew all too well the sorts of pranks and petty aggravations that the young of any tribe would treat newcomers to. Too many nights of his youth had been spent anticipating and deflecting just that sort of treatment. But all he said was, "Children act like children precisely because they are too young to understand how they should behave." The Cap'n's exasperated grunt in response made him smile inwardly; that had often been his own reaction to that statement.

"Yeah, half the work of parenting is really just civilizing savages," the big man rumbled. "At the time I thought the Cap'n was being kind to someone who had enough abuse, but later I wondered if he wasn't trying to spare someone who's senses couldn't handle too much without causing serious pain. Back then, though, I did it because the Cap'n asked, and because I had my own opinions about how to treat newcomers."

Leaning forward to stir the embers of the fire, Freedom's current captain murmured, "Earned me a life-long friend." To Shaman he said, "It wasn't until we reached shelter and Joel had Jim tested that anyone knew he was a sentinel. He was that good at hiding his true self, and still is for that matter.

"Well, like I said, we didn't have anyone who could train a sentinel. Best that could be done was to give him the Sandburg Journals to read and keep an eye on him for zone outs."

//That's what you think,// Blair reflected privately. //A Cap'n who saw a hidden sentinel, who became a Teacher when another was old enough to take his place? Like I said, a Shaman is what whatever the Tribe needs him to be. Apparently even a Cap'n.//

Aloud he asked, "If I'm not breaking too many taboos here, could I know who Sentinel Transitioned with? Sometimes the instinct to find a Guide will show in the choice of lovers. Perhaps whoever that person was unintentionally helped; I'll need to talk to him or her to see how deep the connection goes."

Just like that the Cap'n shut down completely, and Shaman knew without rhyme or reason, that a friend was all that Sentinel had been willing to be for the other man, and he had learned to call that his choice as well. His hunch was partly confirmed when Cap'n said flatly, "He chose not to Transition; or is that a variation on custom you haven't heard of?"

Standing and emptying his cup into the fire, positive nothing else useful would be forthcoming tonight, Shaman answered mildly, "It's not common, but of course there are always young people who prefer to slip into adult hood quietly, with no ritual. Doesn't surprise me at all that Jim was the same way." His use of birth name was deliberate. Friends or not, he couldn't be in constant opposition with the person who had the most influence with Jim if he was going to be of any use to Sentinel at all during their time together. A subtle reminder that he had a place, a necessary place, was needed for the Cap'n, whether he liked it or not.

The sour look shot his way told him that it wasn't liked, but the Cap'n said nothing, his silence a mute acceptance of Shaman's role. For now.

With a brief wave goodnight, he made his way to his own tent, curling into the bedding gratefully. Tomorrow the Gathering would be done, with everyone breaking camp to begin their cycle through their territory anew. If Freedom was typical, it would take nearly a year to reach the opposite side from where they were currently, then about a month to trek inward toward their shelter for their annual visit.

For Blair it was as exciting a prospect as it had been the first time he'd been allowed in a Shelter, and despite the time it would take to actually arrive, he was already eagerly anticipating it. Though he didn't lightly dismiss the difficulties involved in trying to fulfill his promise to Jim, he was willing to put up with a great deal more than a silent, reclusive Sentinel and an antagonistic Cap'n for a chance to read the Sandburg Journals.

As both Shaman and Guide, the man was legendary, almost a myth, and Blair couldn't help but wonder if the journals really *were* the private musings the First among Shaman, or if they were some kind of fake. If it was the latter, it could perhaps explain the odd attitude the other members of the Tribe directed toward Sentinel. They would have no idea of what one really was or what he could do if the journals were false. Then Blair would be faced with the difficult decision of whether or not to prove they were forgeries, and try to undo the damage they'd caused.

A lot would depend on how well they accepted *him* over the next year or so, and if they always treated their sentinel with the kind of casual disregard he'd seen so far. Perhaps once they were back on the move and needed his services, Freedom would revert to a more normal respect. Perhaps Jim was more restrained and controlled when surrounded by the chaos of a Gather, especially with no Guide to help him stay focused. //Perhaps,// he thought sleepily, //I'll wake with blue skin and auburn eyes. Far more likely than the mystery of these people solving itself so readily. Nothing to do but wait for tomorrow and see.//

The next morning he sat in the crook of an old grandfather of a tree, not too far from the Gather, and watched it slowly dissolve into a track of flattened grasses and dusty bare spots. In a month's time, even this much evidence of the presence of so many people would be gone, and Shaman nodded to himself in satisfaction. That was how it should be.

//Pity the young people have to decide *before* Breaking Camp who to make their new tribe,// he mused. //You can tell a lot about a people by how they prepare to travel. Are they bickering, moving slowly? Are they cooperative? Efficient? Too efficient?// His own small preparations were long finished; he'd awakened with the first light and had been too filled with the restless expectations of a new journey to be able to sleep any longer. Most of the others had been in the same boat, and he's spent a good part of the morning calming and soothing small ones, keeping them occupied while other adults with more demanding duties bustled about. Eventually the last child had been claimed, though, and he had retreated up here with his breakfast of dried fruit to idly observe and speculate until the good-byes were done.

A few feet above him, on a makeshift platform constructed for just that purpose, Sentinel stood guard, though it was nearly only a formality. Shaman suspected it was really to spare the man the unavoidable chaos of so many people milling about frantically. Whatever reason, it served Shaman's own, and he glanced upward at his charge, wondering how to broach the topic they needed to discuss before it was too late for either of them to change their minds.

Sentinel seemed oblivious to him, and *that* was what they had to work out before Shaman committed himself to ranging with Freedom Tribe. Though he didn't understand why the bigger man had chosen to retreat from a physical relationship with him, Shaman couldn't and wouldn't make an issue of it. That startling hum of recognition Blair had felt when Jim's lips touched his so gently could have just been a residue from talking the man down from the worst overload he could have ever imagined. And Jim had been so exhausted from it that he had curled up against Blair and fallen asleep almost instantly. Surely if there had been...more... between them, Jim would have wanted to at least kiss again in affirmation and promise. But Sentinel had awakened from that nap briskly grateful for Shaman's assistance, and had so little conversation or contact with him since they might have been a rock and a reed sharing a small space on a river: forever connected by the rushing water and eternally separated by what they were.

The self-pity and loneliness in that thought was both detestable and startling, and Shaman pushed it away, suddenly determined to confront Sentinel. They had to spend time together, live side by side as intimately as Mates, if he was going to guide. If they weren't at least friends, it was a waste of effort for both of them. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have the other man beat him to it.

"Trouble," he grunted, climbing down.

Automatically following, Shaman asked, "What kind?"

Head cocked for listening, Sentinel answered hesitantly, "Lost child?" He headed for the temporary Shelter in the center of the clearing at a fast trot. "Kylie of Tangle," he added more assertively. "Hair the color of a raven's wing? About 4 or so, constantly dragging a hide around, and as curious as a crow?"

Remembering amber eyes laughing up at him as he showed him how to play cat's cradle, Shaman nodded. "The hide is his blankie - Kylie strays all the time, attracted by one thing or another. His Nannies have been ready to just about tear their hair out trying to keep track of him."

"They'll be bald over this, then," Sentinel said grimly. With the camp nearly gone, there's no place for him to be hiding, and they still can't find him. Means he has to have gone into the woods; the Leaders are organizing searching parties."

"How long has he been missing?" Shaman asked thoughtfully. "Small as he is, he won't have been able to get too far without getting tired. We should be able to find him in no time."

"Provided one of the big cats or wild dog packs we've been guarding against doesn't get him first," Sentinel snapped. "Dammit, I should have seen him wandering off!"

That pulled Shaman up short in his musings, and he snapped back, "You're not an infallible spirit of some sort! No one is to blame. It's literally impossible to watch children every single second, and they have a built-in instinct to tell them when adults are distracted!"

Not answering, Sentinel stopped at edge of the crowd gathered around the Leaders, catching his Cap'n's eye over everyone's head. The head of Freedom made a patting motion, stay there, then went back to setting out a search pattern that would cover the most ground as fast as possible. Not particularly surprised that he commanded the other Leaders, Shaman nodded to himself at the precision in which they worked and waited to be told which party he was in.

It took most of his self-control not to shout in protest when the Cap'n finished, "Sentinel, we still need a sentry for the campsite. You go back to your post and take that Shaman with you; he can come back here to give the signal if you See anything the searchers can use."

"Yes, sir." Without another word, Sentinel trotted off to do as he was told, with only the straight lines of his back and shoulders to tell how hurt he was at the implied failure at his duties.

Seething, telling himself that no wonder the man had blamed himself, he'd only been anticipating his leader's reaction, Shaman did the same. His obedience only lasted until they were back at their tree; then he skidded to a halt in front of Sentinel, putting out a hand to halt him. "Wait. I want you to try something first, okay?"

Obviously annoyed, Sentinel stopped, jaw muscle jumping frenetically. "What?"

Not daunted by the hostile tone, Shaman said earnestly, "Look, you know Kylie well, right? Not just how he looks, but the sound of him, his scent, everything. And don't tell me that you don't; putting all the sense pieces together to make up the sensory signature of someone is second nature to *all* humans. You *have* to have a deeper impression than anyone else simply because of who you are."

"I wasn't going to deny it."

Hoping that he wasn't imagining the trace of curiosity under the tone, Shaman said urgently. "So use that. Call it up in your mind, especially scent and sound. More than likely Kylie isn't in sight; even your vision doesn't go through trees!. But scent can carry a long, long way."

"There are far too many odors and too many trifling breezes for me to be able to scent him. Why else do you think the Cap'n didn't try that already? Useless effort and risk of a zone when I could be used here."

Not sure who he wanted to smack more - the Cap'n for disregarding Sentinel's abilities or the sentinel for putting up with it - Shaman said stubbornly, "You're not just using scent; you're using sound too, mixing them together to give you more than one reference point. Finding a flat rock in a stream bed is hard, or a black rock in the same place, but a flat, black one will practically jump out at you."

Not looking convinced, Sentinel took in a slow, deliberate breath, then closed his eyes to sort through what Smell was telling him, comparing it with Hearing. His features very quickly showed the abstraction of deep concentration, and Shaman brought up his hands to clasp the other man's upper arms. "Think about Kylie," he coaxed softly. "Think about his clean, little boy smell, think about giggles and chuckles and happy noises while he's looking at flower or chasing a lizard."

"No," Sentinel said slowly. "Not happy. I can smell fear, little boy fear, little boy tears." Suddenly his eyes shot open, and he began running at top speed toward the roughest, thickest part of the local forest. "And I smell rabies!"

Digging into his will, Shaman kept up with the longer legs of his companion, though he was gasping by the time they reached a dark, uninviting dip between two hillocks. In the center of it a raccoon chittered angrily and clawed at the outside of a rotting stump, occasionally scurrying to a different side, snarling angrily. Over that Shaman could barely hear a child crying, sobbing quietly for Nana. For a moment he was mystified as to how Kylie could be inside the stump, then he saw a patch of leather jammed in a crack in the wood with dirt trapped around it. Blankie had accidentally kept the boy from being followed into the stump by the raccoon.

Eyeing the animal's odd behavior, Shaman panted softly, "Sure... rabid?"

"Give me another reason a raccoon would be out and around this time of day, let alone standing its ground when two adult humans come running at it," he whispered. Cautiously, taking out his blow dart gun, Sentinel crept to one side of the beast to be able to get a clear shot. Distracted by its wrath at Kylie for whatever reason its tiny mind had created, the raccoon never even noticed the danger until the sting of the dart made it shriek in rage. It turned to charge, abruptly aware of another predator too close, but they were both ready for that and sprang in opposite directions.

Giving chase, it darted after Shaman, but turning its back on Sentinel was a mistake. The moment it did the big man clubbed it with a handy dead branch, shattering the rotting wood with the force of his blow. With a murmured apology to it for its death, Sentinel pushed the corpse to one side so that the child couldn't see it, and knelt in front of the gap in the stump.

"Kylie, Nanny is looking for you," he called quietly. "I think you'd better hurry; there was some honey comb left over from breakfast and she's trying to save you a piece."

The sobbing continued for several more minutes while they both calmly coaxed, but it slowed, then Shaman heard, "Nnama? 'ony comb?"

"That's right," Sentinel promised. "Honey comb." Sure now that the boy would know it was him and not the raccoon, he pushed away the hide and reached out to scoop Kylie up as he crawled out of his refuge. "Bad 'coon, senman," he said indignantly. "Bad." Trouble already forgotten he beamed at Shaman. "Hi Shaman. Got 'ony comb?"

"No, Nanny does," Shaman said, wiping away tear streaks from the child's face and noisily kissing the end of his nose. "Guess we'd better find her, huh?"

"Finder, finder," Kylie giggled, and Shaman kept him distracted and laughing while Jim pulled out the rocket flare to tell the others the child had been found. Despite that, the 'boom' made Kylie jump, and he gave Sentinel an offended pout until he was tickled back into merriment.

They carried the laughing youngster back into the Gather camp, attracting a largish crowd as everyone came in from their own search to see for themselves Kylie was safe. The boy loved it, crowing and chortling at all the attention, but Shaman saw his partner growing paler and paler, jaw tight with unspoken tension. A clap of congratulation from Tangle's Leader sent a tremor through the taut frame, known only to Shaman because he stood so close. Squirming around until he was facing their Cap'n, he stretched up, depending on habit to cause the taller man to lower his head toward him.

"I think this is too much for Sentinel," he muttered confidingly. "He had his senses wide open to search for Kylie, and hasn't really had a chance to get back to normal. I'm going to take him aside; if you have to, start the day's march without us. We can catch up."

Not looking very happy, but not willing to make an issue of it in front of outsiders, the Cap'n nodded shortly. A minute later he eased Kylie out of Sentinel's arms. "I think this young man has had quiet enough excitement," he announced clearly.

"Ony comb?" Kylie asked excitedly. "Ony comb?"

Everyone laughed, and Shaman took advantage of their momentary distraction to steer Sentinel away. The big man was barely keeping himself upright, and he stared into the distance blankly, not noticing where he was being led. In short order they were back at the tree they had started the morning at, but this time on the other side where the branches swung low, heavy with concealing leaves.

Releasing his grip, Shaman turned to study his charge, not sure how to help. Sentinel stood rigidly, eyes closed now, but his trembling had increased, and worried that he might collapse, Shaman put his hands flat on the broad shoulders and pressed down. "Sit!" he ordered gently. "Sit, before you fall."

Thankfully Sentinel folded, going to his knees and sitting on his heels, fists digging into his upper thighs. Kneeling between his legs, Shaman leaned in close, fingers petting the smooth skin under them, and murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice, "It's okay, it's okay. Too many noises, too much movement, over-powering stink - treat it like the wind, Jim. Let it flow by, be touched by it, but then it's gone. Let it go, Jim, let it go."

There was a tiny grimace of pain, and Jim lifted up his hands as if to reach for something or catch it, but stopped before they were more than halfway.

Impulsively Blair fitted himself into the gap, letting his torso fill it. Fingers closed over his sides in a petal soft hold, and Jim dropped his head to Blair's shoulder, sighing gratefully. Most of the tension flowed away from him, and he mumbled an indistinct apology.

"Hush, hush," Blair crooned, daringly petting the short hair. "You've done nothing to be sorry for."

"I lost control." The words were a bare whisper of air, barely carrying to the other man's ear.

"Of course you did," Blair draped an arm across Jim's back, hugging him closer despite the awkward position. "First your senses were flung wide open, then you were plunged into a crowd - of course you had an overload. Sentinels aren't designed to take that kind of abuse; why do you think they have guides?"

Jim's answer was to drift his touch down to Blair's hips and back up again, barely making contact on the way. Not understanding the 'why' behind the tentative question in it, Blair nuzzled at the ear closest. "It's okay to want to touch me, too. If I'm going to guide you, you need to know my sensory signature, too; make it a part of you."

The shudder that rocked Jim frightened Blair, and he crooned wordless encouragement and approval until his companion turned his head to meet Blair's lips. There was no passion in the kiss; just a hesitant exploration made all the sweeter for its innocence. Blair opened to Jim, savoring his taste, relishing the slow sweep of sensation over his body. It robbed him of his bones, leaving him upright only through Jim's will. Chest, shoulders, hips, thighs, bottom, back - even calves were given tender homage. All Blair could think of was how grateful he was that the day had been warm and, like Jim, all he wore was vest, breechcloth, and knife belt.

Amazingly, his manhood remained quiescent, as if that little head understood that there was no place for it in this chaste familiarity. This was only for connecting, for learning about each other, for being together in the most basic of all human interaction.

Blair would have given his soul for it to go on forever.

Eventually, though, Jim pulled away, looked every bit as dazed as Blair felt. "We should catch up with the others before they get too far ahead," he said absently.

"Yeah, we should." Blair made no effort to move and neither did Jim.

Instead he cautiously burrowed his long fingers into the hair at the nape of Blair's neck, massaging at the firm muscles there. The rapt pleasure on his face caused the first frisson of desire to tumble through Blair's middle, and he offered his mouth, this time wanting to taste the same on Jim's lips.

But he drew them both to their feet, hands leaving with a last, lingering brush over Blair's throat. "We need to leave, " he said, and the regret in his tone was the only reason Blair nodded in agreement.

Without a word they went to gather their things and follow the Freedom Tribe's trail, traveling in silence most of the way. But it was a good silence that wove in and around them, strengthening the fragile thing growing between them. Blair was actually disappointed to see the trailing edge of the line, and he wound an arm around Jim's waist for a last squeeze before they were spotted.

"Sentinel! Sentinel!" a small girl laughed, and she hopped down from the shoulders she was riding to stumble toward them.

Putting on a burst of speed, Sentinel raced to get to her, snatching her up and giving her a twirl in the air before cuddling her in his arms. "Tarey, Tarey... miss me?" he chuckled.

She slapped at the top of his head gently, fondly, and answered very seriously. "I was worried about you!" She peered over at Shaman as he drew even with them. "Did you take good care of him?" she demanded imperiously.

"As best he would let me," Blair said solemnly, hiding his amusement deeply from perceptive green eyes.

Tarey tilted her head sideways, considering if she was being teased, then said with a tiny smile ducking around the corners of her mouth, "Stubborn isn't he?"

"Never met anybody more so. But that's a good thing in a sentinel."

"Only if his guide is *more* stubborn," Tarey retorted seriously.

So seriously Shaman looked at her more closely, realizing that she was older than her slight form indicated. Her straight, brown hair was thin and lank, framing a face that was pinched with tiredness and pain. For all that, there was lively intelligence and good humor there too, and she grinned at him cheekily as she nestled into Sentinel's arms.

"I'll have to practice, then, I think," Blair grinned back.

"Not too much," Sentinel put in, fingers spreading over the frail chest, resting there lightly. "Word has it this shaman out-stubborned a Cap'n, once." He picked up a finger to bite at the tip of it playfully. "Of course, *you* could always give him pointers."

Tarey laughed, as did Shaman, and the three of them traded ideas on how to prove who was the most stubborn until she dreamily giggled herself to sleep.

"When he was sure she was out, Shaman asked, "Shouldn't a child this ill be in Shelter?"

Shrugging with his lips, Jim told him, "Tarey's older than she looks, Blair. But she won't get much older. One of her heart valves is faulty and will probably fail if she grows much more.

"She wanted to do a Gather, and Range with us like any other older child, and the Elders decided she was mature enough to make her own decisions.

"Nobody minds carrying her, she's such a joy to be around. And when the weather gets colder, a couple of us will take her to Shelter for the bad season. The memories she's making now will help all of us when her heart does fail."

Nodding his understanding, Blair tucked his hand in the crook of Jim's arm. "So you were listening to and feeling her heart beat when you first picked her up. That kiss to her fingertip was to see how warm and pink it was, to check her circulation. Between you and Huma, Freedom almost has a full-blown Physician."

"Better than being totally useless," Sentinel muttered, but he shook his head at himself in self-castigation. "I can't give her a new heart, though. Oh, the knowledge still exists in the books, and Surgeons do live in other tribes, but the feasibility of getting a viable heart from a donor and to Tarey is just beyond doing."

Their conversation wandered from there to all the other possibilities for Tarey, and Shaman let the moment of self-revelation from his new partner slide. It was the most personal comment Jim had made to him willingly, and he knew better than to push or nag, especially during the march. But it strengthened his resolve to not let Jim keep him at arms' length; the man was going to have to give, at least some.

What they had been able to accomplish today proved that he was right to do it that way. As for what happened after, under the tree - he longed for the simplicity of that moment and doubted he would ever know it again.

*****

True to his resolution, when Sentinel stood to leave the common fire that night, Shaman followed him as if he'd always had the right to do so and everyone knew it. That bit of bravado only lasted until the evening's gloom surrounded him, and he hurried after his companion, picking his way cautiously in the faint light.

Fortunately Shaman knew approximately where Sentinel was planning on sleeping - otherwise he might have gotten lost in the unfamiliar terrain. As it was, he all but fell over the big man, tangling himself in the blankets being unrolled and forcing Sentinel to jump up to steady him.

"Shaman, what's wrong - the camp... ?" Sentinel demanded, hands gentle for all the urgency in his question.

"Nothing's wrong. Except that I'm clumsy," Blair chuckled. "Sorry I startled you." He shrugged off the hold on him and knelt to undo his own sleeping roll. "Would you be more comfortable if I were on the left or right side of you?"

"Left or..." Sentinel mumbled, gawking at him. Then he collected his wits and said sharply, "What happened under the tree today wasn't an invitation to my bed, Shaman. Or are you just assuming that *because* you're a shaman you're welcome in anyone's?"

"Well, I usually am," Shaman said cheerfully, not bothered in the least by Sentinel's opening salvo. "Main reason I've never been forced to bully my way into one before. On the other hand, I've never quite met anyone as obsessed with privacy as you, either. Been trying to decide for days if it's part of being a sentinel or if you're just a pervert of some kind."

He stretched out on his blankets, glad the night air was cool enough to warrant a light covering. For all his apparent composure, he wouldn't be surprised if Sentinel bodily picked him up and tossed him out into the forest. The bedding, at least, gave his hands something to do to hide his nerves. Making a show of arranging himself, he fussed as if to find all the small pebbles likely to dig into him, ignoring the sputtering and fuming from a few feet away.

"I am not a pervert!" Sentinel snapped finally.

"Neither am I," Shaman answered calmly. "I'm a shaman trying to do what's best for his student. You need to learn me, Jim, bone and brain, like I told you earlier. My presence has to be such a normal part of your surroundings that the lack of it wakens your guardian instincts. That means keeping me close, not as far away from me as you can politely get."

Pacing a few steps back and forth, not looking at him, Jim demanded, "Why?"

Sighing, hoping that the half-truths he was about to tell would prove more honest than he thought, Blair said, "So I can become a constant for you. Look, if you had imprinted me on your senses before today, when you started to overload, you could have focused on me, used my scent, sound, whatever to hold away the rest of it. Listening to a song being sung at the fire instead of the storm crashing outside, understand?"

Reluctantly Jim came to stand in front of him. "Is that how you kept me from getting lost while I was looking for Kylie? Your touch, your voice - you were giving me a reference point so I wouldn't get disoriented by my senses?"

Blinking, not sure he understood the implications of what Jim was telling him, Blair said slowly, "Yes, something like that." Because he had to know, because it explained so much, he asked hesitantly, "How much control do you have?

With an air of self-disgust, Jim threw himself onto his bedding, putting a hand over his eyes, jaw muscle twitching. "Almost none," he admitted gruffly. "I've read the Sandburg Journals cover to cover twice, know all about the dials and the breathing, and the best, the *best* I'm able to do is to pick up on what's literally almost screaming at me."

The depth of failure under the words was heartbreaking to Blair, and he chose his next words very, very carefully. "So you have to take what comes at you, you can't say, decide to just See and only what you're looking for?"

"For the most part," Jim answered shortly. "The Journals don't say how First Sentinel held the dials in place while he calibrated one. That or I'm not understanding it when I read it."

Understanding finally why the Tribe didn't trust Sentinel's gifts, why they treated him with benign neglect, made Blair speak more bluntly than he meant. "The journals were written by the guide, not then sentinel, Jim. He may have never had reason to mention the whys of that to his shaman, so it would have never been recorded." An idea occurred to him, and he added, "Legend says that First Sentinel buried his gifts deep, living as a normal adult man, until just before he met his guide."

Jim nodded that was true, peeking out from under his forearm questioningly. "Well," Blair went on thoughtfully, "It could be that First Sentinel learned to do hold the dials in place on his own, way, way before First Shaman found him. I don't know how else he could have denied such an important part of himself for so long otherwise."

There was a long silence from his companion, and Blair wondered if he would speak again, when Jim finally murmured, "That makes sense." Then he rolled to his side, yanking his own blanket into place. "If you snore, I'll dump you in the stream."

Turning so that they were back to back, Blair grinned, but carefully kept his voice bland. "Never had any complaints." Inside he was already planning his next step toward healing the damaged, precious man.

With that end in mind, the next morning as the travel line was forming up, Shaman cheerfully inserted his own agenda into the Cap'n's daily instructions. He received an irate glare from the tall black man, and a tense, white-lipped one from his partner, but he and Sentinel took point that day.

It set the pattern of the rest of the hike to the next campsite within Freedom Range; inside of a few days everyone assumed that Sentinel would be scouting the Tribe's path. During that time of relative distance and quiet from the others, Shaman led him through exercises to teach him control, privately marveling at just how *much* Sentinel was capable of accomplishing. Though he'd never actually worked with a guardian before, he had thought he had a clear notion of how extensive their senses were.

Either he had underestimated them, or his was far, far more gifted than any other sentinel Shaman had encountered.

Half giddy on the marvels the man was accomplishing, content that they were making progress, not just with the training but with establishing the proper respect, Shaman glowed his way energetically through the two weeks march to Freedom's next camp. This part of the Freedom Range was rough, mountainous, but with a wide variety of herbs and plants he hadn't seen before, and the hunting was good, so the eating at the evening fire was tasty and interesting.

The company during the day was tense, argumentative, challenging, contrary, punctuated with a sly sense of humor that would sneak out unexpectedly, and occasional light brushes and taps. Shaman found himself looking forward to those rare quips and puns from Sentinel, cherishing the sight of the half-smile that came with it, waiting for the shy contact. It made the miles melt away and eased the frequent frustration that came from the arduous training.

And once the day's hike was done, if Sentinel made himself scarce - usually running an extra perimeter patrol - well, there was plenty of other company to be had. Pleasant, willing companionship came from the other members of the tribe, once it became clear that Shaman's relationship with Sentinel wasn't exclusive. Regardless of how enjoyable it was, when the fires were banked for the night, Blair always roused himself from his current lover and made his way to Sentinel's refuge. Often shivering from a quick wash to spare hyper senses, he would tuck himself into his blankets, murmur a 'good night' to the back turned stubbornly to him, and quickly drop off.

He never bothered to ask himself why he was so eager to go to sleep, to start the next day.

As good as it was, though, he, like the members of the tribe, looked forward to settling down into the season's camp for long stay. It would be very busy as they worked to build stores and repair lodges after the long absence, but there were a great many things that it would be easier to teach Sentinel if they weren't on the move. The heavy rain they were hammered with the last two days of their journey added to the enthusiasm for a good shelter and rest from the trail.

Because of that, he looked at where Sentinel was pointing out an alternate route, mid-day before they were supposed to arrive, and argued, "We're wet enough without risking a stream crossing. It's bound to be fast running from all the rain, and there's a chance of flash flood as well. That path," and he pointed to a broader track that was on the same side of the stream as themselves, "Is high enough to be above raising waters, and has fewer rocks. It won't be as slippery, either."

Shaking his head vehemently, Sentinel pointed to two good-sized trees at the edge of the place where he wanted to cross. "Several hunters can come ahead of the main body, chop those down and create a bridge. It'll be faster, and I'm sure I'd be able to hear a flash flood before it became a danger." He looked at the higher trail, scrubbing at the nape of his neck. "I don't like that way. There's something about it that's bothering me."

Almost, *almost,* Shaman dismissed those last muttered words as his partner being determined to get his way. But there was an underlying pain in them, an unspoken fear that made him ask gingerly, "Can you describe for me what you're feeling? Are you perceiving something that's different or unusual?"

"Not everything is about my damned senses, Shaman," the other man snapped. "Sometimes its just a life-time of experience with the same paths."

"With your senses always adding to it," Shaman retorted with bare patience. "Talk to me!"

With an abrupt movement Sentinel moved away from him, almost as if he were getting out of striking distance, and he knotted his hands into the straps of his pack. "There's a...a...weight at the back of my head, here." Long fingers cupped the offending area tenderly, as if it hurt. "And the hairs on my arms are standing straight up, like during a thunderstorm when the lightening strikes are close."

Eyeing the trail, not seeing anything ominous about it, Shaman thought about how casually others ignored Sentinel's gifts, and how, of all people, a guide should *listen.* Nodding, he shrugged off his pack and rain poncho, stooping to dig into a side pocket. "Have you ever used a flexible saw before?"

Something brightened in Sentinel's eyes, making Shaman's heart squeeze painfully, but all the taller man said was, "It would save a lot of time and trouble if the bridge was already in place, wouldn't it?"

By the time the front of the line had caught up with them, one tree was already down, having fallen almost exactly where it needed to be, and the other was creaking ominously. Looking absolutely furious, the Cap'n halted the tribe and stomped over to where Sentinel and Shaman were steadily, methodically working the wire saw through the trunk.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" he gritted out, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear."

"High trail...not...safe," Sentinel grunted, ignoring the rain streaming into his eyes. "Thought...get crossing ready...scout while Tribe went over."

"Not safe? How? What if *this* path is blocked further on? We'll waste daylight while you try to find another way."

Jaw tightening at the censure in his commander's tone, Sentinel answered blandly, "Can See all the way to next camp. Trail clear if rough."

"Almost done," Shaman added, panting. "No hold up worth talking about. Be crossed before through arguing about it."

Looking at the wide, clear trail arching gradually up the side of the hill, the Cap'n snapped, "Crossings are always risky, and I don't see anything wrong with the usual track."

A series of snaps and pops from the wood they were sawing told Shaman it was time to nudge the tree into falling properly. A nod from Sentinel said that his partner was in agreement, and they stood together, yanking the wire saw free.

"Do you always doubt the word of your point men?" Shaman put in before Sentinel had time to try to explain.

That pulled the Cap'n up short, a trace of self-doubt and embarrassment crossing his features. Unfortunately it only made him angrier. "It's the same doubt that's going to get dumped on me when I tell tired, hungry, cold people that we have to take the long way round. If I'm going to deal with that, you're going to give me an explanation I can live with."

In a sudden fury Sentinel put his shoulder to the trunk and shoved, putting back and thighs in it until every muscle was straining in outline. With a sharp crack it toppled, falling with a nearly human groan. It crashed, landing very near where it needed to be; it would only take a kick or two for it to be placed perfectly.

Whirling to face his Cap'n, Sentinel said quietly, urgently, "Simon, don't fight me on this! If you're worried about the others giving you a hard time, tell them Shaman insisted on it. They'll accept it then because they've got no reason to doubt him."

Whether it was being called by his given name, or Sentinel's abysmally low opinion of his standing with the Tribe, the Cap'n backed down, anger becoming confusion mixed with shame. "It's not," he started.

Then there was a strange noise, a strange vibration that moved from the soles of the feet to the soul of the body, waking ancient fears. A few hundred yards away, the hillside gave way at last to decade after decade of rain eating at its bedrock and the stream battering at its foundation. Weighed down by the heavy rains, it collapsed in on itself, starting a semi-liquid rush down toward the creek in a long delayed summons by the law of gravity.

Sentinel clapped his hands over his ears, and might have fallen to one knee if Shaman hadn't stepped close, clutching at his waist. Everyone watched in stupefied horror as part of the mountain disappeared, leaving a raw, gaping wound and filling the small valley with debris. There was a short moment of un-natural silence, then Sentinel shouted, "Move! Now! The stream's been dammed!"

He gave the Cap'n and Shaman a push toward the trees, then bent to hurriedly gather gear. "Tracker, Target!" he went on, "Get the children and nannies to the head of the line to cross first. You two, make sure this thing is stable."

Giving an all over shake, Tracker trotted off to do as he was told. Several fighters darted forward as ordered, axes in hand to clear branches for easier passage. The Cap'n was already doing the same thing on the other side, making sure they didn't block the path.

Seeing all that as he glanced back, Shaman trotted to the top of the first climb on their new route, looking over the damage the mudslide had done. Sentinel was right; the stream was completely blocked, and a small pond was rapidly rising. He eyed its growth warily, but despite the rain-swollen burden of the creek, it looked as if they would have enough time to get across.

A turn put him in position to see the clearing where Next Camp probably was. It really wasn't that far off; with the adrenaline rush of the near miss to speed them, he had no doubt that Freedom would practically fly there. Making a note to himself to go on ahead and make a huge, hot stew to greet the others with, he reached for his pack from Sentinel's out-stretched hand.

"We should destroy that blockage," the other man muttered. "Won't hold long and it's better to release the back up when we're ready for it, rather than have it rush down on us when we're unprepared."

"Can it wait a day or so?" Shaman asked quietly.

Blinking in surprise at being asked, Sentinel said consideringly, "That much, yes. More of the hill is going to come down first, I think."

"Then we'll talk about it around the fire tonight," Shaman said firmly. "Come on, I'm freezing and hungry. The others are going to be as bad; let's get the camp ready for them."

Sentinel didn't seem to pay any attention to that, making Shaman sigh. At least the other man was zoning now, after the danger was past. He started to touch a forearm to call him back, but his companion jerked away, taking a half-step back. "I was just memorizing the sound," he blurted, a hint of embarrassment coloring his ears. "So I'll recognize it if I hear it again."

Picking his footing carefully, Shaman began walking. "That's why you couldn't tell me what was wrong. Instinct said 'no, not that way' but you didn't have the experience to interpret the warning. Like, you'd probably know a twister was coming, but not know that it *was* a twister because you've never seen one before." He paused, "Have you?"

"Twister?"

They spent the rest of the hike talking about various weather that Shaman had run into on his travels, with Sentinel plainly not believing some of it.

Next Camp looked spooky in the twilight with its desolate lodges and air of neglect, and Shaman was glad to follow his companion to a store of dry wood and preserved food. Firelight helped to make it less gloomy, as did the lanterns they lit and the mouth fulls of food he snatched as he stirred up a pot of stew. The relief on the faces of the others as they trooped in did the rest, and he turned to Sentinel to share his smugness at doing the right thing, only to find himself alone.

Almost immediately he was swept up in a swirl of people wanting to thank him for the food, and for the save at the mudslide. Repeatedly, patiently, he tried to correct their misconception of his part in the day's events, but for some reason, no one *listened.* Finally in frustration and indignation, he slipped away, making his way without conscious thought toward the tiny fire over-looking the camp.

Tiredly he entered Sentinel's lookout, for once glad of Jim's obsession for being alone. It was more of a lean-to than lodge really, since it was opened completely on one side but was sheltered on all other sides by the heavy boughs of a stand of fir trees. That gave it privacy without impeding the view of the dwellings below, and for once Shaman was grateful to be hidden from curious eyes. Too upset to sit, he unpacked completely for the first time in months, finding places for his few belongings without thinking.

Sentinel watched him from one corner, wrapped in a dry blanket apparently left in storage at this camp, and sipping at a cup of warm tea. He seemed vaguely amused, though Shaman couldn't begin to guess by what.

At last he threw himself down on a pallet of dry grasses and straw, pulling off his damp clothes in increasing irritation. "How can you stand being treated like that?" he blurted unthinkingly, giving up on untying a soggy lace on his boot and trying to kick it off.

Unexpectedly Sentinel came to sit in front of him, taking the offending leather in hand and working at the knot with clever fingers. "They're right to mistrust me, my senses," he confessed, head down so his expression was hidden.

"Huh?"

Easing off the boot, he said, "Others have died because of me, Blair. They know that. They don't blame me, but you can't blame them for not wanting to believe in my abilities."

"What happened?" It was a very quiet question, large in the small space, but he couldn't have held it back even if it destroyed the rare moment of revelation.

Undoing the laces on the other shoe, Jim answered, "You know how young men can get restless, go scouting even when it isn't even strictly necessary? Or even just wandering."

"The ones who never get cured of it become Bards or Scholars, sometimes," he agreed blandly, hoping his partner would keep talking.

"Well, when that age hit me, I was at a Gather, and a bunch of us - eight in all - decided that maybe we should check out this unclaimed territory down C'fnia way, see if it could support a tribe. We told ourselves that between the five tribes at the Gather, there were plenty young people, even a few who could have Names in another tribe, who might be interested in starting a new one."

"Let me guess," Blair said dryly. "The Elders all thought it was a great idea."

Grinning, Jim looked up from the self-appointed task of drying his friend's feet with a scrap of hide. "Good way to get a gang of restless teens out from under foot and out actually accomplishing something useful. Made us all feel very grown-up and responsible, too."

"Better than having all that excess energy in the camp to channel off," he agreed, drawing his now warm foot up under him to keep it that way.

Jim's momentary humor died, and he sat back on his heels looking into the past. "I was so damned glad they asked me to go as Sentinel with them, so sure I'd find my guide on the way, that I actually did a pretty good job of it. We made it all the way down to the remains of that huge bridge, the Gadengay? Seemed like a good place to talk about turning back, most everybody was tired of roaming and thinking about their families and tribes. But a couple of didn't want to, and I was pulled both ways, wanting to get back but not wanting to give up searching yet."

Taking a deep breath as if to fortify himself, he went on. "We decided to camp on a beach for a couple of days, talk it out, do whatever the majority wanted. So we set up, feeling really smug about such a levelheaded decision. Then this storm hit, like nothing I'd ever heard of or seen in my life. I swear, I swear to you, Blair, that the wind could have picked up Simon and tossed him like he was an infant. We were above the tide, we thought we were, *I* thought we were, I could see the traces of how high it came in, even in bad weather."

Pausing, teeth clenched so tightly for a minute that it had to hurt, Jim made himself go on after a moment. "But we weren't, and the waves got us, so high, so powerful.... I have no idea how I survived, and I never found any trace of the others. If they made it, they never went back to their Tribes."

"My God," Blair whispered, aching for the man in front of him whose face showed self-loathing. And whose posture suggested that he expected more ha