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This story contains adult situations and explicit sexual content. No one under the age of 18 should be viewing this.

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A DISTANT SHORE: Pathfinder

Gabriel White Cloud woke at dawn as the sun began to drive away the morning chill. He shivered slightly, pulling the buffalo hide more tightly around himself even as he reached out to Snowbird. His hand only met emptiness. The spot she had occupied in his bed was empty, though the furs were still warm to the touch and her scent lingered.

Wrapping the hide around himself, he made his way out of the wickiup and to a nearby stream. Half-a-dozen of the Chimney Rocks people were already awake and bathing in the cold, swift moving current. Kneeling at the stream's edge, he took a handful of the fine, loose, dry sand he found there and began rubbing it through his fur, scrubbing vigorously wherever his fur was matted or clumped together. When he finished, he waded out into the stream to rinse.

Three more figures joined the bathers, unashamedly tossing aside their buffalo robes and duplicating Gabriel's actions. The wolf looked on, admiring Swift Arrow's daughters from a safe distance as they not only scrubbed themselves, but each other. Once finished, they too stepped out into the stream, playfully splashing water at each other. The youngest noticed Gabe floating in mid stream, pointed and whispered something to her sisters. The three of them giggled as they whispered back and forth, sharing some secret knowledge. No doubt, they had heard Snowbird and himself as they had made love last night.

The eldest daughter stood in the waist deep water and stretched, raising her arms languidly over her head, then reaching down to adjust the fur around her breasts, all the while smiling and winking at the wolf. The sound of an older male clearing his voice startled her and she turned to see her father standing on the shore, a thick buffalo hide wrapped around his shoulders. She quickly crossed her arms over her breasts and ducked back into the water. He gestured with his head towards the wickiup. "Go help your mothers with the morning meal."

The vixens immediately climbed ashore, gathered up their robes and headed back to their home. Swift Arrow gave his eldest daughter a quick swat on the rump as she passed, causing her to yipp, more in surprise than pain. The elder fox watched them go, smiling once he was certain they could no longer see him. He too scrubbed himself with sand and waded into the water, joining the Marshall in mid-stream.

"Thank the spirits I will soon have a son to teach the ways of the Wild. Raising three daughters has aged me beyond my years."

Gabe grinned. "It's the same on both sides of the river. Daughters are still daughters."

"Then we have much in common with the civilized folk." He looked at the wolf. "You must forgive my eldest. Morning Star was disappointed last night. She had wanted to show you the hospitality of my wickiup, but Snowbird was first to reach your bed." He grunted thoughtfully. "It is yet another portent. Before you arrived, Father Rain's daughter showed no interest in any of the males here, much to their sorrow. I do not know if she is aware of it, but she is the most highly sought after vixen in the village." He looked over at Gabe. "It is good you are leaving today. Our young bucks might be jealous enough to caused you trouble."

The wolf shook his head. "I am not one to brag about who I have shared my bed with.. How would they know of Snowbird and I?"

"A young maiden tends to glow with a inner beauty after she first shares a male's bed. Believe me, they will know."

The two furs climbed out of the stream wrapping their buffalo hides around themselves and walked back to the wickiup. The smell of roasting corn cakes and catfish filled the morning air, making the wolf's mouth water. Once inside, Gabe quickly dressed, substituting a pair of moccasins for his riding boots.

He joined Swift Arrow for the morning meal, and again the two sat in silence as they ate, savoring the simple flavor of their food.

"I had a dream last night," the chief said quietly after they finished eating. "In it, I saw myself standing on a bluff, watching the sunrise. From there I could see the Great River for miles in both directions. As the light broke upon the water, I beheld a large canoe, making its way up the river; all in white and belching fire. It turned and crossed over to the west bank of the river, just below where I stood. Where it touched the land, the trees and plants withered and died, the earth blackened and the waters turned red. The Spirits of the land wept tears of blood, and from their tears a great storm arose. The sky darkened in anger and the river rose, washing away all in its rage..."

The chieftain looked at the wolf, his eyes troubled. "The dream frightens me. I think I must share it with Father Rain when his spirit returns once more to us."

The Marshall sat quietly for a moment, an uncomfortable feeling creeping over him. There were too many easily identifiable images within Swift Arrow's dream for him to casually dismiss it. He looked at the fox, nodding. "That is wise. Such dreams, though frightening, serve a purpose. They allow us to watch for signs of approaching danger and prepare for, or prevent, disaster."

A smile returned to the chief's face. "You are clever beyond you years, friend-son. I wish you could stay longer so we might talk."

"Perhaps when I've completed my task I might visit again. Resting among your people calms and restores my spirit." He stood, gathering up his saddlebags and boots. "I have to seek out Snowbird before I leave. She's to point out the path I must take."

The chief stood, nodding and pointing to the door. "I think you will not have to look far." He walked outside with Gabriel. A small crowd had gathered in front of his wickiup. At the center stood the white-furred vixen. She wore buckskin moccasins, leggings, a breech cloth, a halter and vest. Her hair was done up in a single white braid that hung halfway to the base of her tail. She wore the headband and symbol of a tribal shaman.

In her hands she held the reins of not only the Marshall's two horses, but of a small Indian pony as well. Two large buffalo skin haversacks hung from her shoulders, their straps crossing in front and back. Two knives, one for skinning and one for fighting were strapped on her belt. Last, but not least, she wore a small quiver of arrows across her back to which was attached an unstrung bow.

Snowbird handed the reins to a young todd and approached Swift Arrow. She went down on one knee, bowing before him.

"Was this part of your vision last night?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied simply. "It is what the Earth spirit calls me to do."

The fox nodded. "Then go, my friend-daughter, and take with you our hope for a safe journey."

Gabe looked back and forth between both the chief and the vixen, studying their expressions. He knew at once there was no sense arguing the point. She would be traveling with him as his guide. He turned once more to the fox and nodded. They clasped each other's forearms in farewell.

"May the Earth spirit grant you a clear mind, a strong arm and a courageous heart. Use them wisely, and we will one day soon sit and share the pipe of hospitality."

"Thank-you, father-friend. I look forward to that day."

The white vixen stood, walking alongside the law-fur as he strode to his horse. He stopped, turning toward her and held out his hand. She responded by handing him her haversacks, one at a time. These he hung from the cross tree of the pack horse, lashing them down so they would not bounce. He tucked his leather boots into a cargo pack, then slung his saddlebags across his own mount and secured them before sliding a foot into the stirrup and settling into the saddle. Behind him Snowbird effortlessly swung herself up; sitting astride the blankets that covered her own horse's back.

The Marshall looked one final time at Swift Arrow then touched two fingers to the brim of his slouch hat in salute. He nudged his horse into a trot. Snowbird followed suit and within moments they had left the camp of Chimney Rocks behind them.

* * * *

Captain Lewis disliked personally involving himself in what he considered to be the work of subordinates, but the assembly of his militia company was progressing much too slowly. He had promised that all 90 of his men would be gathered and ready by dawn. Such was not the case At morning muster only 51 of his soldiers could be accounted for, forcing a postponement in their departure by a full day. Undoubtedly the delay was hurting his credibility with Colonel Collier. He knew the Senator, turned colonel, had more than enough influence to make or break a person's career. Lewis was determined that their association would see him wearing the insignia of a Major.

Most of his missing men resided along the riverfront where they found employment in the numerous stables, seamy saloons, cheap inns and decrepit warehouses that serviced the ever growing volume of river traffic. The town had started as a rough-hewn trading post near the junction of three major rivers flowing in from the East and Northeast. Its location, combined with the advent of the steamboat, had triggered an explosive growth. The outpost became a village, then a town. Trade brought wealth, which brought luxury to the frontier. Old log huts were replaced by newer wooden and brick buildings that wounding their way up the low hills bordering the river. The heart of the town moved inland, away from the now fetid and overlooked waterfront.

Leading a squad of eighteen men into the heart of this district, the captain ordered them to fan out by twos to find and collect as many of the company's soldiers as they could. An hour later they had rounded-up twenty-three of the missing militia furs. Most were still hung over from the previous night's debauchery. One pair of soldiers he'd dispatched however were late in returning. Taking four infantry furs with him, he sent the rest back to the barracks under the command of a corporal. He knew where he had sent the missing soldiers and he headed straightaway in that direction.

The inn they entered was quiet this early in the morning. Spotting a thin, ungroomed meerkat cleaning the common room. Captain Lewis inquired as to the whereabouts of the innkeeper. The fur pointed out back to the stables. With his men in tow the brown and gray stripped lynx marched out the back door and into the yard. There, standing next to the stable entrance, pulling on a jug of corn liquor was the innkeeper. .

The tall, thick chested bear smiled on seeing the officer. "Mornin' to you capt'n. Care for a drop to cut your teeth?" he asked, holding up the jug.

"No thank-you, Sergeant." he replied, looking at the black furred ursoid "Did you get the muster order last night?"

"Sorry sir," he answered. "I was at a slave auction on the docks when your order came. The messenger left word with one o' my tavern girls an' she forgot to say anythin' until ya sent Cutter and Phibbs to collect me."

"Where are Privates Cutter and Phibbs?"

The bear gestured with his head toward the barn. "Inside, sir. Helpin' me discipline the wench."

Captain Lewis went over to the barn door and stepped in. He quickly found his two missing soldiers. They were each holding onto one end of a very young, comely, if trifle-thin sevral wench. She was draped on her stomach across a barrel of ale. One soldier was vigorously thrusting his cock into her rear, holding her in place by tightly gripping her tail. The other had pinned her arms and was thrusting with equal vigor into her mouth. Her clothing had been removed and hung across the gate of a nearby horse stall. Silent tears flowed down her cheeks. She knew any outcry on her part would invite additional punishment.

In the dim light of the barn the lynx could see that the girl was a slave. She wore not only the heavy metal neckband that indicated her status, but two fifteen pound ankle weights as well. These not only made it hard for slaves to run very fast or far, but it also prevented them from trying to escape by swimming the Great River. Her back had been shaved clean of fur and was crisscrossed with fresh welts. This was a standard practice so all could see when a slave had been punished. Caning was the most often used discipline. Fur would have hidden the bruises. Obedient slaves could also be easily identified by simply examining their backs.

As the captain watched, Cutter suddenly stiffened his legs and hilted his cock in the girl's mouth. She gagged as thick, white streams of cum slowly dribbled from the corners of her mouth. The expression on the soldier's face was pure bliss. He let go of the wench and reached for her clothing, using it to wipe himself clean before buttoning his fly. Moments later Phibbs too finished, cleaning himself with the girl's clothing as well. The girl stood rather awkwardly, her head bowed and eyes downcast. The soldiers tossed her the dress which she put on, stains and all, then escorted her to the door. Spotting the captain they came stiffly to attention and saluted.

"Are you both quite finished?" he asked.

"Yes sir!" Cutter replied

"Good." He walked outside to address the innkeeper. "Wrap up what business you must here, Sergeant. I'll expect to see you, Cutter and Phibbs in barracks no later than noon. Understood? Oh! And if you happen to spot anyone else from the company wandering the streets, bring them along."

The innkeeper's manner changed as he too came to attention and saluted. "Yes, sir! Thank-you, sir!"

Captain Lewis turned and marched away, followed by his four soldiers.

* * * *

White Cloud and Snowbird traveled for several hours along a series of narrow paths, changing direction every time the vixen indicated another route. The trees surrounding them grew thicker, but did not encroach on the well worn trail. A warm breeze followed them and before long Gabe found it necessary to remove his jacket. The high days of summer were only a few weeks away. A time when life along the river would truly become uncomfortable as both temperature and humidity conspired against native and civilized fur alike.

Just before mid day they reached a shallow, slow moving river, one of several hundred tributaries that fed into the Great River. The trail had led them to a ford. The wolf examined the way before them, deciding the water was shallow and clear enough for them to traverse it with little risk. He nudged his mount forward and began to cross. The water was about three to three and a half feet deep and rose no higher than the horses' flanks. The crossing was easy and would have been uneventful had a small, non-poisonous water snake not decided to swim between the legs of Snowbird's mount.

The Indian pony responded instinctively, rearing high, bringing its front hooves down sharply on the offending creature then bucking. The snake, not surprisingly, managed to survive the unexpected onslaught, wending its way downstream. Snowbird did not fair as well. She landed in the water face first. Her pony raced for the safety of the far bank. The vixen pulled herself to her feet, unharmed by the accident but thoroughly soaked. She whistled sharply and the pony came to a stop.

Once he realized Snowbird was unharmed, Gabe couldn't help but laugh.. He reached the opposite bank and turned back, expecting to see the vixen wading soggily after him. Instead, she was searching the river bottom for something. Curious, the wolf quickly tied his horses to a convenient tree and slogged his way into the water to see what was wrong. He reached the vixen as she surfaced for air and turned towards him. Her mask had been knocked off by her fall and for the first time he saw her whole face.

Several pink-white scars ran across her brow from her hairline to just above her muzzle. Her right eye was the same ice-blue he'd first seen last night. The pupil of her left eye however was blood red. There was even more scarring around it, with one, long jagged mark that ran through her hairline and across the eyelid, ending above her cheek ruff. He stared for a moment, surprised, even as the vixen silently covered her left eye with her hand. Her expression was unreadable.

Without a word, the Marshall began helping her search the stream bed until at last his hand brushed against the thin metal of her mask. He picked it up, handing it to her and they both waded ashore. Finding a convenient tree branch, the two furs quickly stripped down to their breechcloths and hung their wet clothing out to dry. Snowbird went over to the pack horse and reached into one of her haversacks. From it she pulled out two hard corn cakes, one of which she tossed over to White Cloud.

Gabriel sat on a nearby stump and nibbled on the cake. The inside was filled with a delicious ground acorn paste spiced with herbs. He watched as the vixen sat cross-legged on a nearby rock and worked to fix the tie on her mask, all the while careful to keep her left eye closed.

Examining her in the light of day the wolf found little that was not pleasing to the eye. She was lithe, well-toned with a shapely rear and small, pert, apple-sized breasts. Her white fur caused her to stand out against the forest background as would snow in a field of green grass.

Finishing his mid-day meal, the wolf checked the clothes then went over to his mount, drew out his fighting knife and began to clean and oil it. Unlike the swords and knives of the civilized furs, the natives used a bronze weapon more like a short sword than a knife. Razor sharp along both edges, the blade was typically eighteen inches long and tapered along its length from three to two and a half wide before coming to a point. Spells were laid across it, adding to its sharpness and strength.

Stories held that a warrior with a true heart could hear the spirits sing within the blade. For many natives, their fighting knife was as important as their soul. Gabriel had known of warriors who, having lost or broken their knives, had stripped themselves naked and wandered into the Wild, never to be seen again. The strength of this tradition varied from tribe to tribe, but all respected the stories.

A shadow fell across the Marshall and he glanced up. Snowbird looked silently down, her mask once more in place and her attention focused on his fighting knife.

He handed it to her so she could have a better look. She took it, holding it with great care. "This was not made by any of the river tribes," she observed.

"It's steel," explained White Cloud, "A gift made for me by my father."

"He was a weaver of metal?"

"Yes. What the civilized furs call a blacksmith. When he lived among the Green Willow people he showed them how to improve the quality of their bronze. They shared that knowledge with all the river tribes.. He wanted to teach them how to forge steel, but found there were too few resources for that."

The vixen studied the fighting knife with even greater respect. Five native symbols had been carefully etched along the fuller on both sides: River, Mother, Father, Guardian and Balance/Justice, the last symbol representing both to the river people. She looked at the pommel and found the mark of the shaman who had laid spells upon the blade. She gasped in surprise. It was the mark of Father Rain!

"My father has not woven knife spells for more moons than anyone can count. How...?"

"It was a special gift granted to my father," Gabriel said. "A mark of friendship and respect for what he taught the river tribes."

Snowbird gently pressed her fingers against the symbols, tracing them along the knife's length, then she raised her hand to her mask. She lifted it, closed her right eye and studied the blade with her left. "There is power here," she whispered in awe. "The blade had been bound to the spirit of the Great River." She reverently passed the fighting knife back to the Marshall.

Gabe finished cleaning the knife and sheathed it once more. He looked at Snowbird who had once more pulled her mask into place. "Your eye. You can see the spirits with it, can't you. Spirits of the sky, of the tree and stream. You can even see into our souls." There was a long, silent pause, then Snowbird nodded.

"Most shamans study their whole lives to be able to see and walk with the spirits," she said. "I have had the gift since birth. That is why I wear the mask. When I look into both worlds at once I cannot always distinguish one from the other. It can be confusing and has sometimes caused me... problems."

"Your scars?" Gabe asked.

"No," she replied. "That happened when I was very young." The vixen walked over to the clothing and checked it. Satisfied, she tossed the wolf his shirt and buckskins, then began dressing herself. He followed suit.

"I don't remember much. I have some memories of a happy time, traveling with my family from someplace across a wide, blue-green sea... I remember something about a large city of gray stones far to the east... After that, things become confused... I don't know if what I see are memories or spirit visions."

"Swift Arrow said you wandered into their camp as a child, during a Spirit Walker ceremony. Do you remember that?"

"Only the way one remembers a long forgotten dream. I have vague images of my parent's trying to protect me... and of them being murdered... I hear the screaming of someone yelling that I was a demon... Some nights, when I wake-up, I can feel the knife as someone tries to carve my eye out. I think I bite him. I remember running, then falling or jumping into a river."

"You originally came from the East. Were your parents immigrants?"

"I don't know. A traveler through our village once said that white fur like mine is only found in the far north."

"So they were at least travelers from somewhere else."

She nodded. "I remember awakening on the western bank of the Great River. After that, I just wandered aimlessly; for days it seemed. I was sick and frightened and confused by the images I saw. I couldn't tell the real world from the spirit. I might have died if an owl had not guided me to the Chimney Rocks people."

"An owl?" the wolf asked.

"My spirit totem. It brought me to Father Rain and his people. I do remember the lights of a fire, then waking up feeling warm and safe in Father Rain's wickiup." She finished dressing and looked over at Gabe. "I was reborn that day. I don't know my old name anymore... I don't want to."

Snowbird walked over to her horse and took hold of the reins, mounting the pony in one swift, fluid movement. The wolf swung himself onto his own horse.

"Which way?"

"South, along this trail for half a day then east through Red Eagle's pass. Those you seek lie a day's ride beyond."

"That's oraac country," White Cloud said. "A mighty dangerous place to hide. You sure?"

The vixen just smiled, tapping the blind side of her mask. "An owl told me."

* * * *

By late afternoon nearly the whole company was mustered. Twelve members of the militia were ill and unfit for even a short campaign. Captain Lewis reassigned some of the soldiers, organizing the company into three platoons of twenty-six furs each. With himself, the colonel and three lieutenants, each commanding a platoon, his total strength came to eighty-three furs. Each platoon was given five pack horses apiece on which to carry extra food, equipment, spare parts, water and ammunition.

Over supper that evening the Colonel laid out their route of march. "I don't think Temple and his band would have tried passing through or near any of the major encampments. We won't either." The badger pointed to his map. It showed a fairly level plain several miles from the river. "Our troops will move through there. The natives of this region are part of the Black Hill tribe and are spread out in small farming outposts. They don't have any large encampment, so we should be able to easily surround and capture a few natives to see what they know."

"Begging the Colonel's pardon," one of the junior officers said.

Collier looked across the table at the fennec fox. "You are...?"

"Lieutenant Evers, sir," he offered "Word has it that Marshall White Cloud is already across the river and hunting for Roark Temple and your daughter. He might not appreciate our involvement."

"Does he have a posse with him?"

"Not that I've heard, sir."

"Well then." the Colonel said, "It sounds as if he could use our help."

To be continued...