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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: Beneath the World

The rain had started as the Marshall and Snowbird began their climb through Red Eagle's Pass. They had both smelled it coming on the wind even before the clouds had darkened and the winds picked up. Storms were not unusual in the weeks before the high days of summer, or for that matter during high summer itself. What was unusual was the strength of it. Snowbird especially had felt an abnormal intensity behind the storm, but had not thought it would impede their progress. She would have been right if not for the avalanche.

Gabriel White Cloud stared in frustration at the heavy pile of rock and shattered timber that had obliterated the path ahead. "This can't be more than a couple hours old," he observed as rivulets of water ran from the brim of his hat.

"At least we can be thankful we weren't under it when the mountain decided to give way," the vixen offered.

"There's that," the wolf responded as he watched a couple of small rocks bounce their way across the trail. "We shouldn't hang around here. This whole cliff face could be unstable." He looked over at Snowbird. "What about the north trail? Would it get us through?"

She shook her head. "It's too narrow to try in this weather. We'll have to wait until the storm spirits are at peace."

"How long will that take?"

"Half a day to a day at most. They are restless, but not angry."

"Well," Gabe shrugged, "no sense in standing out in the rain getting soaked. I saw a cave about half a mile back along the trail. We should check it out."

The two furs carefully turned their mounts around and began the slow trek back down the mountain path. Snowbird was now in the lead. The buffalo skin she'd wrapped around herself was doing a better job at keeping her dry than his slicker. This was twice in two days he'd found himself soaked, but it really couldn't be helped. One could hardly travel the Wild without at least some tolerance for being wet. It was one of several reasons he took care in the packing and arrangement of his supplies.

It took about forty minutes to backtrack along the trail, but they had no difficulty in finding the cave. It was really not much more than a wide crack in the rock wall, but it looked solid. Snowbird lifted her mask and peered at the entrance with her left eye. "I can see no animal spirits within nor sense their passing. It is safe." She dismounted and led her pony inside. Gabe scrambled down from his horse and carefully guided his mount and the packhorse through the opening and into a short passage. .

"For spirits' sake, girl. You shouldn't go wandering into a strange, dark place without at least trying to light your way." He came around a bend and the cave suddenly opened up. There stood the vixen at the center of the cavern. She was holding her right hand palm up. About three inches above her cupped hand floated a bright yellow flame. Shadows danced across the walls. She turned towards the Marshall.

"Careful of the rock..." The warning came too late. Gabe's foot collided with a large stone jutting from the cave floor. Had he been wearing his riding boots, it would have had little effect. Unfortunately, he had on a pair of moccasins.

"SHIT! OW, OW, OW!" The wolf began hopping around on one foot, cradling his mashed toes in both hands. He toppled sideways to the cave floor rocking back and forth. "SONNAVABITCH!"

The Marshall presented such a comical sight that Snowbird had to work to suppress a smile. She quietly padded across to him and held her light out while he pulled off his moccasin and examined his toes. Nothing had been broken, not even the skin but it still stung like hell. He watched as the vixen gently set the flame upon a nearby rock. It continued to burn even after she pulled her hand away."

"Cute trick," he muttered trying to distract himself from the pain.

"A simple spell," she replied, taking his foot in her hands and gently running her fingers across each of the toes, manipulating and massaging them. She then sharply pinched his foot in several places with her thumb and forefinger. With each pinch the pain dulled until it was almost nothing. Finishing, she stood and once more picked the flame up in her hand.

"Thanks," the wolf said, sliding his moccasin back on."

Stepping carefully across the cave floor, Gabriel began stripping down and drying off not only his own mount and pack horse, but the vixen's pony as well. By the time he finished Snowbird had a small campfire burning in the center of the cave. He wondered where she had found the dry kindling. Looking around he discovered a ledge along the back of the cave. Strewn across it were the abandoned remains of an oraac nest. The dried scraps of branches and twigs made an excellent fuel.

Snowbird saw the Marshall looking at the nest. "There is naught to worry about," she said. "No creature has occupied this cave for over two years."

"That's good to know. I'd hate to wake up in the middle of the night staring into the beak of one of those carnivore birds." Gabe took off his slicker and laid it out along the back ledge of the cave. The Marshall felt the inside of the coat and realized it was reasonably dry, but very cold to the touch. His clothes beneath were not nearly as wet as he'd first thought, so he decided to keep them on for the moment. He opened up one of his cargo bags, pulling out two sacks, one of coffee and another of sugar. He filled a small coffee boiler with water from his canteen, spooned in about five scoops of the powdered coffee and three of sugar, then set it on the open flame to boil.

The vixen wrinkled her muzzle. "I do not understand why you drink that awful stuff."

"Ever try it?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Then how do you know it's bad?"

"It smells horribly bitter."

"That's just the powder. It's pretty good if you cut it with some sugar." The Marshall flipped back the lid of the boiler and stirred the mixture. It didn't take long for the liquid to boil. He reached back into the cargo bag and pulled out some hardtack and jerky and a cup. He filled the tin cup with coffee and handed it and the food to Snowbird.

The vixen tried chewing on the small, hard, square biscuit with little luck. "What am I suppose to do with this, eat it or use it to kill something I can eat?"

"Soak it in the coffee for a minute, then try chewing on it."

She followed Gabe's directions, a rather skeptical look on her face. When the hardtack had absorbed about half the coffee in her cup she tried again with a lot more success. The sugar actually sweetened the hardtack some, making it and the coffee more palatable. "It's not too bad, though I'd still prefer fresh trout."

"Well," the Marshall said grinning, "spell up a stream in here and I'll happily oblige you."

The white vixen responded by sticking her tongue out at him."

They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Despite her original distrust, Snowbird finished her coffee, then held out her cup for more. Gabe gave her half of what was left then finishing the rest himself.

The rain outside began to come down even heavier than before. The wolf rinsed out the boiler and cups and repacked them. He cleaned out a spot on the rock ledge, then set out his bedroll and lay back, his head resting against his saddle and hat pulled down over his eyes. He was joined several minutes later by Snowbird who lay her own buffalo skin on the ground next to him and stretched out.

They dozed, side by side for some time before Gabe felt a hand carefully reach under his shirt and rub his belly, drawing small circles in his fur. The sensation was at first calming, but as the vixen completed each circle her hand slowly moved lower and lower on his belly until it was brushing against the top of his belt. The wolf could feel himself stiffening against the inside of his buckskin trousers. Still he did not move, curious to see how far the native girl would take things.

The hand stopped, resting itself lightly against his abdomen for several moments before reaching down to the belt and unbuckling it. The hand stopped again, then Gabe felt it gently working the buttons on the front flap of his trousers; first one, then two. As each was opened there was a tantalizing pause before the hand moved down to the next. By the time Snowbird had undone the fifth button the wolf was fully erect, his long, flesh colored rod extending a full seven inches from his sheath. The girl opened the last two buttons on his trouser flap then push both it and his breechcloth aside, fully exposing him

The Marshall felt Snowbird moving atop her furs and then a delicate, warm breath began blowing against his phallus, first against one side then the other. The vixen had not even touched his erection and it felt as if it would burst from the strain. Still the wolf did not move, sensing, he didn't quite know how, that the native girl wanted to be fully in control.

Gabe watched cautiously through slitted eyelids. Snowbird loosened her halter and breechcloth, setting both aside but keeping her own buckskin leggings and vest on. She continued blowing gently against him, then lifted herself across until she was poised above his staff, brushing it with the soft folds of her sex. He closed his eyes once more, feeling the wetness and the warmth of her petals as she tenderly stroked herself against him, pulling away, touching and pulling away again; like a butterfly, hesitantly fluttering above a flower.

This continued for a couple of minutes until the sensations began to feel like torture to the Marshall. He nearly moved his hands, tempted to grip the vixen's hips and thrust into her. Almost as if sensing his discomfort, she abruptly lowered herself onto him, sliding down his shaft inch by inch until she fully surrounded him. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it aside, then stretched herself out to lie fully atop Gabe, fur to fur, her nipples stiffening even as her small breasts flattened against his chest.

Snowbird rested her head against the wolf and began working the muscles of her sex, tightening then relaxing them in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Her eyes closed and she gripped two handfuls of Gabe's fur. She continued like this for several minutes. The wolf felt his knot expand, pushing at her walls tying them together. Her slow, vaginal massage was driving him crazy. Every instinct told him he should be thrusting into her, but he resisted the impulse, focusing instead on his breathing.

The tension between the two furs was almost palatable. Their breathing became short and irregular. Then, without warning, the vixen's whole body seemed to stiffen and violently tremor against the wolf. Her warm juices leaked out to drip against the wolf's furry sack. A low, undulating moan escaped through clenched teeth. Her sex clamped onto Gabe's rod, squeezing it as if it were in a fleshy vise.

The sensations were too much for the Marshall and he too began trembling in release, arching his back upward against Snowbird. His shaft pulsed and he exploded into her as wave upon wave of his seed flowed into the vixen. They both gasped. The wolf reached up with both arms encircling her back, pulling her in tightly against him.

The last wave passed and the two furs lay quietly against each other. Gabe slowly opened his eyes to see the native girl tenderly looking up at him with both eyes. At some point she had removed her mask and was now calmly studying his face. He smiled and gently scratched her behind her ears. She closed her eyes, her breathing relaxed and within moments she was fast asleep. The wolf soon followed suit.

Several hours passed. White Cloud woke to a sudden ominous feeling. Snowbird was no longer lying atop or next to him. Her furs were empty. He looked around in the dim light of the fire but could see no sign of her anywhere. He rebuttoned his trousers and rose from his blankets. The storm outside had lessened, but the Marshall could not imagine her going there, especially since her buffalo hide was still lying on the rock shelf. Then he felt it.

It was the tiniest pull, like someone plucking gently at his shirt, but he felt it in his mind. Moving in the direction it had come, he walked to the back of the cave and found an opening hidden in the shadows. He felt the pull again, more urgently this time. He sniffed. Snowbird had gone through here. He could just catch her scent from somewhere further down the passage. Going to his cargo packs the wolf retrieved a small hand held lantern, then armed himself. He hesitated for a moment about bringing his rifle. It would have limited use in a narrow tunnel, but he finally gave into instinct and scooped it up. Lighting the lantern, he gripped it by the handle on its back and stepped cautiously into the opening.

The passage, though dark, was not as low or narrow as Gabe first thought. He kept the lantern aimed slightly low so he could be sure of his footing. As he advanced, he felt the pull become stronger, more insistent. He picked up his pace, keeping his eyes open for any unexpected side passages, noting the changes in the air and new scents. Five minutes passed, then ten. The pull became stronger, the urgency greater. At one point he reached a three way junction in the passage. He stopped and sniffed the air. The vixen's scent came strongest from the left hand junction. The wolf plunged ahead.

About a minute later he thought he saw a soft glow. He shielded the lantern. Sure enough there was a soft flickering light, maybe fifty feet ahead and around a turn in the passage. It was accompanied by a low, heavy, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate the very walls of the passage. White Cloud slowed and advanced stealthily along the tunnel. In addition to the growling he could hear what sounded like something scratching against rock, something big!

The passage opened out into a large cavern, perhaps two hundred feet across or more. Tunnels and alcoves lined the walls. To one side he saw the source of the flickering light. A bright, yellow tongue of flame danced a few feet above the cave floor. In its light he could see a hulking creature, perhaps fifteen feet from head to tail covered with thick ridges of plate like bone. A dozen small, black, wicked eyes filled half its head. Its scaled jaws held triple rows of razor sharp teeth. Gabe recognized it immediately, not so much from experience as from campfire stories of old... a rock-hound!

The creatures lived deep within the earth, coming to the surface at night to feed. Legend said they were guardians of the Earth spirit. More practical tales referred to their ravenous hunger, viciousness and near invulnerability to knife and bow alike. They had not been seen in the lands of the River Tribes for almost three generations.

The creature growled again, scratching with long, steel-like claws at the rock face in front of it. In the flickering light he saw the flash of a bronze fighting knife, useless against the rock-hound's thickly-scaled paw.. Gabe could just make out the figure of Snowbird. The white vixen was cornered in a small, rocky alcove, unable to get by the beast, but safe for the moment. The wolf could see that the moment would not last much longer as the creatures claws continued carving deep grooves in the rock.

The Marshall stepped into the cavern, away from the relative safety of the passage and unlimbered his buffalo rifle, glad that he'd paid attention to his feelings. Stepping behind a chest high rock, he pulled out three of the heavy .50 cal. cartridges from a belt pouch and lined them up on the rock in front of him. He would only have time for three shots. If he was lucky they might be enough.

He rested the rifle against the rock, crouching so he could sight the barrel on his target. Opening the breech he slid the first cartridge in and locked the bolt in place. He aimed for the junction of the creature's head and body. He knew he couldn't hurt the rock-hound there, but it would get its attention. Instinctively he took half a breath, eased it out, then carefully squeezed the trigger. The rifle's boom shook the cavern.

The bullet's impact caused the creature to stagger slightly. It turned in the direction from which it had been struck and focused it eyes on the wolf. It charged, roaring a challenge even as the Marshall pulled back the bolt ejecting the now spent cartridge. He slammed home another round and locked the bolt. He sighted a second time, aiming for one of the beast's central eyes, hoping to pierce it's brain. The buffalo rifle roared its own challenge, illuminating the approaching monster with the flash of its muzzle.

The bullet struck it square in the eye. The creature' roar turned into a scream of outrage, of pain. It stopped for an instant and shook its head back and forth before charging once more. Gabe cursed, the thing was too stupid to know it was dead. He snatched up the last cartridge and loaded it into the breech. The creature was close enough for him to smell its feted, sour breath. A warrior of the Green Willow, the wolf straightened up, leveled the rifle one last time from his shoulder, braced and squeezed the trigger, surrendering not one inch of ground to his enemy.

The third bullet struck it in a different eye. It's roar died in it's throat. There was a loud, squelching pop as something gave way in the beast's head and it folded in on itself. It's momentum carried it forward another twenty feet, knocking the Marshall back, down and luckily away from the corpse. The rock-hound thrashed wildly for several minutes and the wolf had to scramble to avoid its claws as it forever marked the rocks with its death throes.

Gabe pulled himself to his feet, watching as the creature died. He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. He could feel his body began to shake in fear and he took several, deep cleansing breaths, trying to relax. As soon as the rock-hound had stopped twitching he carefully worked his way around the body and sought out Snowbird.

The white vixen was sitting on an outcropping of rock gently cradling something in her arms. At first White Cloud was afraid she had been hurt, but all she had suffered were a few small scratches on her back where the creature had struck a glancing blow at her.

Seeing that she was unhurt the Marshall's temper briefly took hold of him. "SPIRITS ABOVE! Girl! What were you thinking... wandering off into the mountain like this? Isn't the outside world dangerous enough without tempting fate here below?"

"I was answering a spirit voice, as I must," she replied calmly, enduring the wolf's wrath.

"A spirit voice?"

"Yes," she replied, a touch of pride in her voice. "It was in pain and calling for help. I answered, as must any shaman."

"Didn't you think that if it was calling for help YOU might be walking into danger?"

"That was but a small concern."

"A SMALL...?" Gabe's voice failed him utterly for a moment, then he exploded into a loud, vivid and extremely colorful stream of curses. All the while Snowbird simply sat and listened. She understood the tone of what the Marshall said, but not the words themselves. Gabe had, from habit, shifted into one of several languages used by the civilized furs that were not known west of the Great River. It was a trait taught him by an old Christian priest who'd once tutored him, and was reserved for those times when nothing but 'the devil's tongue' was appropriate.

Snowbird patiently waited until the ranting had worn itself out, knowing it came more from fear than true anger. After a few minutes, Gabe grew silent. The white furred vixen stood and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Look," she gently urged, "see the life-gift your courage has wrought."

Gabriel look over and saw that she was cradling a large grayish egg mottled with different shades of blue. It was warm to the touch. "Wyvern?" he asked.

The vixen nodded. "It's so near to hatching that I could hear its spirit morn for the loss of its sires and siblings." She nodded towards a small outcropping of rocks where the Marshall could see the remains of a ravaged nest. "The rock-hound must have found the clutch yesterday and gorged itself on both parents and all but one egg. I found this last one lying next to the rocks where it had rolled when the nest was ripped apart." She looked up at the wolf. "I thought I could retrieve it and sneak out before the creature awoke. I was wrong. I'm sorry that my mistake caused you so much grief."

Gabe uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn, girl!" he said, his voice much softer than before, "I was scared you were lost and hurt... or worse. I understand you're a shaman, and that you live by different rules than most, but next time you need to take a risk, at least wake me so I can cover your back... alright?"

"Alright," Snowbird nodded.

The two furs began the long climb back to the outer cave with the wolf leading. It was not difficult to follow his own scent trail back through the passage.

"It's almost ready to hatch," the vixen observed as she carried the egg "We need to find a way to help it."

"How?"

"Normally, the parents will heat the outside of the egg with their own fire. It makes the shell brittle enough for the hatchling to break free."

"So you need to heat it?" Gabe asked.

Snowbird nodded. "Yes, but we have to do it carefully."

"Well," the wolf said thoughtfully. "You could try putting the egg in one of your haversacks and fill it with hot ashes from a fire. That way it would heat evenly."

"That might work," she said, smiling

They continued climbing until at last they came out where they had started almost two hours earlier. Their mounts were slightly skittish, possibly because of the sounds of fighting that must have echoed up from below. Gabe spent the next hour calming them with a good brush down while Snowbird saw to the care of the wyvern egg. Meanwhile the storm outside continued.

* * * *

Colonel Collier stood in the pilot house and watched the western shore of the river slowly slide by. He was careful not to interfere with the river pilot, for this was his domain. Initially disappointed by Captain Lewis' performance, the badger had come to admit that when one put a fire to his backside, the militia officer was most accomplished. Loading the company onboard the small chartered steamer took less than thirty minutes. Barring any unforeseen complications, Collier believed they could be landing his troops just before sunset.

A large black-furred bear wearing the uniform of a sergeant approached with a small plate and cup of coffee. "Captain Lewis' compliments, sir. He reports that all company personnel have finished their noon meal." He placed the food on the chart table.

"Thank-you, Sergeant, and thank the mess cooks for me as well."

"Yes sir," the bear responded.

Collier nodded dismissing him with a casual salute. He had once heard a military maxim that stated a commander never ate until all those under his command had been properly fed. There were of course exceptions to this rule, as there were to all rules, but for now, the colonel was playing a role, and was not inclined to cut himself any slack. By now, messengers were riding hard for the Governor's residence with news that Collier had absconded with a militia company and was bound for the far side of the river. By the time anyone could give chase he would have his daughter back and be able to deliver to his fellow empire builders a war of conquest that would open up the lands to the west. It would be a glorious war, one justified by proof he would provide of the native's guilt in aiding and abetting the now notorious Temple Gang.

Let old men and weaklings talk of peace. Power and wealth only belonged in the hands of those willing to risk all in the crucible of war.

To be continued...