Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 
Rating: NC-17 (Violence, Language, Graphic Sexual Content)
Classification: X; MSR; /O; post ep

Spoilers: "The Mastodon Diaries" takes place between "Folie A 
Deux" and "The End." It contains spoilers from throughout the 
series and is "canon compliant."

Summary: Mulder and Scully are thrown back in time...12,000 
years.

"Although common sense may rule out the possibility of time 
travel, the laws of quantum physics certainly do not. In case 
you forgot, Scully, that's from your graduate thesis. You were 
a lot more open-minded when you were a youngster." -- Mulder 
in "Synchrony"

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, 
FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement 
intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no.

Authors Notes: I liked Jean M. Auel's "Clan of the Cave Bear" 
novels when they first came out. Maybe it was the panoramic 
scope of her prehistoric adventure stories that I found 
interesting. Or maybe I liked them because I minored in 
anthropology in college. Or maybe I just enjoyed the raw, 
unbridled, primitive sex.

Whichever, Auel's stories got me thinkin' about sending our 
heroes into the Pleistocene. Lots of fascinating possibilities 
there. 

To see the illustrated version of "The Mastodon Diaries," go 
to http://akajake.philedom2k.com/

The paleo-indian terms listed here and used throughout "The 
Mastodon Diaries" are actually Navajo terms, as described in 
the Navajo Code Talkers' Dictionary at 
http://www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq61-4.htm. 
For the sake of this story, I followed the X-Files' plotline 
that posits the Navajo language is similar to the language 
originally spoken by the Anasazi, a group of Native people who 
mysteriously vanished without a trace from the American 
southwest more than 600 years ago. The character Albert 
Hosteen, Native Navajo and a Code Talker during WWII, told 
Mulder and Scully that "Anasazi" literally means "ancient 
aliens." He believed the Anasazi tribe had been abducted "by 
visitors who come here still." Hosteen later helped translate 
the symbols discovered on several fragments of an alien 
spacecraft. His ability to read the extraterrestrial symbols 
implied a connection, or at least a similarity, between the 
languages of Anasazi, Navajo and the alien visitors.
My profoundest apologies if I have inappropriately used any 
Navajo terms in this fictional novel.

Definitions of the Navajo terms used in "The Mastodon Diaries" 
can be found at 
http://aka "Jake".philedom2k.com/TMDdictionary.html

Special thanks to mimic117, Dr. Guts, Jean Helms, jeri and 
xdks for beta. These "MastoBetas" kept me from sounding like a 
complete idiot. I can never thank them enough for their 
generosity and expertise. MWAH, gals! 


THE MASTODON DIARIES
By aka "Jake"

"Survival is the ultimate ideology." -- WMM, Fight the Future
 

PROLOGUE 

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
BOX ELDER COUNTY, UTAH
MAY 13, 1998
1:22 AM

Scully crouched on all fours, mimicking Mulder's low profile. 
She whispered into the dark, "I shouldn't have to tell you 
this, but we're breaking the law."  

"Shhhhh." Mulder pointed a cautionary finger at her. His hand 
glowed like a disembodied specter in the waning moonlight, 
while the rest of him remained cloaked in shadows. He wore 
black, as did she. Jeans, turtleneck, leather coat. Charcoal-
colored face paint camouflaged their cheeks. A faded Baltimore 
Black Sox baseball cap, circa 1932 and borrowed from Mulder, 
hid Scully's bright hair.

She listened to the snip-snip of his wire cutters, followed by 
the rattle of chain-link as he pulled aside a section of fence. 
He slipped through the breach like a cat burglar, then turned 
to help her trespass onto government property. 

Jesus, what had she been thinking when she agreed to come here 
with him? This was foolhardy...not to mention illegal.

"Mulder, if we get caught--"

"Shhhhh," he hushed her again. 

His fingers gripped her arm and drew her through the fence. 
Once on the other side, she knelt next to him...close enough to 
smell his antiperspirant, which to be honest was giving up the 
ghost. The hike from the car had been a long one, over rough 
terrain, and Mulder set a strenuous pace, jogging almost the 
entire way. She'd worked up a sweat trying to keep up and 
probably smelled equally sour. 

"Look," he whispered.

She followed the point of his finger to where runway lights 
illuminated a triangular-shaped aircraft to the east. Mulder 
was right. The ship was unlike anything they'd ever seen 
before.

Of course, that didn't make it extraterrestrial. Not in her 
book.

"Here they come." Mulder flattened himself in the weeds, 
stretching out on his stomach while he peered at the runway 
through a pair of high-powered binoculars.

Crickets whined in the scrub around them. Human voices drifted 
across the desert from the tarmac. The air smelled like dry 
grass, sage and ten thousand years of wind-scoured sand. 

"What are they doing?" Scully asked, squinting at the uniformed 
men who circled the craft. She crouched on hands and knees, 
hunching low, but refusing to lie on her belly the way Mulder 
was doing. The ground chilled her palms and she found herself 
wishing she'd worn gloves.

"I think they're gonna do it."

"Do it?"

"Fly." He adjusted the focus of his binoculars. "Uh-oh."

"What's the matter?" Goosebumps sprouted on her arms at his 
tone. Unable to make out anything from this distance, she had 
to rely on his eyes, trust his instincts. 

"I recognize one of them."

"Who?"

"Lisa Ianelli."

Lisa Ianelli -- girlfriend of time traveler Jason Nichols. 
What was she doing here?

"Hang on, Scully--" Mulder dropped his binoculars and grabbed 
her arm.

A chugging rumble emanated from the aircraft, causing the 
uniformed onlookers to scurry away. When the ship rose from 
the ground, it floated straight up, like a Harrier jet. It 
hung there, forty feet in the air, for ten seconds or so. 
Black and shaped like a shallow pyramid, it carried no 
insignia, no markings of any kind. Each of its triangular sides 
looked to be about thirty feet long. The bottom was flat and 
had a light at each point and a circular depression in the 
center. Six lights, arranged in a hexagon pattern, glowed 
around the inner circle.

The mysterious craft suddenly shot straight up, vanishing 
against the backdrop of stars, while causing an aftershock 
that rippled the sky. Sand and debris blasted the surrounding 
landscape. A stinging wind howled past Mulder and Scully, 
pinning them to the desert floor, while a sonic boom vibrated 
their bones.

Scully covered her head as the wind siphoned oxygen from her 
lungs. The last thing she remembered before losing 
consciousness was the feel of Mulder's fingers clutching 
desperately to the sleeve of her jacket.

* * *

Sun straight overhead. Painfully bright. Buzzing deerflies. 
Sweet smell of fresh grass...mixed with the musky odor of 
livestock.

Mulder groaned and tried to get his bearings. He was lying 
face down on the ground. Jesus, his head ached. His mouth felt 
bone dry and tasted sour, like...vomit. Oh, Christ, he'd 
thrown up at some point. He wiped his lips on his sleeve, and, 
blinking against the bright sun, looked around for Scully.

She was stretched out on the grass six feet away and appeared 
to be unconscious. 

"Sc-scully?" He coughed and swallowed, trying to moisten his 
mouth.

She didn't move, so he pushed himself into a sitting position. 
Every muscle pained him as he scooted closer and tapped her 
arm.

"Scully?" 

He could see dried blood caking her hairline, drawing flies. 
It pissed him off to see them there. What had happened to her 
cap? His head swiveled stupidly as he searched for it. 

"Scullee-scullee-scullee," he chanted, patting her hand. He 
felt queasy and lightheaded. How long had they been lying like 
this? he wondered. Where the hell was the Air Base? And the 
desert...?

Clearly, they weren't in northwestern Utah anymore. They were 
on a broad, grassy meadow. 

About ten yards away, six scrawny vultures formed a semicircle 
around them. The birds watched him with cautious eyes. One 
hopped closer.

"Get the hell outta here!" he yelled, causing the buzzards to 
flap their wings and retreat. 

In the distance, where the field met the forest, there was a 
herd of large, wooly...what exactly were those things? Too big 
for cows. Buffalo maybe? No, they had...tusks! Elephants?

He searched for his binoculars. Quickly locating them in the 
grass, he lifted them to his eyes and focused on the animals. 

"Oh, shhhit." 

Not elephants. 

Mastodons.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CHAPTER ONE

SOMEWHERE IN NORTHWESTERN UTAH
LATE PLEISTOCENE
LATE SPRING, MIDDAY

Mulder removed his jacket, folded it in half and tucked it 
beneath Scully's head. Then he sat down beside her, prepared 
to wait as long as necessary for her to regain consciousness.

He passed the time by peering through his binoculars at the 
herd of mastodons, shooing flies from Scully's pale face, and 
chucking stones at the persistent vultures. 

He and Scully were in a hell of a predicament, and although he 
considered himself an able and brave man -- FBI-trained, with 
almost a decade of field experience -- he had to admit that 
the sight of Scully lying there as motionless as one of her 
cadavers scared the crap out of him. 

Watching over her, feeling utterly helpless, he was reminded 
of that terrible night when he was a kid, sitting beside the 
charred ruins of his boyhood friend's burned house. Would 
safeguarding Scully from a flock of hungry vultures give him 
years of nightmares, too? A phobia of buzzards, maybe, to go 
along with his fear of fire? 

And what if he lost her...?

Please, Scully, he pleaded silently. Open your eyes, pleeease.

The gash in her temple looked nasty -- ragged and oozing 
blood. A purple-black bruise the size of his palm darkened her 
forehead on the left side of her face, discoloring her skin 
from her hairline to her cheekbone. The size of the swelling 
unnerved him. He wished he'd been hurt instead of her, not 
just because he wanted to take away her suffering, but also 
because, with her medical knowledge, she would know how to 
patch him back together. As it was, he had no idea how to 
treat a head injury. And this one looked serious. 

He was wallowing in feelings of ineptitude when the mastodons 
began plodding west across the grassland, disappearing one-by-
one into the far off valley. The damn buzzards remained where 
they were, eyes trained on Scully's motionless form. Mulder 
hated their presumption, and considered shooting a couple of 
them with his gun. 

Common sense prevailed. His clip was full, but every bullet 
might prove precious later on.

Mulder picked up another stone and pitched it like a fastball 
at the second bird from the end. He caught the buzzard dead 
center in its chest, causing it to squawk and hop away. 

Take that, you fucking son-of-a-bitch.

The afternoon ticked slowly by. The sun beat down, intense and 
fiery hot. Mulder rotated his position as the sun moved, 
trying to keep Scully in the shadow of his body to shield her 
as much as possible from the sun's harsh rays. Her unprotected 
skin would burn easily out here in the open.

Should he pick her up and carry her into the shade? he 
wondered. The meadow merged into woodland about 500 yards to 
the north. He worried that moving her might cause some sort of 
internal damage. It was possible she had a neck injury or a 
broken bone. 

Chiding himself for not thinking of it sooner, he began to 
check her for breaks. He gently patted her arms and legs, and 
then unzipped her jacket to run his palms carefully over her 
ribs. Everything seemed fine. But what did he know? Maybe it 
wasn't possible to feel a rib fracture.   

For the next four hours he continued to lean over her, his 
back bearing the brunt of the sun's rays. The dark fabric of 
his turtleneck soaked in the heat, making him sweaty and 
restless. The vultures seemed to sense his discomfort and 
inched closer. In a fit of irritation, he yanked his shirt up 
over his head and flung it at them, only to become more 
aggravated when it fell short of its mark. 

Thank God, a steady breeze puffed across the open meadow, 
helping to cool his temper along with the sweat on his bare 
back. He plucked a blade of grass and chewed it, feeling like 
some hayseed from East Bumfuck, but thankful for the brief 
distraction of its tart flavor.

Late in the afternoon Scully finally stirred. 

"Mulder?" 

"I'm here." 

Gently, he stroked her hair, combing it back from her bloodied 
forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Relief prickled 
his skin when her eyes focused on his face and she appeared to 
recognize him. 

He smiled at her and said, "Hey."

She offered him a feeble smile in return, and then looked past 
him to the field of fresh grass and the semi-circle of 
vultures. 

"Where are we?" she asked.

"When."

"Excuse me?"

"Not 'where,' Scully -- 'when.' *When* are we."

She rose on one elbow and winced from the effort. The vultures 
backed away, beating their wings and clucking with almost 
human disappointment over her apparent recovery. 

"Mulder, what are you saying?"

"How's your American History?"

"Why?"

Deciding it might be best to ease into the truth, he gave a 
small shrug and tried to look unconcerned. "It's possible we 
might have...um...traveled back in time."

"Traveled--?" Now she sat bolt upright. "How far back in 
time?"

He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all 
right and there was nothing to be overly concerned about. Her 
physical condition was the most important thing right now, and 
she needed to be careful not to injure herself any more than 
she already was. On the other hand, he knew she wouldn't 
tolerate being kept in the dark; she didn't like being coddled 
any more than he did. So instead of saying more, he offered 
her another shrug.

"70s? 60s? 50s?" she asked.

"Getting warmer."

"Jesus, Mulder." She gazed at the meadow, the forest, and, 
farther away, the snow-covered mountain peaks. 

No airplanes flew overhead, no traffic passed by, no buildings 
stood anywhere within view. 

"Turn of the century?" she asked.

"More like...Late Pleistocene."

"I don't believe it. It isn't possible." She tentatively 
prodded the bruise on her forehead as if her injury was the 
cause of her confusion. "People can't travel back in time."

"If you want, I can quote your graduate thesis. 'Although 
common sense may rule out the possibility of time travel, the 
laws of quantum physics--'"

"I know what I wrote," she snapped. "I was barely out of my 
teens at the time. What the hell did I know?" 

He didn't want to make her angrier by saying he agreed with 
her youthful hypothesis, so instead he kept his tone even and 
applied the practiced calm he usually reserved for reluctant 
witnesses. "We've seen something like this before," he 
reminded her gently. "And Lisa Ianelli was at Hill Air Force 
Base."

The weight of his words sunk in and Scully's shoulders 
slumped. 

"Tachyons," she said, understanding the implications. 

He nodded. "Subatomic particles that can travel faster than 
the speed of light and go back in time--"

"But only for a few seconds and only at a temperature of 
absolute zero," she interrupted. "Mulder, in case you hadn't 
noticed, we were never frozen."

"I can't explain that, but it's possible Lisa Ianelli 
discovered another method, a way to travel through time that 
doesn't require freezing." He reached out and stroked her 
cheek, careful to avoid the bruise there. "I saw something, 
Scully." He knew this was going to sound ridiculous. "I 
saw...mastodons."

"Mastodons?" She looked as if she might actually laugh. "Okay, 
Mulder. Let's assume for the sake of argument that we've 
somehow traveled back in time...to the Pleistocene...or 
whenever...not that I believe that. But *if* it were true, 
then how do we get back?"

Well, that was the sixty-four-thousand dollar question, wasn't 
it?

Now it was his turn to study their surroundings. The sun was 
low in the sky. It would be dark in another couple of hours, 
and no magic doorways to 1998 seemed to be presenting 
themselves. 

"I'm...I'm not sure we can get back."

Arching an eyebrow, she waited for him to say more. No doubt 
she expected him to launch into one of his typical numinous 
theories, but this was one X-File that had him stumped. It 
didn't help that he was too thirsty and too hungry to 
concentrate on gravitational anomalies, event horizons, or 
para-physics.

"We need to find drinking water before the sun sets," he said, 
rising to his feet. His knees ached from sitting for so long. 
He reached out a hand to help her up, and hoped she was 
feeling fit enough to travel. "Do you think you can walk?"

She nodded and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her 
feet. Swaying on unsteady legs, she asked, "Which way, Mr. 
Indian Guide?"

He pivoted, considering the possibilities. Did it make sense 
to head toward the mountains? Snowmelt would mean freshwater 
streams, right? But which mountains? There were mountains on 
every side. The mastodons had headed west. They would be 
looking for water, wouldn't they? 

Or were mastodons like camels?

"West," he said, going with his gut and the wisdom of the 
mastodons. 

*   *   *

Peach-colored clouds striped the evening sky, promising a 
spectacular sunset. The sun appeared wedged between two 
mountain peaks, which Scully guessed were part of the 
Newfoundland Mountains...assuming she and Mulder were still 
anywhere on or near Hill Air Force Base in Box Elder County, 
Utah. Unfortunately, they'd left their map in the car, which 
would be in the opposite direction, if anywhere at all.

She tried to picture what the map had looked like. She knew 
Hill was a large backward z-shaped parcel of land located 
between Great Salt Lake to the east and the Great Salt Lake 
Desert to the west. The Base included the southernmost region 
of the dry Newfoundland Evaporation Basin, as well as the 
foothills of the Newfoundland Mountains. Squinting at the 
tallest rise, she guessed it might be Desert Peak, the range's 
highest point.

Or not. The grassy meadow they were crossing bore no 
resemblance to the desert they'd been in last night.    

Mulder was walking several paces ahead of her, leading them 
along a broad trail of trampled grass. She concentrated on the 
relentless swing of his jacket, which dangled from his left 
fist. He had slung his binoculars around his neck so that the 
strap crossed his back from right shoulder to left hip. His 
shirt was tied loosely around his waist.  

Not feeling as warm as he seemed to, she kept her coat on and 
hugged it tightly across her chest. In the back of her mind, 
it occurred to her that she might be in shock, a result of the 
blow to her head.

The meadow sloped gradually downhill. Mulder's elongated 
shadow stretched out behind him, reminding her of Dr. Chester 
Banton, the dark matter scientist with a lethal shadow. She 
didn't fear Mulder's shadow; to the contrary, she kept herself 
purposely inside it, feeling it somehow tethered her to him. 
If she happened to stumble or fall, it might pull him up 
short, alerting him to her trouble. Crazy idea, she knew, but 
she refused to step outside it in any case.

"Watch out for the prairie pies," he warned, pointing to an 
enormous mound of fresh dung. "Told you I saw a mastodon. That 
ain't no cow patty."

Had he really seen mastodons? 

No, it was impossible; this was just a bad dream, it had to 
be, and she was going to wake up any minute in her own bed. 
Maybe she would tell Mulder about her nightmare over coffee 
and Danish at the cart outside the second-floor bullpen 
tomorrow morning. He would tease her and then, after they 
returned to their office, he would pull out a stack of 
mastodon-related X-Files. "Mastodon Footprints Discovered on 
Mars" or "Woman Gives Birth to Boy With Tusks and Trunk; 
Father Was Mastodon in Former Life."

"You okay, Scully?" He was suddenly beside her, one arm 
gripping her shoulders, holding her up. She felt dizzy. Had 
she stopped walking? "Do you need to rest?"

"I'm fi--" Her knees buckled. 

He lowered her gently to the ground. "Sit for a minute. Your 
forehead's bleeding again." He untied the shirt from his waist 
and gently blotted her temple with it. 

"I'm thirsty."

"I know. Me, too." He held her tenderly. "We'll find water 
soon."

She leaned into him, thankful for his company and his care, 
and wanting more than anything to believe him about the water. 
Her throat ached for a drink. Then the edges of her vision 
began to fray, as if her eyes were falling victim to a too-
early sunset. Mosquito-sized flecks floated between her and 
Mulder's worried expression. The flecks swarmed and thickened 
until Mulder became lost in a gray snowstorm that made her 
think of all the grainy television sets in all the sleazy 
motels where they'd stayed over the years. Like the two-room 
hotel in Home, Pennsylvania, where she watched Mulder rotate 
the TV antenna, trying to bring its picture into focus. Wild 
animal sounds came from the staticky set. Not mastodons, but 
jackals or wolves. Predatory creatures. She'd left Mulder 
alone in that room, which couldn't be locked because he'd let 
her have the safer room, the one with the lock that worked. 
He'd risked his life for her.

She suddenly felt as if she were being bent in half and lifted 
off her feet. Blood rushed to her face as her head hung lower 
than her heart. Her hands weighed a thousand pounds, it 
seemed, and she let her arms dangle there, above her head...or 
below her head, whichever. Someone embraced her legs a million 
miles away. She guessed she was being carried, not like a 
fairytale princess, but in the undignified position of a 
fireman's carry. Was it Mulder who stole her away?

Blinded by her lightheadedness and the drape of her upside-
down hair, she wanted to cry for help, but her voice wouldn't 
cooperate.

Again she thought of Home, Pennsylvania. Not the Peacock 
brothers or their bizarre, over-protective mother, but 
Mulder's romantic notions about country life. 

//Only place you had to be on time was home for dinner. Never 
had to lock your doors. No modems, no faxes, no cell phones.//

Like here...the Pleistocene, according to Mulder.

//If I had to settle down, build a home...be a place like 
this.//

Had he brought them here on purpose, in search of a simpler 
life? No, that was ridiculous. He was a city boy, despite his 
protestations. That day in Home, he'd been high on "eau de 
baseball."

She took a sniff. No smell of cowhide. Eau de Mulder? He was 
right under her nose. Or maybe she was underneath him? God, 
everything was topsy-turvy.

Usually she hated feeling so muddled. But right now, she felt 
inexplicably calm. Breathing in his familiar scent, she 
allowed herself to fall deeper into the safe haven of his 
shadow.

*   *   *

//Hopes are dashed 
People forget 
Forget they're hiding.// 

Was Mulder singing? 
 
//In a tachyon flux 
Tachyon flux -- it's a put on 
Come on join the party...//

Yes, Mulder was singing...a butchered rendition of The Who's 
"Eminent Front." 

"That isn't how the song goes," she murmured.

"Scully?" 

She felt herself slide from his shoulder. His fingers gripped 
her hips as he lowered her feet to the ground.

"You're awake."

"Yes, I'm awake." She put a hand on his arm for balance and 
looked around. Only the barest hint of sunlight remained, 
outlining the far-off mountains. A quarter moon rose in the 
east, brilliant white against a purple-black sky. A spray of 
stars glittered overhead. Trees dotted the meadow, their 
leaves whispering in the evening breeze. The landscape was 
storybook beautiful. "How long was I...?" She gestured at his 
shoulder.

"Not long."

"We're not going to find water tonight, are we?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Don't be so pessimistic." He 
pointed past her, and she turned to see moonlight on water at 
the bottom of the grassy slope. 

The prospect of a drink drew her forward. She began to walk, 
and then run. Water! Thank God! Sprinting down the hill, she 
suddenly felt as giddy as a child. The cool evening air rushed 
past her ears, swept her hair away from her overly hot 
forehead, filled her eyes with a blur of tears. Each breath 
ballooned her chest with fresh energy. The ground was spongy 
beneath her feet, making her feel weightless, as if she could 
fly, and she could smell the sweet scent of fresh grass with 
every step. 

Fifty yards from the river, she pulled up short. Something was 
moving at the water's edge. Several somethings. She heard the 
splash of water, a muted thud, a chuff of air from large 
lungs.

Mulder caught up with her, and stopped, too, his skin shiny 
with sweat in the moonlight. He raised his binoculars to 
survey the riverbank.

"What are they?" she asked, trying to steady her breathing. 
"Mastodons?"

He lowered the binoculars and dovetailed his fingers with 
hers. "No. Just horses. Not even very big ones. Come on." He 
tugged her toward them. 

As all trace of sunlight vanished from the western sky, stars 
multiplied in the heavens and a mirror image of the moon 
floated on the river's inky surface. Scully could smell the 
water, and the sharp, dusty odor of the horses. 

The horses caught wind of them, too, and moved downstream. At 
the water's edge, she released Mulder's hand and dropped to 
her knees on the grassy bank. She filled her cupped palms. The 
water was cold, numbing her fingers, but tasting delicious. 
She scooped handful after handful into her mouth. Mulder knelt 
beside her and drank greedily, too, before plunging his whole 
head beneath the surface to rinse his hair and scrub at his 
neck.

Raising his head, he waggled his eyebrows and asked, "Wanna go 
skinny dipping?"

As far as she could tell in the dark, the river was about a 
hundred and fifty yards wide, and curved in a giant oxbow. Its 
current appeared to be slow moving. There were no exposed 
boulders and no whitewater rapids.

"We don't know what's in there."

"Nothing, I hope, since we just drank a couple of gallons."

"No, I mean like snapping turtles or the equivalent of 
Pleistocene piranha."

"As long as there are no flukemen." 

He stood, untied his shirt from his waist, and let it drop to 
the ground on top of his jacket. Was he really going to--? He 
removed the binoculars from around his neck and set them 
beside his clothes. 

"No peeking," he warned as he toed off his shoes and 
unfastened his pants.

"You're not--?"

Socks and shorts off, he released a bloodcurdling Tarzan yell, 
and then bulldozed naked into the water.

Well, that was Mulder for you, jumping in feet first. Good to 
know he hadn't changed, even if the rest of the world was 
unrecognizable.

 "Whoa! Water's cold! Come on in."

"No thanks."

"Don't know what you're missing." 

He dove beneath the surface as if to prove his point. When his 
head popped back up a moment later, he shook water from his 
hair, and then swam in a leisurely circle several yards out 
from shore. 

Scully wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him roll 
onto his back to float with arms outstretched, his skin gilded 
by moonlight. Fireflies blinked all along the riverbank, 
dancing above the tall reeds. Bullfrogs harrumphed, marking 
territory with their deep base voices. A nervous horse 
whinnied somewhere downstream.

Had they really traveled back in time more than ten thousand 
years? Or was this place a 20th Century Garden of Eden, an 
untouched oasis in an otherwise modern world? Mulder claimed 
to have seen mastodons. But did he know the difference between 
a modern day elephant and a prehistoric one? 

Suppose an elephant or two had escaped from a local zoo, like 
the time Ganesha escaped from its cage in Fairfield, Idaho... 
Wasn't that a more likely explanation than time travel?

Scully suddenly missed her comfortable apartment. A hot bubble 
bath would feel wonderful right now. And some take-out Thai 
food would hit the spot. She mentally added Ibuprofen for her 
headache, scented candles for her nerves, and an interesting 
novel -- maybe Jose Chung's newest thriller -- to take her 
mind off air bases and time travel.

Out in the river, Mulder swam lazily toward shore. He waded 
the last few yards, rising from the river like a merman. Water 
poured from his glistening skin as he returned to her. 
Silhouetted against the moonlit water, liberated from his 
everyday attire, he looked extraordinarily handsome -- lean, 
graceful, even a little dangerous. 

And sexy. 

Blood rose in her cheeks as a pleasant heaviness settled into 
her pelvis. The sight of him was arousing her, she realized, 
and she quickly looked away, averting her stare and feeling 
voyeuristic and a little ashamed of herself. Mulder was her 
partner. Their relationship was based on professional respect. 
She had no right to ogle him.

Hand raised to her temple, she worried she was losing her 
mind. She was feeling dizzy and acting irrationally. Her head 
was pounding.   

She heard him drop down on the grass beside her, and she 
glanced in his direction, being careful to keep her eyes 
leveled above his shoulders. He used his shirt to briskly dry 
himself. 

"No piranha," he said.

"Your teeth are chattering."

"But I smell better." 

He began to dress, so she moved away -- to give him privacy, 
and to wash her face. 

Crouched at the water's edge, she removed her jacket, and 
rolled up her shirtsleeves. Again she filled her hands with 
cold water, but this time she used it to gently clean the gash 
at her hairline. Her forehead felt tender where it had been 
cut. She gently rinsed away grit and dried blood, careful not 
to reopen the wound. 

"Can I help?" Mulder appeared beside her, fully dressed and 
carrying a handkerchief in his hand. "It's clean, I promise." 
He dipped the handkerchief into the water and then used it to 
dab at her wound.

She marveled at the fact he carried something as old-fashioned 
as a handkerchief. It made her realize she knew almost nothing 
about his upbringing. The handkerchief brought to mind an 
image of a well-mannered little boy, dressed and pressed like 
a gentleman, which contradicted her earlier impression of him 
as a hellion -- a daredevil who would jump feet first and buck 
naked into an Ice Age river.

As always, Mulder was difficult to peg.    

"How does it look?" she asked.

"Not too bad." He stroked the area, pushing her hair away from 
the wound. "The mark of an experienced G-Woman."

"Wonderf--" 

She startled when a pair of yellow-green eyes caught her 
attention on the opposite shore. They peered back at her from 
behind a veil of tall weeds. 

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Mulder, look."

"I see it."

She heard him release the snap on his holster and pull out his 
gun. 

"Let's go," he whispered.

"Where?"

"Uphill. Away from here." He gripped her arm and hauled her to 
her feet.

She glanced across the river. The green eyes had vanished. She 
grabbed her coat.

Then a growl sounded -- a large cat of some kind. A splash of 
water told her it was coming after them. Her heart began to 
hammer in her chest. Her legs felt rubbery, her feet numb. 

Mulder yanked hard on her arm. "Hurry! Unless you want to 
become cat food for a saber-toothed tiger."

Saber-toothed tiger? 

The cat suddenly roared, and Scully ran for all she was worth.

*  *  *

Mulder sprinted up the hill, clutching Scully's arm. He could 
hear her gasping for breath. God, please don't let her pass 
out, he thought. How far back was the damn cat?

As soon as they reached the woods, he began searching for a 
tree to climb. He selected a tall, straight evergreen, not too 
big around, but with lots of stout branches.

"Up," he ordered Scully, shoving her through a veil of lower 
limbs. Unsure of the cat's location, he quickly grabbed a 
branch and hauled himself up after her.

"Mulder, I can't see."

"Just climb." 

He heard her scrambling for footholds. 

Grasping her hips, he propelled her higher. 

"Watch your head." 

He scaled several more branches.

"I think I'm about as high as--"

The cat roared beneath them.

"Higher."

"Mul--"

"Go!"

Three, four, five more branches. They were nearing the top; he 
could feel the tree beginning to sway.

Below them, the cat growled. Mulder pushed Scully higher.

Finally, they could go no further and Scully settled on a 
sturdy branch. He perched next to her and dug his flashlight 
from his pocket. Aimed down the trunk of the tree, the light 
reflected in the cat's yellow-green eyes. 

Jesus, the animal was huge -- it looked twice as heavy as a 
modern day lion, although not any taller or longer. Its tail 
was stubby, like a bobcat, but what it lacked on the rear end, 
it more than made up for on the front, where foot-long fangs 
protruded from its enormous upper jaw. No doubt they could rip 
open a man's belly with one swipe. 

It was an honest-to-fucking-goodness saber-toothed tiger. 

"Must be the kitty chow," he commented.

Scully sat shivering between him and the tree trunk. He 
wrapped his gun arm around her to secure himself to her and 
the tree. With his other hand, he kept his light aimed at the 
cat.

"Can it climb up here?" Scully asked.

"If it tries, it won't get past *this*." He waggled his gun.

She glanced at the weapon. "Don't drop it."

 "When have I ever dropped my gun?"

She said nothing. After a few moments of silence, he angled 
his flashlight at her face, revealing her skeptical 
expression. She arched one graceful eyebrow.

"Never," he argued.

Her other eyebrow climbed to join the first.

He turned the flashlight back on the cat. "Not while sitting 
in a tree."

Suddenly the cat lunged upward and positioned itself on the 
bottommost branch. The tree shook, and Mulder and Scully both 
gasped.

He leveled his gun at the cat. The motion put her off balance, 
and she caught herself by latching onto his thigh, squeezing 
hard.

"Not that I'm objecting, Scully, but now may not be the best 
time," he whispered, indicating her hand with a tilt of his 
head.

"I just...I didn't want to fall." She released him.

They watched the cat balance on its hind legs, while it 
searched with its forepaws for a higher perch.

"You won't fall," he assured her, hugging his arm around her 
again. "I won't let you." 

The cat jumped back to the ground and resumed its pacing.

"There. You see? Nothing to worry about."

"We could still fall out of the tree in our sleep," she said.

"I won't be sleeping." He tracked the cat with his light. 

"Maybe you should sing," she suggested. "That way, I'll know 
you're awake." She leaned into him. Her trembling seemed 
worse. 

Okay, he'd sing. Just to keep her mind off their predicament. 
Hell, to keep *his* mind off their predicament. He cleared his 
throat. 

"Mulder and Scully, sitting in a tree, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G." 

He shined his light at her to see her reaction.

She shook her head. "In your dreams, Mulder." 

He smiled, and continued his sing-songy rhyme, "First comes 
loooove..." 

He lightly tapped the tip of her nose with his flashlight, 
making her frown. She batted his hand away. 

"Then comes marriage..." 

She still refused to smile. 

"And then comes Mulder with a baby carriage," he finished 
quickly.

"Isn't that supposed to be 'and then comes *Scully* with a 
baby carriage?'"

"I'm a man of the 90s, Scully."

"Ah." After a minute of silence, she asked, "Mulder, are you 
afraid?"

"Nope," he lied.

"It doesn't worry you that we may be thousands of years from 
where we're supposed to be?"

Oh yeah, there was that pesky time travel thing. "Who says 
we're not supposed to be right here?"

"In a tree? With a tiger waiting to devour us the moment we 
fall?"

"I told you, we're not going to fall." 

Tucking her more firmly into the crook of his arm, he decided 
to sing some more. Something appropriate for the occasion. 
Something like...  

"I see a bad moon rising. I see trouble on the way--"

"Oh, brother."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CHAPTER TWO

Mulder hadn't slept a wink. And it had been a helluva long 
night. Ass aching, he shifted a bit on his tree branch in an 
unsuccessful effort to find a more comfortable position 
without waking Scully. Miraculously, she was asleep, wedged 
between him and the trunk of the tree, her head resting on his 
shoulder. The sun was still hidden behind the mountains, but 
the eastern sky was beginning to lighten above the craggy 
peaks, and a blond strip of clouds had developed along the 
horizon.

The saber-toothed tiger was gone. It had abandoned its night-
long vigil more than an hour ago when a herd of small horses 
passed close by, skirting the edge of the woods, heading 
toward the river. The cat followed the ponies. Several minutes 
later, Mulder was startled by the pitiful bleat of an animal 
in its death throes. The noise woke Scully from her sleep, and 
Mulder reassured her, convincing her to settle back against 
his shoulder. Apparently exhausted, she laid her head on him 
without argument and dozed off again. 

The cat was probably up on the hill right now, filling its 
belly with fresh meat. Mulder's stomach growled. He hadn't had 
a bite to eat since the day before yesterday when he'd downed 
two bacon double-cheeseburgers, a pistachio flavored milkshake 
-- extra large -- and a side order of jumbo onion rings. 
Shoulda super-sized it, he thought. Damn, he was hungry; the 
bark on this tree was beginning to look good enough to eat. 

He was thirsty again, too.

And he had to pee. 

Badly.

Looking down at the ground, he estimated they were sitting 
about twenty feet up. Hmm. If he peed from here, he might be 
able to hit that pinecone on the second branch from the 
bottom. He tried to gauge the necessary trajectory. The lack 
of wind would help his aim, but he wasn't altogether sure he 
could piss sitting down. And suppose Scully woke up before he 
was finished. How embarrassing would that be?

On the other hand, his bladder felt ready to bust. He had to 
do *something* -- now.

"Scully?" He reached over and traced her jaw from earlobe to 
chin with his index finger. 

She stirred and slowly opened her eyes. "Time z'it?" she 
asked, stifling a yawn.

"Sunrise. Almost."

She blinked sleepily at the still-dark sky. "No it isn't."

"Yeah...well...I gotta whiz, so good morning, sunshine." He 
slid off the branch and lowered his feet to the limb below 
him.

"No chance you could wait until it's actually light out? The 
tiger--"

"Scully, when a man says he's gotta go, he's gotta go." He 
pivoted so that he could help her down. "Besides, the tiger 
left." 

She gripped his shoulders while he guided her hips off her 
perch. After setting her feet on the branch beside his, he 
acted as a spotter while she got herself turned around.

"You want me to climb down first?" he asked.  

"No, I'll go...if you're sure the tiger is gone." 

"You can see for yourself it's not there."

"Yes, but where is it?"

Telling her it killed and ate a horse seemed counterproductive 
to getting her out of the tree, so he dodged the truth by 
saying, "It's probably peeing." 

She rolled her eyes, then began to slowly inch her way down to 
the next branch. Then the next. He stood above her, rocking 
from foot to foot, his bladder aching. 

"Any chance you could speed things up a little, Scully?" 

"I'm going as fast as I can."

"Well, you're gonna need an umbrella if you don't pick up the 
pace," he warned, looking down at the top of her head. 
"Raindrops keep fallin' on your head--"

"All right already." She began to descend more quickly, either 
out of sympathy or because she was now closing in on terra 
firma. He followed her down, just a step or two above her 
head. When she reached the bottom branch, she jumped to the 
ground. 

"Little girls' room is around back," she said, circling the 
tree. "Don't even think about peeking."

"I've got something else on my mind, Scully." He jumped the 
last few feet to the ground, too. "And it has nothing to do 
with looking at you." He spun to face the trunk, and unzipped 
his pants...just in the nick of time. Ahhh! Holy Jesus, Joseph 
and Mary. 

His head began to clear as his bladder emptied. 

When he finished, he called to her, "You done?"

"Yes."

Zipping his fly, he waited another moment or two, just in 
case. Didn't want to catch her with her pants down -- 
literally. When he did finally step around the tree, he found 
that she was standing several paces away, her back to him, 
pants up, shirt tucked in. She was looking out through the 
drape of evergreen branches at the distant mountain peaks, 
where clouds the color of nickel split the morning sun into 
finger-like rays.

Without taking her eyes from the prehistoric dawn, she began 
to recite a poem: "Way back in the days when the grass was 
still green, and the pond was still wet and the clouds were 
still clean..."

The verse sounded familiar. Edna St. Vincent Millay?

She continued the verse, "And the song of the Swomee-Swans 
rang out in space, one morning, I came to this glorious 
place." 

Not Millay. Dr. Seuss.

Honestly, he had expected her to be...well, less than 
enthusiastic about their circumstances. Yet here she was 
quoting Dr. Seuss, extolling the beauty of the landscape. 

A gentle wind wafted through the branches. It carried the 
scent of pine and it fluttered her hair. He sidled up next to 
her. 

God, she was beautiful.

Kiss her, his body urged. And although he'd experienced the 
impulse many times in the past, familiarity didn't keep his 
desire from sucker-punching the breath from his lungs or 
turning the bones of his legs to Jell-o. Without even touching 
her, he could feel their imaginary kiss. Her lips, soft 
beneath his. Her breath, hot on his mouth. The wetness of her 
tongue.  

Stop it! If she suspected what was on his mind, she would knee 
him in the nugs. Five years as partners, he knew she didn't 
think of him in a sexual way. Never had and probably never 
would. No sense fantasizing about things that weren't going to 
happen. Besides, he owed her more respect than that. 

To prevent himself from acting on his impulse, he lowered his 
head, and whispered the last line of Seuss' verse into her 
ear: "The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula Trees, mile 
after mile in the fresh morning breeze." 

She turned to smile up at him. God, her lips were so close. If 
he leaned in juuust a little more... 

"Pleistocene air seems to agree with you, Scully," he 
whispered. 

"Not at all. I've simply come to the conclusion that this is 
all a figment of my imagination, a hallucination caused by the 
blow to my head. I'm going to wake up any minute at Hill Air 
Force Base."

"Scully, we're in the Ice Age." 

"So you say. But until I see proof, I'm sticking to my 
hallucination theory. It's more plausible than your time 
travel idea."

"What does it take, Scully? A saber-toothed tiger to bite you 
on the ass?" Please, not this old song and dance, their 
perpetual pas de deux. "You saw the cat. We both saw it." 

"I was tired and dizzy and it was dark. I'm not sure what I 
saw--"

Groaning with frustration, he closed his eyes and threw back 
his head. 

It wasn't that he minded debating theories with her. As a 
matter of fact, he rather enjoyed the way she challenged him. 
She kept him on his toes, honed his investigative skills, 
prevented him from becoming analytically lazy. However, it 
irritated him to hear her refute what she'd seen with her own 
eyes, or rationalize irrational events by forcing them into 
more commonly held perspectives. Being rigorous was one thing, 
but denying the truth was unacceptable. 

He knew the only way to sway her, however, was to do it 
logically, and that would take some time.

Scully squinted at the sunrise. "I admit I don't know where we 
are or how we got here, but I can't accept that we're not 
still in the 20th Century."

It was true the landscape looked nothing like modern day Utah.

He bent and plucked a flower from a scraggly patch at his 
feet. "Something happened on that Air Base. Something that 
sent us back tens of thousands of years."     

"People can't travel through time," she maintained.

As usual she was going to make him work to prove his point.

"Physicists like Stephen Hawking have hypothesized the 
existence of wormholes and closed time loops -- actual portals 
through which matter can travel backward through time."

"Mulder, phenomena like extreme heat and gravity would make 
the trip lethal for any organism." 

"Maybe not. Three years ago, Jason Nichols was working on a 
catalyst for a self-sustaining endothermic reaction that would 
render those factors inconsequential." He held the flower 
under her nose.

She sniffed it. "Sweet," she said, before continuing her 
argument. "Jason died before he actually created his rapid 
freezing agent." 

"We saw it, Scully. And Lisa Ianelli saw it, too. Suppose she 
finished Jason's work?" Mulder tucked the flower behind his 
ear. 

"Let me repeat what I said yesterday: We were never frozen." 

"Suppose Lisa discovered another way..."

She raised a questioning eyebrow. "To withstand a trip through 
a wormhole?" 

"Yes, making time travel possible." 

"Mulder, Lisa never administered any compound."

"Yeah, but suppose the catalyst isn't a compound, but a set of 
circumstances."

"Caused by...?"

"Something mechanical, not biological."

"That kind of technology doesn't exist."

"Unless it's extraterrestrial."

She smiled. "You sound like Max Fenig, you know." 

He supposed he did sound like Max. 

"I mean it, Mulder. I can see your future crystal clear, and 
unfortunately, I see myself right there with you." Her 
expression changed to one of concern. "Mark my words: we're 
going to end up as two card-carrying MUFON members, wearing 
matching tinfoil caps to protect our minds from the imaginary 
rays of extraterrestrial thought-control devices, while we 
travel from one UFO hotspot to the next shouting to anyone 
who'll listen 'they're here, they're here,' ad infinitum."

"Imaginary rays?"

"Don't you ever worry about driving everyone away, all of your 
friends, your family, winding up old and lonely because you 
were -- you *are* -- obsessed with things that the rest of the 
world considers...well, insane, frankly?"

"I'll always have you. Won't I?" He nudged her arm until she 
nodded in agreement. "Scully, I don't care what the rest of 
the world thinks. Most people have their heads up their 
asses."

She glanced at him. "You really believe that?"

"Seeing is believing, isn't it?"  He placed his hand on the 
small of her back, turned her around and steered her out from 
under the tree branches, intending to head back to the river 
for a drink. "If it's right in front of your eyes, it must be-
-"

The river wound like a silver ribbon through the valley below. 
Animals crowded its banks. Lots of animals. Lots and lots of 
animals.

"Oh, my God," Scully gasped. Her voice rose in pitch. "Are 
those...?"

Yes indeedy. Mastodons. At least two dozen of them. And a herd 
of small horses. And bison, and something that looked like 
camels, and a few unrecognizable things. The landscape was a 
scene out of an African documentary, only these animals 
weren't zebras or elephants or water buffalo. They were...

"Mastodons."

*   *   *    

"My God," Scully repeated, unable to believe her eyes. 

The behemoths certainly looked like illustrations she'd seen 
of mastodons. She'd taken enough anthropology courses at the 
University of Maryland to recognize the difference between Ice 
Age proboscideans and their modern day cousins, and these were 
definitely not elephants escaped from a zoo.

Whatever they were, at least two-dozen of them had gathered in 
the valley along the riverbanks. The mature ones stood about 
ten feet tall -- somewhat shorter than modern day African and 
Asian elephants. Their ears were relatively small, and their 
tusks were straight and parallel to the ground. 

Scully tried to recall more details from Dr. Diamond's 
classes. He'd described a wide variety of Pleistocene 
megafauna, including mastodons, which had ranged across North 
America from Alaska to central Mexico. Archeologists had 
discovered mastodon bones alongside prehistoric spear points 
and stone cutting tools, leading to the assumption that early 
humans -- Clovis and Folsom cultures, the Paleo-Indians of 
ancient North America -- had hunted and eaten the giant 
mammals.

If memory served, all genera of megafaunal mammals, like the 
musk oxen, giant bison, and camels she could see drinking 
alongside the mastodons at the river below, had died out 
sometime prior to 11,000 B.P.

Which could only mean... 

Impossible. This had to be a hallucination. She and Mulder 
were *not* in the Ice Age.

She needed to sit. Sinking onto her heels in the grass at the 
edge of the meadow, she continued to stare at the prehistoric 
scene in the valley below.

Mulder sat, too, and scanned the riverbanks through his 
binoculars. "Looks like you gotta get up pretty early in the 
morning to beat the breakfast crowd. Shall we cut the line?"

Was he insane? "N-no. We're staying right here until they're 
gone."

"That could be quite a wait." He offered her the binoculars, 
but she shook her head. She didn't think she was ready to look 
at the gargantuans up close...not yet. 

Ten minutes later, the mastodons began migrating slowly 
downstream toward the forest. A group of camels moved in to 
take their place. Camels...in northwestern Utah? It boggled 
the mind. Oversized bison stood shoulder-deep in the river. A 
variety of unfamiliar birds dotted both banks of the river, 
looking like crumpled Kleenex from this distance. Horses, 
deer, and some kind of big-horned sheep shared the watering 
hole in cautious harmony.  

Mulder plucked a blade of grass from the field and stuck it in 
his mouth. He chewed on it for a minute or two before asking, 
"Is there any significant difference between a mastodon and a 
mammoth?"

"Their teeth," she answered numbly, wondering why he cared.

"Their teeth?"

"Yes...the word 'mastodon' is derived from the Greek 'mastos,' 
meaning breast, and 'odont,' meaning tooth. It translates 
literally to 'breast tooth.'"

"Breast...?" A smile nudged his cheek. "That's interesting."

"Yes, well...mastodons fed on spruce, primarily. So their 
teeth had crowns consisting of distinct rounded cusps, which 
helped them chew tough foliage. Mammoths, on the other hand, 
grazed on grasses, so their teeth are...uh, *were* dissimilar. 
Mammoths were also generally bigger than mastodons, with wider 
heads, and curving tusks. Those..." -- she nodded at the 
retreating behemoths -- "look like mastodons." 

God, was she seriously considering the possibility that they 
had traveled ten or twelve thousand years back in time? Her 
hope that this was all a hallucination began to dwindle with 
each new Pleistocene animal she spotted along the riverbank. 
Faced with such a preponderance of evidence, she felt 
compelled to acknowledge Mulder's theory of time travel as a 
possible explanation for their present predicament.

"I guess I owe you an apology, Mulder."

He nodded his acceptance.

That was one of the things she liked most about Mulder. He 
wasn't an I-told-you-so kind of guy. He didn't gloat. 

"We've got to find a way back," she said.

He chewed his blade of grass with as much zeal as he crunched 
sunflower seeds. "That might be a problem." 

If they couldn't find a way back, they were in serious 
trouble. 20th Century city slickers lost in an Ice Age 
landscape, with no survival skills to speak of. They were FBI 
trained, and could catch your average murderer or mutant 
easily enough, but what good were handcuffs on saber-toothed 
tigers? The Pleistocene world was full of larger-than-life 
threats. And they carried only three guns between them. Ten 
rounds per automatic plus the six rounds in Mulder's .38. That 
wasn't going to last long here. Every single bullet would be 
essential for protection *and* food. 

Food. She was hungry right now. Mulder must be, too. It'd been 
almost two days since their last meal. 

She looked again at the excess of wildlife lining the shore. 
Tons of protein on the hoof and no way to butcher or cook it. 

They were without knives, matches, or anything that could hold 
water. For that matter, they had no shelter, no sunscreen, no 
insect repellent. No compass, either, or first aid kit. Not 
even an aspirin. And already she missed the more commonplace 
comforts of modern life -- like toilet paper. 

They weren't prepared to last two days let alone...

Jesus, how long would they be here? Her heart began to hammer 
at the thought of a week, a month, a--

"Empty your pockets, Mulder."

"Excuse me?"

"Inventory. I want to know what we've got to work with." 

He shoved a fist into his right jacket pocket and pulled out 
his flashlight and car and house keys, which he laid on the 
ground beside the binoculars.

"And in here..." He pawed through his left coat pocket and 
produced handcuffs, cell phone, a pair of latex gloves--

Wait! Her cell phone.

She snatched her own phone from her pocket, and dialed the 
local FBI field office. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?" 

"That's not gonna work."

"We'll see--"

The display window was lit, but blank.

She turned off the phone and tossed it onto the growing pile 
of useless modern day junk.

"Anything else?" she asked, hopeful.

A newspaper clipping about UFO sightings at Hill Air Force 
Base. FBI badge. Pack of sunflower seeds -- empty. That seemed 
to disappoint Mulder more than anything so far. Dry cleaning 
receipt. Car rental agreement. A pocketknife. The knife was 
small, but serviceable. 

"Wait." He held up a finger and dug into his pants pocket. 
Handkerchief. Wallet. Comb. "Except for my gun, that's it," he 
announced. 

"Don't you mean *guns*?"

"No, I brought only one."

"But you always carry two guns."

"Well...not this trip."

Of all the times -- "Twenty rounds. That's all the protection 
we've got."

"I'm pretty sure I have two condoms in my wallet." He grinned 
at her.

"Oh, that's helpful."

"Not really. I think they expired in '95." He leaned back on 
his elbows. "How about you, Scully? You packin' anything 
useful?"

She emptied her pockets. Handcuffs. Latex gloves. Small pad of 
paper and pen. House keys. Badge. Wallet. Oh! Breath mints! 
She unwrapped the foil roll, popped one into her mouth and 
then offered the rest to Mulder. She continued to pull items 
from her jacket. Emery board. Freebie hotel sewing kit. 
Compact. Lipstick. Was lipstick edible? 

"That's all I have," she said, disappointed.

"Know what I'm wishing?" Mulder asked. He removed the flower 
from behind his ear and tossed it to the ground.

"For a time machine?"

"No, but that's not a bad idea." He gave her a wry smile. "I 
was wishing I'd been a bigger MacGyver fan." He began to 
pocket his possessions. "That way I could build a time machine 
out of our cell phones and my empty packet of sunflower 
seeds." He waved the cellophane bag at her.

"You think MacGyver would need both phones?" She returned her 
belongings to her pockets, too, and then rose to her feet.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Back to the field where we first arrived. If there's a way to 
get home, it has to be there."

Mulder stood, too, concern creasing his brow. "Not 
necessarily. We have no idea how we got here -- a wormhole, 
time loop, something else. The portal may be closed, or 
located elsewhere, or it may not exist at all."

 "We came through it once, we have to assume we can go back 
the same way." She began hiking upland, determined to get away 
from the river with all its strange creatures and frightening 
implications. There had to be a portal of some kind back in 
the field. There just had to be.

They hiked for about ten minutes, heading east, when Scully 
suddenly slowed her pace. She realized she didn't know the way 
since she'd been unconscious when Mulder carried her to the 
river last night. 

"Straight ahead," he said, in response to her confused look. 
"It's not much further."

She pushed on, moving upland into the wind, which was picking 
up. Clouds were gathering and the air felt considerably cooler 
than it had yesterday.

They hadn't gone far when Mulder pointed to an area of 
trampled grass thirty yards ahead.

Scully jogged to it. "Here?"

"This is the place." He joined her at its center.

The spot looked entirely unremarkable. No obvious portals, no 
distortions in space and time, no shimmering doorways to the 
future. This couldn't be it. 

"You're sure?" she asked. 

He pointed to a stain of dried blood in the grass. "That's 
where you were laying."

Okay...the portal must be here then. They just needed to look 
harder. She walked a tight circle around him, searching the 
ground for any anomalous signs, waving her arms in front of 
her, hoping to feel an inconsistent air current or an abnormal 
gravitational pull. When she found nothing out of the 
ordinary, she frantically widened her search. 

There had to be a way out. They would find it; they had to. 
Just keep looking. She circled him again. And again. Her head 
throbbed where she'd been injured, and the pain made her 
stomach queasy. 

Mulder remained standing over the bloodstain, watching her 
spiral outward around him. She thoroughly searched the ground, 
the sky and everything in between.

"Scully..."

"It's here, Mulder." 

"Scul--"

"It's here, I know it!" 

It had to be...it had to be! They weren't equipped for the 
Pleistocene. She didn't want to be stuck tens of thousands of 
years in the past. Her family and her life were in 1998. She 
liked living there. She wanted to go home. She didn't belong 
here. Neither of them belonged here. Why wasn't Mulder 
looking? Why was he just standing there? 

"Help me, Mulder!"

Three strides and he was in front of her, blocking her search. 
He took hold of her arms just as she collapsed against him. 
She felt angry and frightened, and her head hurt so damn much. 
When she buried her face against his chest, it was all she 
could do to hold in her tears. 

He stroked her back and said nothing. His soothing caress and 
the soft kisses he pressed against the crown of her head 
helped calm her pounding heart. He felt solid and real beneath 
her fingers. She breathed him in. Felt his pulse drum beneath 
her cheek. 

When he cocooned her in his arms, she began to cry in earnest, 
because she knew his embrace offered only an illusion of 
safety.    

He sank to his knees, taking her with him, cradling her 
against his chest. 

"Shhh," he whispered into her hair, and let her cry herself 
out.

*   *   *

For several minutes after Scully's tears stopped, Mulder kept 
his arms looped around her and smoothed her wind-whipped hair.   

"Sorry," she sniffled.

He shrugged off her apology. 

"No, really," she insisted. "I'm embarrassed."

He wiped tears from her flushed cheeks. The jagged slash at 
her hairline looked inflamed and painful. Her skin felt fiery 
beneath his hand.  "You're sick, Scully." 

She stiffened in his arms. "I'm fine." 

Yeah, right. He'd heard that damn phrase more times than he 
cared to count. 

Fuck fine. No one knew better than he did how hard Scully 
worked to hide her vulnerability -- from the good ol' boys at 
the Bureau, from her family, from him. 

Especially from him. 

The word vulnerable was an insult to her. Yet despite her 
tough-as-nails demeanor, he'd seen her crack on occasion, 
allowing him the rare opportunity to play hero. It was a role 
he simultaneously loathed and aspired to. Loathed because it 
necessarily meant she was in harm's way. Aspired to because he 
wanted to be brave when it counted most, stopping at nothing 
to protect her, trading his life for hers without a moment's 
hesitation.

Truth was she almost never needed his help. She was able to 
take care of herself and him, too. 

He made no further comment about her injuries because he knew 
it would make her uncomfortable, but he planned to keep a 
close eye on her, whether she liked it or not.

A roll of thunder battered the surrounding hills. Storm clouds 
packed the sky to the east.

"Looks like we're in for some bad weather," he said. "We need 
to find cover."

And food. Christ, he felt as hungry as a liver-eating mutant 
coming off a 30-year hibernation. 

Another clap of thunder vibrated the air. Closer this time. 
His decision was made. Shelter first, then food. Rising to his 
feet, he hauled Scully up after him. All the color drained 
from her face as she tried to balance on unsteady legs.

"Can you walk?" he asked, securing her in the crook of his 
arm.

"Yeah. I'm just a little shaky." 

Food momentarily vied for the top spot on their To Do list. 
Scully's condition wasn't going to improve if she didn't get 
some nourishment into her. 

"Come on." He steered her toward the forest, which he hoped 
would provide both food and shelter.

Slate-gray clouds blotted out the daylight. Thunder crept 
closer each time it resounded. Mulder quickened his pace when 
the first fat raindrop slapped his cheek. He towed Scully 
across the wind-flogged meadow toward a gnarled evergreen that 
protruded high above the surrounding pines. Its upper trunk 
was corkscrewed in an odd s-shape, which he took as a good 
sign. The deformity was testimony to its stamina and survival. 
It had endured hardship, but in the end stood tall.

A lightning bolt sizzled through the dark sky, followed 
immediately by a heart-stopping crack of thunder. The storm 
was upon them and it was going to be a whopper.
 
"You okay?" he shouted, keeping his course. Her answer was 
lost in the next explosion of thunder. With less than twenty 
feet to go before they reached the tree, the sky opened, 
deluging them with cold rain. 

By the time they ducked beneath the branches, they were soaked 
to the skin.  

"Jesus!" she said, shivering.

A fork of lightning brightened the sky behind them, and 
thunder crashed on the heels of the strike. Wind and rain 
penetrated the boughs. They would need to move deeper into the 
forest to find adequate cover.

"Mulder, look." She pointed overhead, up the trunk of the 
tree. 

Near the top was an ancient scorch mark just below the s-
shaped trunk.

"Lightning?"

"Maybe."

"Let's get out of here."

He snagged her hand and tugged her away from the tree, heading 
for lower ground and denser cover. Lightning flared again and 
the sharp odor of ozone fell with the rain. 

The trees were enormous here, with broad old-growth trunks. 
Giant ferns filled the understory. When a blowdown the size of 
a tanker truck blocked their path, they detoured along the 
rocky edge of a ravine.

"Watch your step," he warned. Hopping from one wet, moss-
covered stone to the next, he tried to avoid tripping on tree 
roots that were as thick as his upper thigh. Off to his left, 
a swift-moving stream ran north-south in a gully thirty feet 
down. The banks were steep. Slippery pine needles and a layer 
of last year's rotting leaves made walking hazardous. A fall 
would be long and painful.

"You doing okay?" He glanced back at Scully. Rain had 
plastered her hair to her head and her teeth were chattering 
nonstop. Her chalky pallor shocked him. She stared back at him 
with dull, red-rimmed eyes, the left one entirely surrounded 
by the ugly bruise on her temple. 

"I think I need to sit for a minute," she admitted.

"Just a little further," he urged, pulling her forward. Her 
hands were ice cold. Her lips blue. He had to get her out of 
the rain.

A densely needled evergreen up ahead looked like it might 
provide some cover. It wasn't tall enough to attract 
lightning, but might be thick enough to keep out most of the 
rain. He stepped forward, heading for it, when the stones 
beneath his feet rolled and gave way.

"Shit!" He struggled to keep his balance, but the ground 
dropped out from under him and he stumbled over the edge into 
the ravine, hitting his hip and shoulder hard as he fell. 

Rolling and skidding, he grasped frantically for a handhold. 
Gravity hauled him toward the stream. The wind was knocked 
from his lungs when his ribs hit an outcropping of stone. He 
somersaulted several more yards through mud and leaves, until 
he landed with a splash in the water-filled gully. 

God damn, the water was cold.

Gasping for a breath of air, he struggled to his knees and 
scanned the trees on the upper embankment for Scully.

Fuck. Where the hell was she? 

"Mulder!" 

He followed the sound of her voice, and spotted her scrambling 
down to him. She half-jogged, half-slid between boulders and 
fallen branches. 

Getting his feet under him, he staggered from the water. Now 
his teeth were chattering, too, and he imagined his lips were 
as blue as hers.

"Mulder...?" She made it safely down the embankment and rushed 
to steady him. Eyes rounded with fear, she patted his arms and 
legs, presumably checking for broken bones. Then she combed 
through his rain-soaked hair, no doubt trying to rule out head 
injury.

"I'm fine, Scully. Really." He looked down at his mud-
streaked, waterlogged clothes. "Just...wet."

His words didn't reassure her; she continued to feel him, 
squeeze his arms, stroke his cheeks. Her hands were shaking, 
he realized. Apparently his fall had scared her more than it 
had him.

"I'm okay," he said again, capturing her nervous hands between 
his palms. He brought her trembling fingertips to his lips and 
kissed them. "Honest."

Tears filled her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but 
nothing came out, so she simply nodded, letting him know she 
believed him.

"Let's find a dry place to sit...relatively speaking." He 
scanned the ravine, looking for any sort of shelter where they 
might rest and catch their breath. 

An outcropping caught his eye about a third of the way up the 
embankment. Tucked beneath its overhang was a shallow notch 
that looked big enough to hold them both and provide a modicum 
of protection from the rain. 

Gathering Scully beneath one wet arm, he helped her climb. The 
notch turned out to be wider and deeper than he'd first 
thought, roomy enough for the two of them to sit side by side. 
With their knees drawn up, they would be completely out of the 
rain.

Water sluiced over the outcropping above it, but the floor of 
the little cave was bone dry. Moss softened the hard edges of 
the stone floor and walls. He climbed in first, then offered a 
hand to her. She allowed him to tug her in beside him, and 
once they were seated, they backed as far into the cleft as 
they could.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"Mm-hm." She slumped against the wall.  

Lightning continued to flash outside, while thunder vibrated 
through the ravine. Rain pounded the forest floor, cutting 
visibility to no more than twenty or thirty feet. He could 
barely see the stream from where they sat.

"Thirsty?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He leaned forward and cupped his hands beneath the spout of 
water that was pouring from the rocks above. He managed to 
hold onto a small amount, which he offered to her. She drank 
eagerly from the well of his hands. "More?" he asked.

"Please."

He reached again for the waterfall.

"Mulder! Don't move!"

He froze, arms outstretched.

"What is it?"

"Snake."

"Bad snake?"

"Is there a good kind?"

He heard something slither above his head to his left. Then he 
caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. Jesus, it was 
enormous. 

It oozed out of a hole in the rocks, dropping its head to his 
eye level. He held his breath while it dangled there, flicking 
its tongue at him. Christ, the thing's head was as big as a 
housecat's and its body was as thick as his arm. 

Shit, when it rains, it fucking pours. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CHAPTER THREE

"Mulder, don't move."

That was easy for her to say -- she wasn't nose-to-nose with a 
huge, nasty, probably poisonous snake. Mulder held his breath 
while it explored the air in front of his face with its 
tongue. It was so close he could see his own panicked 
expression reflected in its amber eyes. 

Its skin was tannish-brown, as far as Mulder could tell with 
his colorblind vision, and it had diamond-shaped markings 
along its back. Two diagonal stripes ran from behind its eyes 
to its upper jaw, just forward of the corners of its mouth. 
The markings didn't tell him much; he knew next to nothing 
about snakes...other than they tended to have sharp fangs and 
gave him the creeps.

Not that he was *afraid* of them; he just didn't particularly 
like them.

His eyes widened when its tail rattled. *Now* he was afraid. 
Even a neophyte herpetologist knew a rattlesnake was 
poisonous. 

Scully whispered, "Hold perfectly still." 

He heard her gun slide from its holster.

No, no, no, Scully, don't shoot it!

It was only an inch or two in front of his face! And she was 
weak from fever and exhaustion, arms shaky, vision blurred--

CLICK! He flinched when he heard the safety released.

She leaned closer, gun held in outstretched hands. Her arms 
were trembling...badly. He could hear her panting -- quick, 
shallow, nervous-sounding breaths. 

Or maybe that was him.

She repeated, "Don't move."

As if.

Her gun inched closer still and the snake began to rattle more 
furiously. It opened its mouth. Two fangs, wet with venom, 
glistened inside its gaping jaws, millimeters from Mulder's 
nose.

Shit, shit, shit.

Scully's trigger finger slowly squeezed --

BANG! JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST! The gun went off, and the snake's 
head exploded. The noise was god-awful. Mulder clapped his 
hands over his ears, too late to block out the blast. 
Gunpowder seared his cheek. Bits of snake splattered his face, 
his clothes, the surrounding rocks. He swiped at his eyes, 
clawed away scraps of gore, and hoped he wouldn't vomit.

Scully was saying something to him, but he couldn't hear a 
word. His ears were ringing badly from the blast.

The headless reptile dangled from its crevice, bleeding from 
its neck onto the stone floor. 

He yanked it from its hole. "I may be deaf for the rest of my 
life, but at least we have something to eat now," he said, 
unable to hear his own voice. 

The snake was eight feet long if it was an inch. He coiled its 
thick body into a pile between his legs, and then dug into his 
pocket for his knife.

Scully tapped his arm. Using hand signals, she volunteered to 
skin and gut the snake. He was tempted to take her up on the 
offer -- he didn't relish the idea of slicing and dicing a 
giant snake -- but Scully looked absolutely drained of energy. 
She held her gun loosely in her lap, shoulders slumped, eyes 
shadowed by fatigue and fever.

"I'll do it," he said, not certain if she could hear him or 
not. "You rest." 

He scooted to the edge of the shelter and out into the pouring 
rain, hauling the headless snake with him. It was too awkward 
to carry down the steep embankment, so he heaved it into the 
gully. It hit a ledge about two thirds of the way down, then 
skidded and rolled to the bottom, where rainwater was chugging 
through the valley, roiling around rocks, carrying leaves and 
other debris with it. 

He half walked, half slid down the muddy hillside, gathered 
the carcass and dragged it into the chilly water. Wading up to 
his knees, he searched for a flat stone to use as a work 
surface. He quickly located one midway across the stream.

Once the snake was laid out on the stone, he had abso-fucking-
lutely no idea what to do next. Oh, sure, he knew the skin had 
to come off, and there were probably bones that needed to be 
removed, as well as guts of some sort that should come out. 
But did snakes have lungs? Intestines? And what about the 
venom? Where the hell was that located? 

Guessing the poison was probably in or near the head, which 
was now gone, he decided to not worry about it. He rolled the 
snake onto its back and exposed its belly. Using his knife, he 
made a shallow cut lengthwise from neck to rattle.

He inserted a finger beneath the skin at the neck and tugged. 
It was difficult to grasp onto at first, but once he got the 
hang of it, the skin pulled off easily in one unbroken piece. 
When he got it stripped down to the tail, he cut it away, 
rattles and all.

Well, that hadn't been too difficult. 

Now for the messy part. Cutting a deeper slit the entire 
length of the snake's belly, he exposed its guts. He plowed 
the viscera out with his thumb, slopping them into the stream. 
Bile stung the back of his throat as he shook a stubborn, 
sticky rope of entrails from his fingers. Unlike Scully, he 
hated touching the insides of things. 

Slicing the meat into six-inch chunks was easier and less 
messy than the gutting. He rinsed each piece in the stream, 
cleaning off any blood and unidentified slime. It surprised 
him how much the sight of the raw meat made his mouth water. 
There was no way to cook it, of course, but at this point he 
was too famished to care. And he doubted Scully would be 
squeamish about eating it either. Hell, he'd seen her eat a 
live bug once. 

The amount of meat was substantial. He needed to find some way 
to carry it. Leaving it temporarily on the stone, he waded to 
shore to find an appropriate container or plate. 

Ferns? Cedar boughs? Bark? He crossed to a birch tree and, 
using his knife, cut a vertical slit in its smooth white bark. 
It pulled easily away from the trunk in a large, rectangular 
sheet.

Tah-dah! Instant platter. Eat my dust, MacGyver.

He returned to the stream and mounded the meat onto the bark. 
He estimated he had about ten pounds altogether -- a veritable 
feast for an Ice Age king and queen.

Carrying it proved more awkward than he'd anticipated. Two 
steps from the stream and the topmost chunk tumbled onto the 
ground. He stooped to grab it out of the dirt. Dried leaves 
and mud clung to its sticky surface. 

"Five second rule." No sense throwing away perfectly good 
food. He shook off the debris and stuffed it into his mouth. 

Jesus, it tasted wonderful, even with the dirt. A little 
stringy. And bony. But firm and fleshy. Different from 
anything he'd ever eaten, but in a good way. He carefully 
extracted two needle-sharp bones from between his teeth and 
flicked them to the ground.

That's when he saw it. The distinct imprint of a human foot in 
the mud beside the stream. 

The foot was bare, smaller than his own, but considerably 
larger than Scully's, and the little toe was missing. The 
print was relatively fresh; water filled the impression, but 
the mud still held its shape despite the downpour.

Mulder glanced over his shoulder and scanned the surrounding 
woods. The banks of the ravine rose steeply, twenty to thirty 
feet on either side of the gully. Large old growth evergreens, 
widely spaced with trunks as big around as train cars, lined 
the upper rim. The understory was clogged with blowdowns, 
ferns and large boulders. Plenty of cover for anyone who 
wanted to hide. Nothing appeared to move on the ridge or in 
the ravine, but his gut told him he was being watched, and the 
feeling prickled the back of his neck.

He examined the footprint more carefully. Left foot. About a 
size nine or ten, men's. He wondered what happened to the toe. 
The track pointed downstream, so he followed it and soon 
discovered two distinct sets of prints, the second slightly 
smaller than the first, with all ten toes. 

The plate of meat was growing heavy. And he was starving. It 
was still raining hard -- a cold steady deluge that chilled 
him to the bone. Better eat first and then follow the 
strangers on a full stomach, he decided.     

Turning back toward the shelter, he hiked up the embankment. 

At the cave he found Scully asleep, gun cradled in her lap. 
Dirt streaked her face and pine needles stuck to her hair. The 
bruise around her eye reminded him of a Rorschach's inkblot 
and he was sure he could see the shape of a grim-looking 
mastodon in its blue-black silhouette.  

"Scully?"

She stirred at the sound of his voice and her eyelids 
fluttered open. Evidently her hearing was okay. His was slowly 
returning, too, although noises, including his own voice, 
still sounded tinny and a million miles away.

"Let me help." She reached for the platter and set it on her 
lap. 

Hands now free, he eased into the shallow cave, ass end first. 
It was a cozy fit with the two of them wedged side-by-side. 

"You're freezing." She wiped water from his dripping chin.

 "Wanna warm me?" he asked through chattering teeth. He leaned 
more heavily into her and exaggerated his shivering. Water 
rained from his hair onto her jacket.

"Mulder!" She gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow. "You're 
soaking wet." 

True. Water was pooling uncomfortably beneath him. Beneath 
them both.

"Eat up. It's good," he said, hoping to divert her attention 
from the growing wet spot.

"You started without me?"

"Just a sample."

She selected a chunk and bit into it.

"Mmm. Y'right. S'good." 

"Watch out for bones." He helped himself to a large portion. 

They ate for several minutes without speaking, eager to fill 
their empty bellies. The mound dwindled faster than Mulder 
would have guessed. Scully ate as ravenously as he did, 
matching him piece for piece. Soon, more than half the meat 
was gone, replaced by a stack of delicate rib bones. 

She leaned back with a satisfied moan, and proceeded to lick 
her fingers clean, one at a time. He watched her, hypnotized 
by the way each dainty finger disappeared into the circle of 
her lips. Jesus, she had no idea how sexy she looked. Hair 
tousled, cheeks flushed, a scrap of raw snake stuck to her 
chin. It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her 
and licking that lucky piece of meat right off her-- 

Poised to swoop in like a Pleistocene buzzard on a fresh 
mastodon carcass, he felt himself growing hard. He was hyper-
aware of every move she was making, every breath she was 
breathing, the way her tongue was swirling seductively around 
her left thumb. Imagining that pretty little tongue licking 
snake slime from his own fingers...oh...God... When she slid 
her middle finger deeply into her mouth, he almost groaned out 
loud. 

She stopped mid-lick to look over at him. As if reading his 
mind, she sloooowly withdrew her finger from her mouth. It 
made a delightful kissing noise when it popped free. 

Was she coming on to him?

"Did you swallow a, uh, bone, Mulder?" she asked, her tone 
sultry.

Okay, *that* was definitely a come on. She must have noticed 
the boner in his pants was pressing uncomfortably against his 
zipper. He wanted like hell to readjust himself. Fuck, he 
wanted *her* to readjust him. 

Mouth agape, he racked his brain for a smart-ass retort, but 
came up blank. Scully had turned the tables on him, upsetting 
the natural order of their relationship. *He* was supposed to 
lob the innuendoes and then she was supposed to ignore them. 
After five years, a precedent had been set, a pattern had been 
established. This unexpected role reversal made him wonder if 
there was something in the prehistoric air affecting her, or 
him, or both of them. 

Maybe it was the snake meat.

"I thought you might have a..." -- Scully selected a slender 
snake rib from the pile of bones and held it up for him to see 
-- "caught in your throat." She used the flat edge of the bone 
to trace a tickling path over his bobbing Adam's apple. 

She *was* flirting with him. 

Wasn't she? 

Or was he just imagining it?

Shit. He had no fucking idea. 

Somewhere he'd read that the human male thinks about sex 
approximately once every five minutes. At the time, he thought 
the estimate sounded a bit conservative, but he'd been willing 
to let it go. Hell, he was younger then, and averages were 
just averages. Besides, someone had to be on the upper end of 
the scale to balance out all those politically correct Men of 
the '90s who never, ever had sexual fantasies about the women 
they worked with. 

Lying bastards.       

Okay, big deal if he *occasionally* pictured Scully...uh...how 
could he put this delicately? Fucking him blind? Was it really 
so wrong? 

Yes, yes, he understood the evils of sexual harassment, he 
really did; he'd been to the seminars, had the sensitivity 
training. But come on, his feelings for Scully went waaaay 
beyond simple lust. For chrissake, he *loved* h--  

Don't go there, Mulder, do *not* go there, he told himself. 
She is *not* interested in you that way. Just concentrate on 
something unsexy and get past this.   

Flukeman. 

Nope.

Leonard Betts' head.

Nope.

Peacock brothers.

Nope, nope and nope. This wasn't helping. 

Okay, bring out the big guns: Bill Scully, Jr. defending his 
sister's honor by pounding the crap out of her hound dog 
partner.

Bingo. Worked like a charm every time. 

Ardor diminishing, Mulder signaled to Scully that she had some 
food on her chin. "You've...uh..." 

"Oh, thanks." She scrubbed her face with a fingertip. "That 
was delicious. I'm full."

"Mm. Me, too." He selected a bone from the pile and used it to 
pick meat from between his teeth. "Just like Thanksgiving. All 
we need now are a couple of La-Z-Boys and a football game."

She slid the platter of leftovers to the front of the shelter, 
out of the way of their feet. "No TV, no remote, no cable -- 
you're going to slip into catatonic shock. You realize that, 
don't you?"

"I miss my VCR already." Which reminded him, "I'm gonna have a 
hell of an overdue triple-X bill when I get back."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"No more than usual." Would Skinner notice if he added the 
cost of the videos to their expense account? Yeah, he probably 
would since he'd never signed the 302 in the first place. 
Their trip to Hill Air Force Base was unauthorized. "Who's 
your favorite redheaded porn star, Scully?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"Sorry. My five minutes were up."

The other eyebrow rose, giving her a "what the hell does that 
mean?" look.

"Never mind." He sighed, feeling full and content.

They listened to the rain for a minute or two without 
speaking. Lightning flashed in the east and Mulder silently 
counted the seconds between the flash and the rumble of 
thunder -- a game he and Sam used to play. They would sit on 
the porch at Quonochontaug, estimating the distance of an 
approaching storm as thunderclouds, gray as the sea, plowed 
northward along the coastline, bringing the smell of rainwater 
and the promise of cooler air. Eight-one-thousand, nine-one-
thousand, ten-one-thousand...a soft rumble would ricochet 
against the shore. Then when the storm finally closed in, Sam 
snuggled beneath his arm. Goosebumps dotted her bare arms and 
legs, and she shivered against him, insisting she was chilly, 
not scared. But he wasn't fooled. She was just putting on a 
show of bravery, the way she always did whenever she wanted to 
prove she was as courageous as any boy. 

A lot like Scully.

Instinctively he wrapped an arm around Scully. To his surprise 
and delight, she didn't shrug him off, but settled comfortably 
against him.

Another flash of lightning brightened the sky. One-one-
thousand, two-one--   

"Mulder, how are we going to get home?"

He had no answer. For all he knew, they might be stuck here 
permanently. "I don't know."

She turned to look up at him. "We can't give up. We have to 
try *something.*"

"I haven't given up. I just don't have any useful suggestions 
right now."

More lightning. The storm seemed to be circling around. 

"We need to go back to the field where we first arrived," she 
said, sounding determined.

"To do what?"

"Wait for the time portal to reopen."

"How long do we wait, Scully? There may not be a portal. 
Ever." He knew she didn't want to hear this. "We have to 
consider the possibility we may never get back."

"I won't accept that. I can't." She targeted him with angry 
eyes. "Can you?"

"I don't know that we have a choice." He didn't want to fight 
with her. They needed to work on this together. "I saw some 
footprints," he said, trying to redirect the conversation. 

"Human footprints?"

"Yes. Down by the stream. When I was cutting up the snake."

"Who do you think they belong to?" She looked hopeful.

Probably not a rescue party, he thought. "You took 
anthropology in college. You tell me. What do you remember 
about early human groups in North America?"

She frowned and thought for a minute. "The oldest reliably-
dated human remains were only about 11,500 radiocarbon years 
old...that's 13,350 calendar years."

"What were the people like? Were they friendly?"

"No one knows for sure. The fossil records indicate they were 
nomadic, living in familial groups of about fifty men, women 
and children. They were artisans and skilled big-game hunters. 
They followed migrating animals, like mastodons and mammoths, 
camels, peccaries, stag-moose, musk-oxen...you can stop me at 
any time, Mulder." 

"Sounds like they had plenty to eat."

"Mm. For a while. A major megafaunal extinction occurred 
around 11,400 B.P."

That sounded ominous. "Caused by what?"

"There are several theories. Some scientists believe early 
humans hunted the animals to extinction. Others claim that a 
catastrophic climactic event killed them. A third theory 
posits that humans brought dogs, birds and other animals with 
them to the New World, and these Old World animals carried 
viruses that may have killed or weakened American populations, 
which had no immunity to the new pathogens. Most likely, the 
extinction was the result of a combination of stressors."

"Something extraterrestrial perhaps?"

A laugh chuffed from her nose. "You would ask that, wouldn't 
you?"

He shrugged. "Asteroids are extraterrestrial."

"Is that what you were thinking?"

"Nah," he admitted. He suddenly felt very tired. Three days 
and two nights without sleep were catching up with him. "I was 
thinking more along the lines of visitors from outer space, 
planetary invasion, the usual stuff. Although..." -- he 
pointed to the rain and wind outside the shelter -- "maybe the 
explanation is Biblical. This is looking a lot like Noah's 
flood."

"Let's not go there, Mulder." She yawned and rested her head 
against his shoulder. "We just ate the serpent in this 
particular Garden of Eden. I hate to think what ramifications 
there might be in that." 

Her yawn sparked one of his own. "Dining on the symbolic cause 
of The Fall. That can't be good." He leaned his head back 
against the rocks and closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?" 
he asked, not really expecting an honest answer.

"Better, thanks."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, 
surreptitiously checking for fever. Her skin felt cooler. 
Maybe getting some food into her had helped.

She folded his hand beneath her own. "I'm fine, Mulder. 
Really."

Wrapped by the warmth of her palm, he let his hand lie in her 
lap.

The two of them were safe for now, their bellies full. It was 
as good a time as any to catch forty winks.   

*   *   *

"Let's shoot it," Bill, Jr. says, tossing the garter snake 
onto the ground and aiming his BB gun.

Dana is tempted. She loves her new BB gun -- a birthday gift 
from her brothers. But... "Dad said we're only supposed to 
shoot cans, Bill."

"Well, Dad's not here, Miss Goody Two Shoes."

True, Ahab isn't with them. 

And Dana hates to be called Miss Goody Two Shoes.

Bill, Jr. looms over her left shoulder and chants in her ear, 
"Dana's a chicken...Dana's a chick--"

"I am not." She is a little afraid to disobey her father, but 
she's not afraid to shoot the snake. 

Charlie stands off to the side, a big grin on his freckled 
face. He points his own BB gun at the snake. "Come on, 
Dane...SHOOT!"

The boys fire one shot after another as the snake side-winds, 
eluding the hailstorm of their BBs. Dana is certain she can 
hit it. She's a good shot already, as good as her brothers. 
Better, in fact. She hit five cans out of six! Charlie hit 
only two. The moving snake is more of a challenge, but she 
plans to show Bill she's not a chicken or a Miss Goody Two 
Shoes. Closing one eye, she takes aim. Her heart pounds with 
excitement. The snake slithers through the autumn leaves, and 
Dana pulls the trigger. POW! 

Delight skates up her arms when the gun pops and she sees the 
snake knocked forward by the impact of her BB. A hit! Dead 
center!

"You got it! You got it!" Charlie's face lights up with 
admiration. Even Bill, Jr. looks impressed.

The three children move closer to inspect the injured animal. 
Snapped practically in half, it continues to squirm, blood 
oozing from its wound. 

Dana kneels and picks it up. It's moving very slowly now. Soon 
it just hangs limply in her hands. She gives it a little 
shake. Then a gentle squeeze. A more frantic shake. Nothing 
rouses it. Is it dead? She didn't mean for it to die.

"Starbuck, I warned you. You weren't supposed to shoot at 
anything but cans." Ahab is sitting at the head of the dinner 
table, where the family has gathered to eat their supper. His 
expression is stern and he stares directly at his youngest 
daughter. She knows he is ashamed of her. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill it." She looks down at her 
dinner plate. Her tears are unstoppable. She wants to put life 
back into the dead snake, but already her brothers have buried 
it in the woods and now her father is mad and she can't stop 
crying. She is to blame for killing the snake and it's going 
to be dead forever--

"Who are the men who would create a life whose only hope was 
to die?" Dana hears herself ask, but her plate has disappeared 
and she is no longer at the dinner table. She is a grown 
woman, standing in front of a child's coffin. The casket is 
for Emily, her beloved, lost daughter.
 

Mulder stands beside her. He has brought flowers for her dead 
child -- a pretty white bouquet, fragile and pale. "I don't 
know," he answers. "But that you found her and you had a 
chance to love her...then, maybe she was meant for that too."

A chance to give a mother's love to a child. Such a brief 
blessing and all the more painful because of its brevity. Does 
Mulder understand how much her heart is breaking over the loss 
of Emily?

She turns away from the coffin to tell him she feels bereft, 
and is surprised to find he is wearing a flower tucked behind 
his ear. His suit and tie have vanished; he wears black jeans 
and hiking boots, and a dead snake is looped around his neck, 
dangling over his shoulders onto his bare chest.

"Touch it," he says. His voice floats past her ears like 
cottonwood seed on a spring breeze. Puffy clouds slink across 
a cornflower-blue sky high above his head, while white field 
flowers nod at his feet. The air smells like fresh grass and 
cherry blossoms. 

And him. Masculine. Aroused.

She is suddenly aware that her clothes have disappeared and 
she stands completely naked in front of him. Her partner...oh, 
God. Embarrassment pounds in her veins, while at the same 
time, desire tickles her inner thighs, her breastbone, the 
tips of her breasts. She yearns to touch the snake, and 
recognizes the urge is Freudian and vaguely inappropriate. 
Even so...

She reaches for it. Tentatively strokes its head.

Its amber eyes open and she knows this is going too far. She 
is crossing a line. 

"Are you hungry, Scully?" Mulder asks. Concern has etched 
shadows into his brow.

She realizes she is ravenous. 

The snake stretches forward and prods her palm with its nose. 
She can't eat it alive, can she?

Mulder whispers, "Taste it," and her doubts evaporate at the 
sound of his voice. Grasping the snake behind its head, she 
raises it to her lips, opens her mouth, accepts Mulder's gift. 
The snake glides into her, over her tongue to the back of her 
throat. It tastes earthy. The texture is surprisingly dry and 
smooth.

It slips past her throat more easily than she would have 
guessed, considering its size. It feels thick and warm in her 
neck. She doesn't gag as it wriggles downward toward her 
belly.

"You okay?" Mulder asks.

She nods. The serpent now rests in her stomach. She feels 
deliciously sated and inexplicably happy. Mulder strokes her 
face and smiles at her. He appears pleased. Satisfied that she 
is satisfied.

"We did it, Scully." He points to her stomach.

Her naked belly has grown large. Her skin is stretched tightly 
across the hard expanse of her abdomen. Mulder strokes the 
pregnant mound. She feels something move inside her beneath 
his palm. A baby's kick? Or the uncoiling of a snake? 

"I'm scared, Mulder." 

He nuzzles her neck. "Of what?"

Hot liquid floods her inner thighs and a painful cramp sizzles 
in her womb. "Mulder?"

In the blink of an eye, she is lying on a hospital bed. The 
room is familiar. Calumet Mercy Hospital. Chicago. Last week. 
Only it had been Mulder strapped to the bed rails that time, 
not her. The Pincus case. A monster that hid in the light. 

"Mulder?"

He is dressed in scrubs and latex gloves. A surgical mask 
covers the lower half of his face. He stands at the foot of 
her bed. She feels him grip her ankles, part her legs.

"You have to push, Scully."

No, no, no. This can't be happening. She can't be pregnant. 
She is unable to have children. Another stab of pain twists 
her insides. 

"Push, Scully! It's up to you."

She bears down, unable to stop herself. Oh, God, oh, God, the 
pain is awful. She can feel herself stretched to the point of 
tearing as something forces itself from between her legs. The 
mound of her belly blocks her view. All she can see is the top 
of Mulder's bowed head as he struggles to help her deliver her 
child.

Suddenly the pain is gone. Mulder looks up, eyes wide with 
tears. Not tears of joy. He is frightened. Oh, Jesus. Please, 
no. 

"I'm sorry." His mask puffs in and out against his face as he 
pants for breath. 

She tries to sit up, but the restraints hold her back. "What 
is it, Mulder?"

His head wags with pity.

"What *is* it?"

"I warned you. You weren't supposed to shoot at anything but 
cans." He stands straighter and places her baby onto her now-
flat belly, only it isn't a baby, just as she knew it wouldn't 
be, knew it couldn't be. It's the dead, headless snake. Not 
the little one she killed with her BB gun, but the big 
Pleistocene one she shot in the cave.

"But I *had* to shoot it, Mulder. It was going to kill you. I 
was trying to save your life!"

Mulder tugs the mask from his face, and she sees he is no 
longer Mulder. He is Ahab.

"You made a bad choice, Starbuck."

He frowns, turns his back, and walks to the window. His 
shoulders are broad and stiff. Full of authority and 
expectation. He draws the curtains back, raises the blinds. 
Outside is a valley with a silver river winding through it, 
and on the banks of the river are herds of unfamiliar animals. 
Saber-toothed cats, camels, giant mastodons. 

"Dad?"

Ahab turns. And he has become Mulder once again.  

"There's no going back, Scully."

"There *has* to be!" She struggles against her bonds. The 
snake slips off her belly and rolls to the floor. "There has 
to be...there has to be..."

*   *   *

"There has to--" Scully's eyes flew open and she fought to sit 
upright. Panting, sweat slicking her back, her neck, the palms 
of her hands, she tried to get her bearings. Restraints no 
longer bound her wrists. The hospital bed was gone. She was in 
the rock shelter. Mulder was dozing beside her.

A nightmare. She'd had a nightmare. Thank God. None of it was 
real...except maybe the part about eating the snake. In a way. 
A very Freudian way. She eyeballed the leftover meat, then 
kicked it. Bones, bark and meat tumbled out of the cave.

Outside in the ravine the rain had stopped and the sun was 
shining. Evergreen boughs, ferns, moss-covered stones -- 
everything glistened. Water continued to drip from the upper 
canopy, slapping the lower branches with an erratic rat-a-tat. 
Leaning forward to inspect the sky, she squinted against the 
glare. The west was clear and pale blue, while the east 
remained dark with clouds. Down in the gully, steam rose from 
the forest floor as the sun heated the sodden ground.

Scully checked her watch. Four-thirty-four. She'd been asleep 
for more than six hours, and felt better for it. Her headache 
was gone and it seemed her fever had broken.  

Mulder stirred beside her, but didn't awaken. This didn't 
surprise her. He'd been without sleep for three days.

His clothes were still saturated and hers weren't much drier. 
She felt sticky and unclean, and wished she could take a hot 
shower. Glancing at Mulder's feet, she noticed his boots were 
soaked. Better get them off him and set them out in the sun to 
dry. 

She managed to unlace and gently pull them from his feet 
without waking him. Deciding to remove his sopping socks while 
she was at it, she peeled them from his feet one at a time, 
and found his toes were wrinkled from being wet so long. She 
placed her palm along the sole of his left foot, testing the 
temperature of his skin. He felt damp, but warm.

He sighed in his sleep when she patted his pruney toes. 

"I'll be right back," she whispered, intending to climb down 
to the stream to wash up after setting his footwear out to 
dry. On an impulse, however, she paused before leaving to 
stroke his unshaved cheek. His two-day stubble felt prickly 
against her palm, and it made her realize that he would have a 
full beard in just a matter of days. 

She'd never seen him with a beard before. 

She tried to picture him with his chin and cheeks buried 
behind a thick layer of whiskers. Unexpectedly, the image 
caused her to shiver with desire. 

The Pleistocene air must be making her crazy. On the job, even 
during off hours, she was usually able to ignore Mulder's 
physical appeal. Usually. But here in this primeval place, she 
found herself tantalized by his masculinity. His beard, his 
height, his weight, the size of his hands, the thickness of 
his fingers...and just look at those gorgeous feet! Damn it, 
everything about him seemed to ooze sexuality. All of his 
manly attributes were conspiring to make her feel, 
well...horny, to put it bluntly. The depth of his voice, the 
smell of his sweat, the swell of his Adam's apple, not to 
mention the bulge-- 

What the hell was wrong with her? 

Must be the snake meat.

Determined to put temptation behind her, she grabbed his socks 
and shoes, and scooted out of the shelter.

The sunshine felt good on her face and the air smelled earthy 
after the rain, like Shitake mushrooms and Christmas trees 
rolled into one delicious natural perfume. She placed Mulder's 
boots in a sunny spot and laid his socks out to dry on the 
stone overhang. Then she carefully picked her way to the 
bottom of the ravine, being watchful of slippery stones.

Down in the gully, she took a moment to inspect her 
surroundings. Mulder had mentioned seeing footprints, but she 
saw no sign of them. Even his tracks seemed to have been 
washed away by the rain.

She glanced back at the cave where he was sleeping, hidden in 
the shadows. His boots, perched on a mossy, sun-drenched 
boulder, and his fluttering socks assured her she wasn't the 
only living human being left on the entire planet. It was easy 
to feel alone in this place. And powerless. The world had 
become gargantuan in the blink of an eye, with its enormous 
trees, oversized animals, and danger lurking around every 
corner.

How long could they survive here?

She wandered upstream a short distance, searching for a spot 
where the water ran deep enough to take a bath. Eventually she 
came to a fallen log, which had dammed the stream, creating a 
wide pool. Mist floated above its inky surface, giving the 
scene a fairytale feel and reminding her of legendary places 
like Camelot or Eden.

The ravine rose forty feet or more on either side of the 
stream, banked at a steep angle, craggy with stone and 
speckled with vegetation. Wild orchids, curly-leafed ferns, 
emerald-green groundcovers dotted with diminutive, star-shaped 
blossoms grew on and between the slate-gray ledges. Massive 
tree roots ran vein-like down the near-vertical embankments, 
questing for water in the lowlands. The trees themselves 
guarded the upper banks like giant gnarled soldiers. Sunlight 
dripped between their splayed fingers to puddle like molten 
gold on the forest floor. 

Woodland animals chittered angrily in the branches overhead, 
making Scully feel she was an unwelcome trespasser. All 
around, birds screeched -- high-pitched, frantic calls. A 
desperate, anxious sound. They ballyhooed their territories, 
extolled their genetic virtues, prepared to drive out unwanted 
interlopers. 

The birdcalls prickled her scalp as she stepped to the edge of 
the pool. She quickly stripped off her coat and draped it over 
a nearby boulder. Wanting to give herself a thorough washing, 
including her hair, she removed her turtleneck and her black 
camisole, and laid them both neatly on top of her coat. The 
idea of putting the soiled clothes back on after her bath was 
not a pleasant one, but she was thankful she'd worn several 
layers. These clothes might have to last a long while, in all 
sorts of weather.

She crouched to untie her boots. A wet knot in her laces 
stalled her for a minute, but she eventually was able to pick 
it loose. She stood again and toed off her boots and then 
removed her socks. Lastly, she unbuckled her belt and slid her 
pants from her legs, adding them to the pile with her gun, 
which she balanced on the very top.

It felt strange to be standing in the forest wearing nothing 
but bra and panties, especially since she'd decided to take 
Mulder's advice literally, and put on something "black and 
sexy" for their night of funky B&E. Her black silk underwear 
was a brand new set. Not exactly utilitarian. Made for show 
more than for wear and tear. What had she been thinking?

Kneeling at the edge of the small pool, she dipped her hand 
into the water. It was startlingly cold -- as icy as if it had 
just trickled off the Wisconsinan glacier.

Well, maybe it had, she realized.

She drank from her cupped hands. The water tasted sweet and 
slightly metallic, and was ice cream-headache cold. A long-
legged beetle skated quickly out of her way when she began to 
wash. Bill used to call insects like these Jesus Bugs, because 
they were able to walk on water. One time when their mom 
overheard him using the name she grounded him for a week, 
which delighted Missy no end. She called him "Bill the 
Blasphemer" for months afterward.

Wishing for a bar of soap, she scrubbed her face and neck with 
her palms. Then she leaned forward, dipped the crown of her 
head into the pool, and wetted her hair. Too late she realized 
she hadn't thought to bring Mulder's comb with her.

Water streamed past her ears, preventing her from hearing the 
approach of footsteps, until a twig snapped behind her.

"Mulder?" 

Twisting to look over her shoulder, she discovered two men 
standing about an arm's length away, blocking her access to 
her gun. They had dun-colored eyes set in deeply tanned faces, 
long corkscrewing beards and dark flyaway hair that fell well 
below their shoulders. They wore animal skin garments wrapped 
around their waists and fur capes hung across their muscular 
shoulders. Each carried a spear and a hide sack. Bone jewelry 
decorated their ears, necks and upper arms, which were 
tattooed with dark, geometric patterns.

One man, the closest one, was taller than the other by several 
inches. He was missing a toe on his left foot, and ropey scars 
scissored up his left leg from his damaged foot to his upper 
thigh. She guessed they were from animal bites, healed years 
ago. His forearm was scarred, too. And his face. His left 
cheek and chin were disfigured by two parallel slashes that 
ran from his eye to his jaw. Considering the extent of his 
injuries, it was a wonder he had survived.  

Both men sniffed the air, their nostrils flaring as they 
breathed in her scent. The scarred man stepped closer, near 
enough to jab her bare upper arm with the point of his finger. 
The poke was so hard it knocked her back on her haunches.

He growled something to the smaller man, who smiled. Their 
proximity set her heart hammering and she chided herself for 
putting herself at risk this way.  

"Li-chi tse-gah!" shouted the scarred man, startling her.

"Li-chi," the smaller man repeated, more softly.

They moved in, crowding her. She wanted to rise up but thought 
they might mistake any sudden move on her part as a threat, so 
she hunkered low and hoped like hell they didn't want to harm 
her.

The scarred man reached for her again, and it took all her 
willpower not to duck out from under his hand. He patted her 
hair, his touch tentative, curious. "Li-chi," he repeated, this 
time in a whisper. Combing his fingers through her hair, he 
suddenly laughed out loud, a harsh, gritty sound that crackled 
from his throat. The other man laughed, too, then stuttered a 
few words and pointed at her breasts.

Bending low for a closer look, the scarred man studied her 
black bra. He stroked the fabric, running his index finger down 
one strap. He hooked his finger behind the silky cup, tested 
its smoothness by rubbing it between his finger and thumb.

"Ne-zhoniiii..."

She wasn't sure if that was a word or a sigh. 

When he suddenly prodded her breast, she slapped his hand.

"Don't," she warned.

He drew back and began jabbering at her, his tone angry and 
maybe a little frightened. The other man watched, poised to run 
or stay, depending on what happened next.

She realized this was probably her best opportunity to go for 
her weapon. Springing to her feet, she tried to lunge past the 
scarred man. His arm shot out, blocking her. Lightning fast, he 
grabbed her hair and yanked, bringing her up short and then 
forcing her to her knees. Both men were yammering now.

Damn it, he was dragging her away from the pool.

She filled her lungs and screamed as loudly as she could.

"Mulllderrrr!"

*   *   *

"Scully?" Mulder blinked awake. Had she called out to him or 
was it just a dream? She wasn't in the shelter, that much was 
obvious. He sat up and scrubbed sleep from his eyes with the 
heels of hands.

Where were his boots?

Bright sunshine jabbed his eyes when he slid from the cave to 
locate Scully. He squinted against the glare and quickly found 
his boots and socks, but Scully was nowhere to be seen. 
Touching one of the socks, he discovered it was still sopping 
wet, which meant she hadn't been gone long.

"Scully?" he shouted, only to hear his own voice echo back to 
him. "Sculleeee!"

There was no answer. Evidently she hadn't just ducked behind a 
bush to pee. His heart began to race as all manner of 
irrational fears zigzagged through his mind.

"Scully! Scullllleeeee!"

He pulled on his boots, leaving the socks behind and not 
bothering to tie his laces. Which direction had she gone? And 
why the hell had she gone alone? He scrambled down the 
embankment. 

At the bottom her footprints led downstream and he followed 
them at a jog. When he spotted two additional sets of prints 
alongside hers -- one with a missing toe -- he broke into a 
full run.

"Scully? Where are you? Sculleee!" He bulldozed through a patch 
of waist-high ferns only to be stopped dead in his tracks by 
the sight of her black, silk camisole lying on a boulder.

Blood roared in his ears and his legs felt like rubber as he 
lurched toward it. Fuck, fuck. He grabbed it and hugged it to 
his chest while he tried to make sense of what might have 
happened here. Her tracks, now barefoot, and the strangers' 
clearly showed signs of a struggle. 

Find her...find her...find her...

The footprints led further downstream, where the sides of the 
ravine were too steep to climb. That meant Scully and the two 
men would have to stick close to the stream, at least until the 
land flattened out. But there were so many places to hide. 
Trees, shrubs, boulders, crevices.

Find her!

"Sculleee!" Please, please answer.

In the distance he heard her faint yell. "Mulder!"

He aimed for her voice and ran for all he was worth.

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FOUR
  
The stream rushed through the ravine like blood through the veins of a 
hunted beast. Mist shrouded the entire gorge and pointed firs lined the 
upper embankment like rows of colossal shark's teeth. The scarred man 
followed the flow of water, hauling Scully by the hair along a swampy, 
overgrown path, while his companion trotted a few paces behind, lugging 
the packs, spears, Scully's clothes and her gun. Briars clawed their 
bare legs and bit into Scully's unprotected feet.

Kicking, cursing, throwing punches, she tried to free herself, but the 
scarred man ignored her blows and maintained his tight grip on her 
hair. She dug in her heels at every opportunity, flailed her fists, 
scratched his arms and face, drawing blood...along with what was 
undoubtedly a string of caveman curses. 

She swore back at him. "Bastard! Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

They continued on that way for more than three quarters of a mile, with 
Scully struggling and arguing. Physically she was no match for the 
scarred man, but even so she was prepared to be as contrary as she 
needed to be to slow his progress and give Mulder a chance to catch up 
with them.

From somewhere far behind them he called her name again. She returned 
his shout, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her cry earned her a 
wallop; the scarred man struck her hard in the mouth, splitting her 
lower lip. Blood spattered her chest, her arms, the ground, and she 
hissed with pain.

Scarface drew back his fist to strike again, daring her to defy him.
 
Damn Neanderthal. She had no intention of giving in to his bullying. 
Eight million years out of Africa, and she was being hauled off by the 
hair? This fucking caveman was pissing her off!

Glowering at him, she shouted,  "MULLL--"

Knuckles plowed into her jaw, causing an explosion of pain that dropped 
her to her knees. The grip on her hair was the only thing that kept her 
from falling flat on the ground. 

The scarred man must have sensed her next scream coming, because he 
jerked her to her feet and pressed his huge palm tightly over her 
bruised lips, locking her jaw with granite fingers so that she could 
neither scream nor bite. 

Son of a bitch must have done this before.

"Tehi," he growled into her ear, securing her with the crook of his 
arm. He steered her roughly toward the stream. "Kut."

She reached up to dig at his eyes, but he dodged her scraping 
nails and tightened his hold, towing her into the water, hand 
still clamped over her mouth. Her bare feet slipped and 
stumbled on the wet stones. Her toes went numb almost 
instantly in the ice-cold water. Trying to pull away from his 
one-armed bear hug, she repeatedly punched him -- in the 
stomach, in the chest. He ignored her blows...until she aimed 
for his groin. Catching hold of her swinging fist with his 
free hand, he held it firmly in place.  

"Nil-ta," he said, chuckling.

His companion laughed, too. "A-nah-ne-dzin."

They continued wading downstream. The water was picking up 
speed, sucking at Scully's legs with every step. A waterfall 
thrummed somewhere up ahead.

About a hundred yards short of the falls, the scarred man 
dragged her to shore. His hand still held her jaw, and her 
split lip throbbed beneath his palm. Blood filled her mouth. 
Unable to spit it out, she swallowed it.  

Scarface manhandled her to the edge of a cliff where the falls 
tumbled eighty feet or more into a valley. At the bottom, the 
land flattened out into a floodplain of dense forest and 
interlocked ponds. The valley appeared trapped in the embrace 
of two, jagged mountain ranges. Scully looked out across acres 
of treetops. Pools of wind-scuffed water peeked through the 
canopy like the glittering eyes of predatory animals, skulking 
beneath the murky foliage. 

Without warning, the scarred man seized her around the waist, 
hoisted her off her feet, and slung her over one shoulder. Jaw 
finally freed from his iron grip, blood poured from her mouth 
and she began to shout at the top of her lungs. 

"Muldermuldermul--"

A knife pricked the back of her bare thigh as her captor 
pressed its sharp stone blade to her leg, silencing her once 
and for all. He continued to hold the weapon against her as he 
lugged her down the cliff, where twisted tree roots and slanted 
stone outcroppings served as steps. Obviously born to this 
terrain, both men climbed with the natural skill of mountain 
goats. The added burden of her weight seemed to have little 
effect on the scarred man; he wasn't even breathing hard when 
he reached the bottom. 

"Lit." He pivoted to look back up the hill, raising his nose in 
the air and sniffing.

The smaller man turned and sniffed, too, then rattled off a 
sentence or two that brought a frown to the other man's face. 

Concern darkened their eyes and they slipped into the forest's 
shadows, with Scully still draped over the bigger man's broad 
shoulder.

*   *   *

"Sculleeee!"

Clutching her camisole tightly in his fist, Mulder careened 
toward the sound of her voice. Her tracks disappeared into the 
stream along with those of the men. Now he had to rely on his 
FBI training, eyeballing both banks for any sign that she or 
her kidnappers might have left the water for higher ground. 

Why wasn't she wearing her boots? Or her camisole? The silky 
undergarment slapped his thigh with every stride, conjuring up 
a picture of her with no shirt, no shoes, and two Ice Age Don 
Juannabees doing things he'd rather not think about.

If those bastards harmed her...

He pumped his legs faster, taking longer strides. Images of 
past threats floated unbidden through his mind: Warren Dupre, 
Donnie Pfaster, Gerry Schnauz. Scully's life was in danger. 
Again. Adrenaline flooded his body, hammered his chest and 
thundered in his ears, making him deaf to everything except the 
memory of Scully's faint cry for help.

A dark, shiny blotch on the bank up ahead caught his eye. He 
waded through briars, ignoring their pull and his god-awful 
fear. In three strides, he reached the stain, and crouched over 
it. It was blood. Lots of blood. On the stones, the leaves, the 
mud. Was it Scully's?

Damn it. He would kill those sons of bitches.

The men's footprints were clearly visible in the mud. Scully's 
prints, however, had vanished. 

One of the men must be carrying her.

A spotty trail of fresh blood revealed the kidnappers had taken 
a path down a near-vertical hillside, where the stream 
thundered into a valley below. Stuffing Scully's camisole into 
his jacket pocket, Mulder descended after them. The steep path 
wound around boulders, over narrow, stone ledges, between trees 
that clung precariously to the embankment, their twisted roots 
providing meager footholds. His boots slipped in the mud, 
skidded over loose gravel. Tangled vines snagged his toes. He 
was constantly on the brink of losing his balance.

Halfway to the bottom, he caught a whiff of woodsmoke. His 
first thought was that Scully's captors had decided to camp 
somewhere down below and were preparing a cook fire, until he 
realized the odor was coming from above, to the south.

It was possible there were other men in the area. And they 
weren't apt to be any friendlier than the two he was following.  

Mulder scanned the surrounding hillside for more blood. The 
spots were smaller here and spaced farther apart: on a rock to 
his left and several feet further down on the bark of a fallen 
tree. He scrambled past it, his sense of urgency ballooning. 

*   *   *

Jogging through the forest along a nearly invisible trail, the 
scarred man kept his knife pressed to Scully's thigh. Its blade 
scraped painfully with every jouncing step, reminding her to 
keep silent and still. The second man followed only a pace or 
two behind the first. 

Scully tried to memorize the route they were taking, but the 
trees all looked alike and her upside-down view was confusing.  
Tree roots, ferns, her captors' running feet...she could see 
little else. The men's bare feet were heavily calloused, their 
legs tanned and crisscrossed with scrapes and fine scars. Quiet 
as cats, they made almost no noise as they navigated through 
the lowland forest. 

Scully's jaw throbbed where she'd been struck, but her lip was 
no longer bleeding. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. No 
blood meant no trail for Mulder to follow.

Her hope of being released or rescued grew dimmer with each new 
path her captors took. They veered off in yet another 
direction, where the trees became sparser and the terrain more 
flat and sandy. It was here that the men finally slowed to a 
walk and exchanged a few words -- the first they'd uttered 
since the waterfall. Their tones sounded almost casual now, as 
if they were confident they had lost Mulder.

The smaller man bounded around his bigger companion like an 
excited child, asking questions, laughing a lot. Too much, 
evidently. Scarface soon became irritated and growled at the 
smaller man, effectively shutting him up.

They stopped when they reached a clearing where the forest gave 
way to a view of a small lake. A ratty tent-like structure sat 
near the shore. It was made of animal hides that had been 
loosely lashed together and draped over some sort of curving 
supports, giving the shelter a dome-like shape. 

Scully was unceremoniously dumped onto the pebbly beach, where 
she fell hard on her backside, her dignity jarred along with 
her tailbone. She landed between the tent and the remains of a 
cooking fire. Traces of smoke still sifted up from the ashes.

Small Man tossed his gear, along with Scully's clothes and gun, 
behind the tent. She desperately wanted to get to the gun, but 
Scarface was already squatting in front of her, blocking her 
way. The smaller man tended the fire. 

"Li-chi tse-gah," the scarred man said, his eyes focused on her 
hair. She recognized his words from before, back at the pool. 

He reached for her and combed his thick fingers through her 
hair. Then his attention dipped to the cross at her neck. With 
the tip of one ragged finger, he traced its delicate chain down 
to her cleavage.

"Don't touch me." She shoved his hand away. 

He scowled. "Ha-gade!" He reached for the necklace again and, 
this time, yanked it off her, breaking its chain and raising a 
razor-thin welt on the back of her neck. "Ha-gade," he 
repeated, shaking it in his fist.

"Give that back." She grabbed for it, but he quickly tucked it 
away inside a small pouch he wore around his neck. 

She loathed the way his glittering eyes studied her. Sitting 
with her knees drawn up, she tried to hide as much of her body 
from his curious stare as possible.

Nostrils flaring, he leaned forward and sniffed her: her neck, 
her lips, her shoulder...her cleavage. Suddenly he grabbed her 
knees, forcefully spread her legs apart, and inhaled deeply.

"Stop it!" She scrambled backward. 

He laughed and grabbed hold of her ankles. She fought him as he 
dragged her back toward him. The smaller man stopped tending 
the fire to watch them.

"Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh." The scarred man licked his lips and then 
opened the skins at his waist to reveal his swollen penis.

No, she wasn't going to let this happen. She kicked at him. 
Grabbed a fistful of stones and hurled them at his face. The 
stones bounced off his upraised arm.

He signaled to the smaller man, who rose from the fire to stand 
behind her. Evidently they had no intention of letting her 
escape. The scarred man took hold of her upper arms and drew 
her to him. She pummeled him with her fists, boxed his head and 
ears, but more quickly than she would have thought possible, he 
flipped her over onto her hands and knees and then pushed his 
own knees between her legs, spreading her thighs with his own. 
He leaned over her back and pressed her head to the ground with 
his left hand, while he steadied her hips with his right. She 
struggled to escape, but he held her head firmly and pinned her 
legs in place by pressing his knees onto her calves. Bent over, 
she could see nothing but the muddy, calloused feet of the 
smaller man, who silently waited his turn.

"Leave me alone! Get off me, you damn son of a bitch!" 

The scarred man yanked her panties down, exposing her backside. 
Anger and embarrassment raged through her. No, no, no! 
*Please*, no. She held her breath against the stink of her 
assailant's sweat. Felt the tickle of his beard on her 
shoulders as he draped himself over her. His engorged penis 
prodded the backs of her legs.

"NOOOOOO!"

*   *   *

 "Get the hell away from her!" Mulder bellowed from the edge of 
the woods. Seeing Scully dressed in nothing but her panties and 
bra and mounted from behind by a hulking Neanderthal filled him 
with unimaginable rage. It didn't occur to him to pull his gun; 
the only thing he could think to do was wring the fucker's neck 
with his bare hands.

He launched himself at Scully's assailant, screaming at the top 
of his lungs as he crossed the clearing. The startled caveman 
had no time to react before Mulder plowed into him full force, 
shoulder to ribs, toppling him from Scully's back. He grunted 
from the impact and they both rolled toward the blazing 
campfire.

Mulder scrambled to his feet. The Neanderthal did the same, 
rising like a mountain in front of him. 

The brute was thickset, as muscular as Conan the Barbarian, his 
limbs, chest and face streaked with deep battle scars. He 
balled his fists, puffed his chest, and locked eyes with 
Mulder.

Mulder straightened to his full height, a satisfying inch or 
two taller than his brawny opponent.

"You okay, Scully?" he called, not taking his eyes off Conan.

When she didn't immediately answer, he chanced a quick glance 
over his shoulder and discovered the smaller man had her in a 
hammerlock. She was struggling to free herself, clawing at his 
arms and elbowing his ribs.

"Scull--"

Granite knuckles plowed into Mulder's jaw, rocking him back on 
his heels. He regained his balance and struck back. Missed. 
Threw a second punch and, this time, connected. Jesus, it felt 
like he'd hit stone.

Conan appeared unfazed by the blow. He sneered and raised his 
fists...fists that had held Scully hostage only moments ago, 
fists that had pushed her head to the ground --

Mulder missiled at him, skull to gut. A satisfying yowl 
exploded from Conan's lungs as he was knocked backward. Mulder 
pressed his advantage. He threw a haymaker that failed to 
connect when the other man ducked. Conan responded with a punch 
of his own. It hit Mulder with astonishing force and sent him 
tumbling. He landed on the ground with a spine-jarring jolt.

Conan wasted no time coming after him. He leapt on top of him, 
wrapped thick fingers around his throat and pressed forceful 
thumbs into his larynx. Mulder thrashed and bucked as the 
pressure on his throat intensified. His lungs hitched for 
oxygen. Desperate, he clapped the heels of his hands against 
Conan's ears. The impact knocked the man back.

Gulping for air, Mulder scrambled to his feet. "Scully?" he 
gasped, not daring to take his eyes off the scarred bastard 
long enough to look for her. He could hear the scuffle of feet 
several yards behind him, the dull thud of a punch, a low, 
masculine grunt.

"I'm..." -- another grunt from her attacker -- "I'm okay, 
Mulder." 

Conan growled and charged, bulldozing Mulder across the 
campsite toward the shelter, where an uppercut sent him 
pinwheeling onto the tent. The skins collapsed beneath his 
weight. Conan leapt on him and began pummeling him in the ribs. 
Mulder responded by kneeing the Neanderthal in the groin. Conan 
yelped, curled into a ball, and rolled off him to lie on the 
ground, moaning, hands clamped over his genitals. 

Mulder staggered to his feet to help Scully, who was being 
dragged off into the woods by Little Big Man.

Before he could take a step, Conan grabbed his ankle and yanked 
his legs out from under him. Mulder toppled and hit the ground 
hard. He twisted onto his back. Conan scrambled to his feet, 
took hold of his right leg and began dragging him down the 
beach toward the lake.

Mulder grappled for a handhold and craned to get a glimpse of 
Scully. He was shocked to discover she was no longer on the 
beach. Little Big Man was gone, too. Fuck, where were they? 
Desperate to free himself, he fumbled for his gun, chiding 
himself for not remembering it sooner. He drew the weapon. 
Aimed--

Conan jerked on his leg and the gun bounced from his hand. It 
landed with a metallic thud just out of reach. He frantically 
tried to retrieve it, but Conan pulled him into the water. 
Jesus, his leg felt like it was being ripped from the socket. 

Once in the lake, Conan dove on top of him and sank him to the 
bottom. Mulder tried to keep his head above the surface, but 
the scarred man pressed his shoulders into the mud. Waves 
closed over his face. He peered up through a blur of silt and 
bubbles and churning water to see the bastard was grinning at 
him. Conan had him pinned in place and was enjoying his 
escalating panic.

Or maybe he was already thinking about what he was going to do 
to Scully as soon as Mulder was out of the picture.

Did he plan to finish what he started? Or was it going to be a 
repeat performance? Had Mulder been too late? Had the bastard 
already raped her? And what about the other guy? Was he taking 
his turn right now?

Outraged, Mulder dug down for every ounce of strength in him. 
He rose up out of the water and shoved Conan back. Bone to 
muscle, he bullied him toward shore, where he threw his entire 
six-foot frame at the mother-fucker's goddamned, sorry ass. 
Nothing, *nothing* was going to stop him until this son of a 
bitch was dead.

He pushed and pushed and pushed, maneuvering the scarred man up 
the beach, connecting every punch, relishing the surprised look 
on Conan's bug-eyed face. 

He landed three more hard hits. Knocked Conan onto his back 
beside the fire. Lunging, he body-slammed his startled 
opponent, and pinned him to the ground.

They lay nose to nose. Mulder could smell the man's sour 
breath, the sharp odor of his sweat, the tang of his anger. 
Conan's eyes fell to half-mast as he studied Mulder's bloodied 
nose. Suddenly he broke into a satisfied grin.

What the hell?

Mulder glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Little Big 
Man swing a charred stick of driftwood at his skull. He ducked 
and raised an arm, deflecting the blow. The upper end of the 
club glowed with fire. Smoke and sparks spewed in an outward 
arc when Little Big Man swung again, clubbing Mulder in the 
shoulder and dislodging him from the scarred man's chest.

"Two against one? That's not fair." Mulder somersaulted out of 
the way as the club came down a third time. "Guess that's how 
you cave guys like to operate, huh?"

Little Big Man drew back for another strike. He swung the 
weapon like a Louisville Slugger, connecting this time with 
Mulder's ribs.

Mulder folded in pain. 

The men laughed and moved in on him. Little Big Man aimed the 
club at Mulder's bowed head, but was stopped in mid-swing when 
a blast from Scully's gun bored a hole through his right hand 
and blew the stick from his grasp. The man's eyes rounded at 
the sound of the gun and the sudden appearance of the wound. He 
howled in pain.

Conan turned to gape at Scully, who stood twenty feet away, 
dressed in nothing but her black, silk underwear, her Smith & 
Wesson now aimed at his chest.

The wounded man was the first to run. The other blinked in 
astonishment, seemingly undecided what to do. When he finally 
made up his mind, he aimed hateful eyes at Mulder, snarled 
menacingly and bolted for the woods.

"Why do I get the feeling we haven't seen the last of those 
two?" Mulder rubbed his aching ribs and stiffly retrieved his 
lost gun.

Scully remained where she was, hands shaking, mouth pressed 
into a tight line, eyes filling with tears.

"Scully...?" He limped toward her.

Trembling all over, she lowered her gun and sank slowly to her 
knees.

*   *   *

She hurt all over: her jaw, her neck, her calves. Mulder 
crouched beside her and gathered her into his arms. He held her 
tenderly, and she responded by leaning into the welcome curve 
of his over-heated body. She only half-listened as he repeated, 
"You're okay, you're okay." She concentrated on the rapid thud-
thud-thud of his heart beneath her cheek, feeling safe in his 
embrace, momentarily protected from the evils of the 
Pleistocene world.

Oh God, if he hadn't arrived in time...

She bit down on her swollen lip and held back her tears.

She wanted to explain to him what had happened while he was 
fighting with the scarred man. How the smaller man had dragged 
her into the woods, tied her up with a strip of rawhide so that 
he could go back to help his friend. She'd managed to loosen 
the bindings and find her gun. She'd intended to kill the small 
man when she saw him swing that awful burning log at Mulder's 
head, but her shot missed its mark. 

The words wouldn't come, not without tears, and she refused to 
cry. Mulder was right -- she was okay. He was okay. They would 
be fine. 

She felt drained of every ounce of energy, so spent that when 
Mulder pulled her into his lap, she let him. When he slipped 
one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, 
lifting her up as he stood, she allowed that, too. And she 
didn't object when he carried her to the shore and into the 
water.

Gilded by a setting sun, the lake's surface shimmered as he 
plowed through it. He waded out until he stood thigh deep, then 
he carefully, slowly lowered himself to his knees, dipping her 
beneath the waves as he sank. The water was chilly, but it took 
the sting out of her scratched, bruised skin. And the heat of 
his legs, chest and arms radiated into her numbed limbs, 
cushioning her with their warmth. He eased back on his haunches 
and cradled her in his lap.

Wetting one hand, he began to gently wash blood from her cheek. 

"Too cold?" he asked when she shivered.

"No." Her shiver was a reaction to his tender caress, not the 
temperature of the water.

His left arm buoyed her while he scooped clean water over her 
injuries. Her shoulders, her arms, her fingers. He gave special 
attention to each scraped knuckle, loosening the dirt and dried 
blood. He didn't speak as he caressed her raw flesh. 

She surrendered to his care, allowing him to wash the filth 
from her body and hair. Again and again his fingers swirled 
over her, his touch displacing theirs, washing away their ugly 
intentions. Her blood tinted the water pink around them.

She needed him to do this, she realized. She needed him to 
cleanse away their brutality.

His thumb grazed her breast and she gasped. 

"Sorry." He stopped his ministrations.

A streak of mud in the shape of a large handprint stained her 
cleavage. He stared at it and waited, apparently unwilling to 
wipe it away without permission.

"It's okay," she said.

Still, he didn't move. Eyes glossed with uncertainty, he 
searched her face, her eyes, as if trying to decipher her true 
feelings. 

"Really, Mulder. It's okay," she assured him, and to prove it, 
she took his hand and placed it on her breast. 

He swallowed hard. A sigh stuttered from his lungs. Then he 
began to slowly wash her. 

"Where's your cross?" he asked, his voice tighter than she ever 
remembered hearing it. He massaged the mud from her skin, 
sliding his wet thumb over the smooth mound of her breast, 
dipping, just barely, beneath the satin of her black bra. 
Although his touch was gentle, she could feel emotion boiling 
beneath his controlled caress, anger toward the men who did 
this to her, regret that he hadn't arrived sooner.

"He took it," she answered. "The scarred man took it."

Mulder shook his head; anger hissed from his nose. A muscle 
twitched along his jaw and the veins in his neck bulged. He 
tried to hide his rage beneath lowered lashes, his attention 
focused on his task, but his breathing was shallow and too 
fast, and his nostrils flared with every exhalation.

As a doctor, she knew he was experiencing a sustained, 
involuntary physiological reaction to the threat against them. 
His heart rate, pulse, respiration still soared. Blood sugar, 
lactic acid, the cortisol that had readied his body to fight 
still dilated his eyes, quickened his impulses, intensified his 
awareness.

"Scully...did they--" His voice cracked and stalled.

"No, Mulder. I'm okay." 

Two tears slipped from beneath his lowered lashes to drizzle 
down his flushed cheeks. His mouth opened, but no words came. 
The sound of swallowed grief hummed faintly, briefly, in the 
back of his throat.
     
*   *   *

They had no right... No right to touch her... 

He would have killed them if she hadn't intervened. He wanted 
to kill them still, for putting their hands on her, hurting 
her, trying to... 

Fuck! 

She was *his*, God damn it! His! He loved her. He had loved her 
for years, wanted her for years, but had waited, curbed his 
urges, because he believed he should win her heart before 
yielding to his physical desires.

Now he felt cuckolded by a couple of fucking Neanderthals. 

His hand lingered on her breast. He couldn't bear to remove it, 
yet he couldn't bear touching her either. Jesus, he wanted her 
so damn much!

More than anything, more than *everything*, he wanted to pin 
her to the ground and fuck the bejesus out of her. Right now. 
In spite of what happened, or maybe because of what happened. 
He wanted to plunge into her, possess her, mark his territory. 
Claim her as his, forever and ever. He wanted to assure himself 
she was alive and safe, belonging only to him. The relief of 
having her beneath him, around him, would feel 
so...God...damn...good.

He felt himself grow hard and his arousal disgusted him even as 
it excited him. Avoiding her eyes, he preferred not to know if 
she felt his desire poking her in the backside.

To his surprise, her arms snaked around his neck and her 
bruised lips brushed his cheek, kissing the stream of his 
tears. "I want you, too," she whispered. When her swollen mouth 
slid over his, oh God, he was lost.

He gathered her in his arms, rose to his feet, and carried her 
from the water. Mouth fused to hers, he ached to be inside her. 
Water streamed from them both, leaving a wet trail up the beach 
to the shelter. 

She broke their kiss and shook her head. "Not here."

He worried she was changing her mind, refusing him. Maybe she 
was angry at his presumption and audacity. Hell, he was no 
better than the men who had assaulted her, wanting her for his 
own pleasure, disregarding her desires. He loathed his actions, 
wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

But she smiled at him, stroked his face, reassuring him, 
forgiving him. "The skins smell like them," she said. She 
nodded at the forest. "Take me beneath the trees." 

A layer of pine needles carpeted the ground below the evergreen 
boughs. They smelled spicy, clean, nothing like the sweat of 
strangers. He laid her there. Kissed her nose, her chin, and, 
ever so gently, her split, swollen lip. Then he gingerly 
lowered himself on top of her.

"You're sure?" he asked. His timing seemed lousy. His reasons 
even worse. Their first time together should be inspired by 
love, not an overdose of testosterone and masculine pride. This 
was wrong.

Scully's fingers careened into his hair and she pulled his face 
down to hers. "Yes. Please."

A beautiful flush crept up her neck into her cheeks, making her 
the most desirable woman he'd ever seen. Her motives stymied 
him, but his body didn't seem to need or want explanations. He 
realized he was grinding his hips into her pubic bone, and his 
own cheeks blazed. What must she think of him?

"Take off your wet clothes," she urged.

No. This wasn't right. As much as he wanted her, it couldn't be 
now. Reluctantly, summoning every ounce of his diminishing 
willpower, he rolled off her and got to his feet.

*   *   *

"Mulder?" What the hell was he doing? Why was he walking away? 
"It's okay. Really."

"No. No it's not. This..." -- he gestured at his crotch -- 
"makes me no better than them."

How could he think that? How could he compare himself to those 
animals? He was nothing like them. *Nothing*. He was respectful 
and tender and compassionate. She trusted him with her life.

And she was willing to trust him with her body.

"You're not like them, Mulder. This isn't the same."

Scully sat up, drew up her knees and hugged her bare legs. It 
seemed Mulder had stolen the heat from her body when he walked 
away, because now she felt suddenly cold. And absolutely alone. 
She wanted him, yearned for him in a way she never had before. 
Her craving was elemental, almost more than she could bear. 
"Maybe it's something in the air," she whispered.

Still in silhouette, he spun to face her, hands on his hips. 
"What?"

"I said maybe there's something in the air."

"Why...what makes you say that?"

"It was a joke." Only it wasn't. Not really. To be honest, she 
couldn't remember ever wanting him so much. Sure, she'd thought 
about him in sexual ways before, had had fantasies. He was a 
sexy guy. But never in five years had her desire for him 
overwhelmed her this way.    

Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he returned to her. He sat 
and dovetailed his fingers with hers. The setting sun gilded 
his hair like a halo. "Have you been feeling, um...kinda 
primal...since we came here?" The depth of his voice caused a 
pleasant loosening of the organs in her abdomen, as if her womb 
were melting.

"P-primal?" She felt absolutely out of control. 

"You know. Aroused. Horny."

That's exactly how she'd been feeling. For a couple of days 
now. Earlier today, she'd blamed it on the raw snake meat. 
"Maybe. A little. Uh...more than a little."

He remained quiet for a moment. The warmth of his hand singed 
her entire body. 

"That's interesting," he said.

"Why is it interesting?"

"Suppose... we were somehow changed when we traveled back in 
time."

"In what way?"

"Stripped of whatever it is that makes us civilized."

"Mulder, civilized behavior is learned, not inherited."

"Is it? Psychologists have been arguing the case of nature 
versus nurture for years." His eyes locked with hers, and in 
them she saw his familiar I've-got-a-theory-so-hear-me-out 
look. Clearly, he wasn't going to make love to her, at least 
not anytime soon. She was surprised at how disappointed that 
made her feel. 

"Genetic determinism. I've heard the argument before, Mulder, 
but scientific evidence doesn't support the claim that our 
genes are solely responsible for our behavior. We're a product 
of our biology *and* our experiences. Besides, even if it were 
true that our behavior was genetically determined, the fact 
remains: you and I were 'civilized' as recently as two days 
ago. It doesn't track that we would suddenly be uncivilized 
today."

"Maybe traveling back in time turned back the clock on our 
genes, too, reducing our evolved behaviors to basic animal 
instincts."

"That theory doesn't hold a drop of water. It flies in the face 
of at least a dozen scientific principles."

"Who said anything about science?"

"Mulder, if what you're positing were true, why was it I didn't 
want sex with them, too? Why just you?"

"I can't explain that."

"Well, I can. Not everything is an X-File."

He smiled softly. "No?" 

"I admit it's tempting to think we're no more than the sum of 
our genes. It absolves us of responsibility for our actions. 
Instead of blaming ourselves, we can blame our genetic 
heritage. It gives us an excuse for lack of self-control."

His tiny smile vanished and he released her hand. "Is that what 
you think? That I just wanted to fuck you and now I'm looking 
for a way to defend myself?"

"Are you denying you wanted to have sex?"

"No...I did...I *do*...but not by force. Never by force. You 
have to believe that, Scully."

She reclaimed his hand. "I do. I believe you. But I think the 
reason for your actions...and mine...have nothing to do with 
genetic manipulation or time travel."

"Then what?"

"We're under a lot of stress here--"

"It's *not* stress, Scully. We've both been under stress before 
-- plenty of times -- and I've never...overreacted...this way."

"You've never seen two men sexually assault me before either." 
The memory made her blush and she was grateful for the low 
light. She didn't want Mulder to see her embarrassment. She 
felt foolish for going off on her own back at the cave, putting 
herself in unnecessary danger. Putting him in danger, too. It 
was irresponsible. The fault was wholly hers and she didn't 
want him shouldering the blame. He had nothing to feel guilty 
about. "Mulder, you didn't force yourself on me."

"No? Then why does it feel that way?"

"I wanted you, too, every bit as much as you wanted me." She 
took a deep breath. "I still do."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why now? Why here? Why not back home, or 
in Home, Pennsylvania, for that matter, or Chicago during the 
Pincus case, or the Apalachicola National Forest?"

Why not Florida indeed? If memory served, she'd been more than 
willing to consort with Mulder in his hotel room that night, 
but he was the one who had shied away in favor of a mutant 
hunt. 

"The Pincus case? Mulder, you wound up in hospital restraints 
during that case. That's a bit kinky for a first time, don't 
you think?" she joked, trying to lighten his mood.

"You know what I mean." He offered her another small smile. "My 
point is we've had plenty of opportunity, but seemingly no 
motive...until now."

"I'm not sure I agree, but leaving that argument for later, I 
think your motives in this case may have been more generous 
than you think."

Disbelief chuffed from his nose. "In what way?"

"I think you wanted to assuage the actions of my assailants 
with your own, for my sake. I wanted the same thing, but my 
reasons were purely selfish."

"You give me too much credit--" He stopped and sniffed the air. 
"Do you smell that?"

She inhaled. "Smoke." 

"Get dressed." He rose to his feet and pulled her up after him.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." Walking to the shore where the view was 
unobstructed by trees, he dug his binoculars from his jacket 
and held them up to his eyes.

"Mulder?" She quickly gathered her clothes, pulled on her 
pants, her socks, her boots.

"Forest fire," he said.

She yanked her turtleneck over her head. Slipped into her 
jacket. "Headed this way?" 

"Uh-huh."

"How far off is it?"

"In the ravine. By the waterfall. I don't think we have a lot 
of time."

She hurried to join him on the beach. Jesus. The entire 
southern horizon was ablaze with orange-yellow flames.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FIVE

Klesh sprinted through the darkening woods of Rabbit Basin 
chasing after his wounded cousin Tse-e, who bawled like a 
frightened infant as he ran. Fool. His sniveling, along with 
the scent of fresh blood, would bring long-toothed cats down on 
them both. And they had enough trouble already -- the 
appearance of the strangers, the encroaching forest fire, the 
loss of their gear.

The strangers were mystifying. The woman -- Li-chi Tse-gah, Red 
Hair -- seemed to possess supernatural powers, like those of a 
vengeful Spirit. Somehow she had wounded Tse-e, knocked the 
burning club out of his hand from ten paces away. Klesh's ears 
still rang from the thunderclap that blasted from her pointed 
fist. It was the loudest sound he'd ever heard. More deafening 
than any lightning strike or falling tree. How had she made 
such an extraordinary noise? 

Red Hair's angry male companion was equally perplexing. He wore 
odd, close fitting hides that looked and felt like eel skin, 
black as a moonless night and as smooth as a woman's cheek. The 
coverings on his feet were peculiar, too, solid on the soles 
and laced with rawhide. He was beardless, like a boy who was 
attending his thirteenth or fourteenth Mastodon Feast, yet he 
had been a formidable opponent, too strong to be a mere boy. 

Both of the strangers had defended themselves like trapped 
bears. They babbled in an undecipherable way. Were they 
speaking the language of Spirits?

Twenty paces ahead, Tse-e was no longer running like a startled 
elk. He hiccoughed as he tried to suck air into overworked 
lungs. The men had traveled a considerable distance, well 
beyond Third Rabbit Pond, desperate to escape the otherworldly 
strangers.

"Tse-e!" Klesh called to his cousin. "Ta-akwai-i! Stop!" Out of 
breath himself, he slowed to a walk. The trail was swampy here, 
clotted with poisonous moonseed vines and prickly bullbriars. 
The hazy quarter moon provided little light. Luckily, their 
path was a familiar one. Klesh and Tse-e had spent three 
summers in Rabbit Basin, fishing sticklebacks, trapping beaver, 
and hunting sloth. They could easily find their way, even after 
nightfall. 

Klesh glanced over his shoulder at the southern horizon. The 
forest fire glowed there like the red bellies of stickleback 
males during mating season. The smell of smoke was strong. He 
guessed the fire would raze the forest in the basin before 
midnight, spreading both east and west to the surrounding 
hillsides. Eventually, the flames would burn themselves out at 
the tree line, halted by the rocky, treeless ledges and scant 
snow-cover that still clung to the higher elevations. 

The men needed to move upland soon if they were going to escape 
the blaze.

"Tse-e!" Klesh shouted his cousin's name again.

This time Tse-e did stop and wait, all the while blubbering 
about the evil red-haired Spirit woman, his words nearly 
incomprehensible.

"Stop howling like a stuck badger," Klesh demanded when he 
caught up to his younger cousin. He grabbed hold of Tse-e's arm 
to examine his wound.

The hole went clear through, like a spear wound. It still bled, 
although not too much; congealing blood was beginning to seal 
the injury on both sides. Good thing. There was nothing to wrap 
around it. They had been forced to abandon their packs and camp 
supplies back at First Rabbit Pond. 

"You will live." Klesh roughly released Tse-e's arm. 

"I am scared," he whimpered. "You should not have kidnapped Li-
chi Tse-gah. She is a Spirit. She and her male protector will 
kill us."

"You are talking crazy. She is not a Spirit," Klesh said, 
hoping it was true. "I touched her. I smelled her. She is a 
woman. Just a woman."

"But what about this?" Tse-e held up his hand. "How did she do 
this if she is just a woman?"

Klesh had no answer for that. He'd neither seen nor heard 
anything like it before -- not in any legend told during Prayer 
ceremonies, nor in any account of a Shaman's dream journeys. 
There were countless Spirits, some helpful, most not. All 
possessed varied magical powers. But to be able to wound a man 
with nothing but a clap of noise? It seemed impossible, even 
for a Spirit.

The man -- Li-chi Tse-gah's angry companion -- was clearly not 
a Spirit. He had bled like an ordinary clansman when he was 
struck. He fought for air when he was nearly drowned. He used 
his fists to defend himself. He was just a jealous mortal, 
nothing more.

The memory of Li-chi Tse-gah's companion angered Klesh. The man 
had prevented him from mating with Red Hair. And it had been 
many moon cycles since he had lain with a woman. Although Li-
chi Tse-gah was odd looking, she smelled female and felt as 
sleek as tanned doeskin beneath his hands. Lifting his fingers 
to his nose, he sniffed them, searching for a trace of her 
scent. Yes, she still lingered there, and breathing her in 
stirred his groin. 

Desire churned in his gut. He would have her. If not today, 
then soon. He would return to kill her possessive mate, and 
then take her for himself. Reaching beneath his beard, he 
grasped the pouch that hung from his neck, fingered its soft 
hide. He could feel Red Hair's shiny totem tucked inside. It 
was his now. Just as she soon would be. 

"We have more serious concerns than a strange red-haired woman 
and her jealous mate. We must climb to higher ground before the 
fire reaches us."

Tse-e looked past Klesh's shoulder at the encroaching fire. 
"Maybe that is the work of the Red Hair Spirit, too," he said, 
his eyes filled with terror.

"Don't be foolish. The morning thunderstorm brought the fire. 
You saw the lightning yourself."

"Maybe Li-chi Tse-gah caused the lightning."

Klesh lost all patience. "Maybe yes, maybe no, it does not 
matter. We must go. Kut. Now!" He shoved past Tse-e, heading 
upland. "Tehi. Hih-do-nal!"

*   *   *

"Let's go, Mulder." Scully waited on the beach, impatient eyes 
aimed south at the fire. 

Mulder shouldered the hunters' packs and was about to search 
their collapsed tent. "They might have left something we can 
use." He folded back the enormous hide that had once served as 
the shelter's roof. Underneath it, fallen bone supports lay in 
a jumble. The bones were massive. Probably mastodon or mammoth, 
judging from their size. 

Dirty fur hides carpeted the floor between piles of foul-
smelling food. Mulder picked through the stores for anything 
that might still be edible. It had been hours since they'd last 
eaten and he was hungry again -- evidently, raw snake didn't 
stick to the ribs. He lifted a half-eaten bird carcass, causing 
a blizzard of maggots to rain to the floor. "Jesus. And I 
thought *my* leftovers were bad." He tossed the carcass back 
onto the pile. 

Scully approached, coming to stand behind him. "Mulder, what 
are you doing? There's no time for this."

"I'm ready. Which way do we go?"

"Away from the fire."

"Very funny. I guessed that much." He looked north, across the 
lake, which reflected the yellow glow of the approaching fire. 
Then up at the hills to the east. "I think we should head for 
the mountains."

"I think we should stick to the lake. We can always crawl in it 
for protection if the fire overtakes us."

He eyeballed the lake again and grimaced at the flames that 
were mirrored in its smooth surface. "We might end up trapped. 
And the smoke is going to be thick down here in the basin." 
God, why did it have to be fire? He'd rather face ten saber-
toothed tigers or a hundred four-toed Cro-Magnons than one 
itty-bitty forest fire. He nodded at the hills. "We should be 
fine up there, if we can get above the tree line." 

She studied the mountains, barely visible in the twilight, and 
considered his line of reasoning. "I don't know, Mulder. It 
looks pretty far."

"Then we better get going." He fished his flashlight from his 
pocket and gave it to her. "You lead."

She hesitated, glanced again at the lake, but in the end turned 
toward higher ground. Mulder snagged the hunters' two spears 
from beside the shelter and followed after her.

"We aren't going to get lost are we?" she asked, aiming her 
beam at the ground. 

"Just keep walking uphill. How lost can we get?"

She pivoted to spotlight his face. 

"What?" he asked, with a shrug. "I'm serious."

"That's what scares me." She resumed hiking. "You have no idea 
how to navigate the woods after dark, do you?"

Hell, he couldn't follow a map in broad daylight. But as long 
as they kept the fire to their backs and headed for high 
ground, they were golden, right?

"When have I ever gotten us lost, Scully?"

"1994. Steveston, Massachusetts. Ring a bell?"

"Oh." The Kindred. Jesus, sometimes her memory was as good as 
his. "That doesn't count."

"Why doesn't that count?"

"The map was misleading."

"Ah."

"I was right about Comity, wasn't I?"

 "Home of the horned beast."

"Something like that."

"Mulder, as I recall, there were only two choices in Comity: 
right turn, left turn. Fifty-fifty chance."

"But it was *my* fifty that was right."

"Not according to the map."

"Well, there's a lesson in that -- we obviously do better 
without a map. We'll be fine."

"Oh, right. I forgot, you were once an Indian Guide." She 
didn't sound any more convinced now than she'd been six months 
ago when he'd told her that.

Why had he told her that anyway? To impress her? To avoid 
admitting that he and his father had never shared a single, 
normal, father-son pastime like playing catch or becoming 
Indian Guides? 

"I have something to confess, Scully. I was only *sort of* an 
Indian Guide."

"Sort of?"

"Well...I wanted to be one."

"Wonderful."

It was impossible to see anything beyond the narrow beam of the 
flashlight. The smell of smoke was getting stronger -- the air 
was already saturated with specks of floating ash that prickled 
Mulder's sinuses and scoured the back of his throat. He picked 
up the pace, herding Scully ahead of him as they scrambled 
uphill. The ground slanted steeply beneath his boots. He could 
feel blisters forming on his feet and ankles. Damn, he wished 
he hadn't left his socks back at the cave. Even if he hadn't 
put them on, he should have stuffed them into his pockets. Too 
late now. The wet leather of his boots was rubbing his feet raw 
and his socks were long gone.

Despite the hour, the sky lightened as the fire advanced. 
Unlike sunset, this light flickered, flowed, stalked the 
forest. It consumed giant pines, cedars and oaks, hissing and 
crackling as it ate its way north. The awful noise made Mulder 
think of vampires eating their death shrouds. 

Jesus, he hated fire. He had tried to face that particular fear 
during the L'Ively case. And although he'd managed to save the 
Marsden children from a fiery death, he hadn't succeeded in 
conquering his dread of fire. The smell of it, its aliveness, 
still caused panic to well up in him in a way nothing else did.

He had told Scully his fear stemmed from a childhood trauma, a 
time when his friend's house had burned, and he'd spent the 
night in the rubble keeping looters away. The story was true, 
up to a point. What he hadn't told Scully was how the fire had 
started in the first place. 

It had happened in 1975, two years after Samantha disappeared, 
the last weekend in September. His best friend Paul Sanderson 
lived only a short bike ride away, over on Menemsha Cross Road. 
Paul's parents were out of town for the night -- they'd taken 
the ferry over to Quisset to visit relatives -- so Paul asked 
Mulder over to keep him company, play a little b-ball and watch 
TV. Mulder leapt at the chance; things were volatile at his own 
house. His parents fought constantly. About Samantha. Other 
things. It was a relief to get away from the tension, if only 
for one night.

The evening had started out fine. Great in fact. The boys 
played basketball until sunset, and then came inside to watch 
TV and gorge themselves on everything Mrs. Sanderson had left 
in the fridge -- including Mr. Sanderson's beer, which they 
drank while watching an episode of Starsky and Hutch.

"You sure we should be doing this?" Mulder asked, taking a 
second can from Paul's outstretched hand.

"Fox, if they didn't want us to drink it, they shouldn't have 
left it out where we could find it."

Buzzed on two beers and starting his third, Mulder found 
himself relaxing for the first time since Samantha's 
disappearance.

"Feelin' good, buddy?" Paulie asked, laughing. Mulder nodded 
and laughed, too, while Starsky's red and white Torino chased 
bad guys into another alley on the TV. "I got something to 
make you feel even better, man." Paulie rose from the couch.

He was gone for only a few minutes before returning with a 
stash of marijuana. He proceeded to roll them each a joint, 
which they smoked while they finished off the beer. Mulder 
wasn't sure how many joints they'd smoked by the time the 
Sanderson's sofa caught fire, but at that point they were too 
stoned to care. Until the heat became ungodly and the smoke so 
thick they could barely find their way to the door. 

The entire house was destroyed, burned flat in what seemed 
like minutes. Paul was hospitalized for smoke inhalation and 
some minor second-degree burns. Both boys were questioned by 
the police, and Mulder told them the truth...up to a point. He 
said they'd been drinking beer and smoking. He neglected to 
mention that they smoked marijuana and not cigarettes. 

Bill Mulder had been livid when he found out about his son's 
involvement in the fire. Mulder still wondered if that night 
was the final blow to his parents' failing marriage. Three 
months later, his dad moved out of their Chilmark house to 
West Tisbury. Mulder blamed himself, and for years he had 
nightmares about being trapped in burning buildings.

How could he tell Scully all that? How could he explain his 
sense of culpability, failure and remorse?

The truth was, he couldn't, any more than he could bring 
himself to tell her about his dismal, never-an-Indian-Scout 
relationship with his dad. He wanted her to see the best side 
of him, not his many phobias, failings and psychoses. He may 
chase mutants for a living, but where Scully was concerned, he 
wanted to be a normal guy. Not her "out there" partner, Spooky 
Mulder, but the kind of man she might possibly fall in love 
with. 

"Fire's getting closer," she said, glancing over her shoulder. 
They'd been climbing for three-quarters of an hour, and now a 
wall of flames rose from the forest about 200 yards behind 
them. "Are we going to make it?"

"We're gonna make it." 

Mulder placed his palm between her shoulders and propelled her 
forward, lengthening his own stride. Fiery snowflakes sifted 
down from nearby trees. Evergreens were turned into giant 
torches when flames leapt from branch to branch, burning ever 
closer. The blaze was quickly overtaking them and its heat felt 
like the breath of Lucifer on their backs.

The sound of charging hooves startled them both. They turned to 
see several oversized deer-creatures stampeding through the 
forest, running for their lives from the blaze. The animals 
were large, muscular, and crowned with enormous flat, branching 
antlers, which stretched an astounding seven or eight feet 
across. Long-legged like moose, but with the faces of elk, the 
panicked beasts headed straight for them.

"Look out!" Scully pulled him out of their path and took refuge 
behind a tree. The stag-moose galloped by, nostrils flaring, 
eyes wild with fear.

"Jesus," Scully hissed, as the beasts disappeared into the 
forest's shadows.

Mulder's heart hammered and his fear ratcheted up another 
notch. "Let's go." He snagged her arm and towed her in the 
direction the moose had gone. Above their heads, upper branches 
caught fire. Embers rained to the ground.        

Scully covered her mouth and nose with her hand, trying to 
filter out smoke and ash as she ran. 

Mulder saw her struggling, heard her choke. He dug into his 
pocket for his handkerchief. "Here. Put this over your mouth," 
he said, raising his voice to be heard above the escalating 
roar of combustion. Needle-laden branches snapped and popped. 
Limbs cracked and crashed to the ground in an explosion of 
sparks. Scully took the handkerchief and quickly tied it over 
her face to mask out the smoke.

Sizzling sparks dripped earthward. Several landed in Scully's 
hair, singing it before Mulder could brush them away. He 
dropped the spears and packs, and shed his leather jacket to 
drape over her head as protection against the falling debris. 

"Mulder..." She tried to return the jacket to him.

He shook his head and bent to retrieve the packs and spears. 
"Keep going. Hurry." 

Just then an overhead branch let go and plummeted, spraying 
sparks and pluming smoke. It pinwheeled as it fell, bringing 
other blackened limbs down with it. Mulder heard it crashing 
through the canopy and looked up in time to lunge at Scully, 
knock her to the ground, and shield her with his body. 

The branch detonated when it hit the ground beside them, 
creating a ball of flame that surged over Mulder's back. He 
gasped, sucking in a scorching breath as he raised his arms to 
protect Scully's head. Intense heat blasted him, seared his 
ears, the backs of his hands. Sparks bit holes into his skin 
and clothes.

Jesus, he felt as if he was back at the Sanderson's, the house 
falling down around him. Only this time there was more at 
stake. Scully lay beneath him. He could feel her trembling as 
they waited out the hellish, fiery wave.

The fireball roared past and the moment it dissipated, Mulder 
leapt to his feet, hauling Scully up after him. He grabbed the 
packs and spears; she retrieved the fallen flashlight. Together 
they raced uphill, dodging smoldering debris, squinting against 
the billowing ash.

"Not much further," he shouted. Or was it? Up ahead the trees 
had that stunted, bonsai look of alpine vegetation. The ground 
was becoming rockier, the soil thinner. Surely they were 
nearing the tree line and the top.

"Up there!" Scully pointed to where a wide stone outcropping 
lay blanketed beneath a dwindling drift of soot-covered snow. 
Several massive boulders balanced on the granite ledge, and a 
narrow crevice appeared to snake between two of them, offering 
possible shelter.

Sprinting out from beneath the burning trees, Mulder quickly 
crossed the bald mountaintop with Scully in tow. The wind was 
brisker out in the open, the air fresher. And the boulders were 
even bigger than they had looked from the woods. The giant 
stones stood like humpbacked mastodons on the uppermost ridge, 
forming a crevice between them just wide enough to squeeze 
into.  

"Go!" he urged, propelling her into the fissure.

She slithered between the boulders. Mulder pushed his way after 
her. Inside, her flashlight revealed a narrow, curving 
corridor.

"Does it get any wider?" he asked, feeling pinched between the 
giant stones.

She aimed her light and shuffled a few steps forward. "Yeah, I 
think so."

The gap widened to five or six feet, providing sufficient room 
to sit and wait out the fire. The shelter offered no overhead 
protection; it was open to the sky. Mulder could see the moon, 
hazy behind a veil of passing smoke. He let the packs and 
spears drop to the ground beside his feet. Jesus, he felt 
winded. Couldn't seem to catch his breath. He tried to clear 
his throat, but it felt raw and swollen, and his chest ached 
with every inhalation.

"You okay, Mulder?" Scully tugged the handkerchief from her 
face, exposing her concerned frown. 

He felt dizzy. His stomach roiled. He bent at the waist, stood 
with hands on his knees, and tried not to throw up.      

*   *   *

"Mulder...?"

He sank to a sitting position, dodging the beam of her 
flashlight. "I'm okay." A raspy cough rattled his chest.

She squatted next to him and shined the light in his face, 
causing him to squint and scowl. "Smoke inhalation can be very 
serious, Mulder." 

"Scully..." His voice was hoarse and his lungs wheezed. "I'm 
fine."

She ignored his assurances and checked him for signs of heat 
injury -- singed eyebrows, burns around and inside the nose, 
the mouth. "Open," she ordered, aiming her light at his 
clenched jaws. Begrudgingly, he obliged and she peered at the 
back of his throat. The tissue was irritated, swollen. Clearly 
he was having difficulty breathing. She timed his rapid, 
shallow breaths, and took his pulse, which was racing. "Do you 
feel sick to your stomach?"

"A little."

"How about confused, sleepy, irritable?"

"All three. Maybe I'm premenstrual." He glared at her and 
pushed the flashlight away from his face. Then a fit of 
coughing overtook him. Lungs raling, he tugged at his tight-
fitting turtleneck and gasped for air. 

To relieve the pressure on his neck, she helped him pull the 
shirt off. His skin felt dry and hot, and looked ghostly pale. 
His arms trembled. He was going into shock. Edema and 
particulate matter in his upper airway were causing hypoxia. 
What he needed was a hyperbaric chamber or at least a non-
rebreather mask, and that's what she would have prescribed if 
they'd been in a hospital. But here, the best she could do was 
sit him in a semi-reclining position and monitor him. 

She untied the handkerchief from her neck and passed it to him 
so that he could cough into it.

Please, be okay, Mulder, she silently urged.

She crawled behind him and sat with knees bent, a leg on 
either side of him. "Lean back." She pulled him toward her 
until his head rested against her breastbone. His chest 
muscles heaved as he worked to suck in air. "Try to relax," 
she said, massaging his chest with her palm.

Please, be okay. Please.

Edema would likely worsen over the next six to twenty-four 
hours. She hoped the injury was limited to his upper airways 
rather than extending distally. Images of tracheobronchial and 
alveolar damage haunted her. Jesus, even if he survived 
asphyxiation, it was possible, even probable, that he would 
develop pneumonia in a day or two. Increased airway resistance 
coupled with decreased compliance and a large dead space, plus 
pooling of secretions, meant bacterial colonization and 
ensuing infection...and here they were without antibiotics.

Damn it.  

Gently stroking his face, she could feel the small burns that 
pocked his cheeks and chin -- tiny pinholes caused by burning 
ash on his unprotected skin, all because he had given her the 
handkerchief, which now lay crushed into a ball beneath his 
curled, sooty fingers. Its once-white fabric was spotted with 
carbon coughed up from his lungs. His lips already appeared 
bruised from cyanosis. He stared dully straight ahead. 

She reached for his jacket, which lay on the ground beside 
them, and spread it over his bare chest to keep him warm.

Please, please, be okay, Mulder.

"I feel..." -- panting breaths sifted in and out of his lungs -
- "like crap."

"You're going to be fine."

He suddenly groaned, rolled over and vomited beside her right 
knee.

"Sh-shit, Sc-ully." He choked as his stomach heaved. When he 
was finished being sick, she drew his head gently back against 
her chest. He inhaled with effort. "S-s-sorry."

"It's okay, Mulder. It's okay." She rearranged the jacket over 
him and ignored the pool of vomit beside her. Stroking his hair 
with one hand, she tucked the other beneath his coat, laying 
her palm on his chest to monitor his breathing. His heart 
hammered beneath her hand. His chest rose and fell with halting 
effort. She rubbed him reassuringly. "You rest. I'll be right 
here." 

*   *   *

The faint smell of smoke tickled Klizzie's nose. It wasn't 
coming from the hearth, she realized, waking from a deep sleep. 
It was outside the lodge. She recognized the smell of burning 
black spruce, loblolly pine, pin oak, hemlock, and other trees. 
Somewhere there was a forest fire.

She rolled over in her bed of bison hides. "Dzeh?" She 
whispered her mate's name, not wanting to wake the whole Clan. 
His place on the skins was empty. All around her, soft snores 
filled Toh-ta Lodge. Coals still glowed in the hearth, 
illuminating the lodge's curving bone supports, its skin 
ceiling, and its sleeping occupants. Dzeh's Clan. Her family 
now, too, for the past four years. 

Throwing back the furs, Klizzie rose to her feet, and after a 
quick look around, she slipped quietly from the lodge.

Outside, the air felt cool on her bare skin. She wore only a 
short skirt of furs and, of course, her totem pouch, which hung 
from a thong around her neck, resting reassuringly between her 
breasts. A fog of mosquitoes instantly surrounded her, whining 
in her ears. They could be intolerable at this time of year, 
and made her eager for the upcoming summer when the Clan would 
move to Tabaha Lodge on big Turkey Lake, where bats fed on the 
pesky insects and it was possible to stand on the shore in the 
evening and not get chewed to bits. There would be heaps of 
fresh blueberries, supplejacks, and currants. And fish, 
turtles, freshwater clams, frogs. Lots of big game, too. Plenty 
of food and fresh water and a chance to stay in one place for 
longer than a sunrise or two. Best of all, there would be new 
babies. Chuo's time was near. Dibeh was pregnant, too.

And maybe Dzeh would plant a child in her womb this season. 
After all, Klizzie was eighteen Mastodon Feasts old. Many women 
her age already had two or three babies. Some even more. She 
clutched her totem and whispered a quick prayer to the Spirits. 

Recently, she'd heard speculation that she was barren, cursed 
because of her relationship with Klesh, her scarred cousin. She 
prayed this wasn't so, although she knew it might be the truth.

Klizzie had been with Dzeh for four springs now and still she 
had not produced a child. She worried that he would take 
another mate if she didn't become pregnant soon, a woman who 
could fill his lodge with many strong sons and beautiful 
daughters. Dzeh was nine Mastodon Feasts older than she was, 
and had already been waiting a long time for offspring when he 
took her to be his mate. His patience was bound to wear thin at 
some point. 

Crossing the quiet campsite, passing the shelters where cousins 
and uncles slept, Klizzie found Dzeh leaning against a large, 
gnarled shagbark that overlooked a section of open grassland. 
He faced west, watching the distant mountains. A faint orange-
yellow glow backlit the hills.

"What is it?" she asked when she stood beside him. 

Dzeh was tall for a clansman. His beard was long, the color of 
bison hide, and his shoulders were marked with the tattoos of 
his clan. He was a good hunter and wore the teeth of his first 
kill -- an enormous she-bear -- in his pierced ears. A silvery 
wolf skin covered his broad, tan back. His eyes were filled 
with kindness whenever he looked upon her.

"Forest fire," he said, keeping his voice low. "In Rabbit 
Basin."

"Will it come this way?"

"No. It will stop at the mountains." He embraced her with one 
muscular arm. Smiling down at her, he said, "But it will force 
game our way. We will have an easy hunt tomorrow."

Before she could respond to this good news, he pushed aside her 
long hair and bent to nuzzle her bare neck. She loved the 
slight musky scent of his skin and the coarseness of his beard 
against her smooth cheeks.

"Dawn is a long way off," she whispered, wanting him to lay 
with her, out here in the open while the others still slept in 
the lodge.

"Then we shall have to find a pleasant way to pass the night," 
he said before his mouth descended on hers.

*   *   *

"Just an old fashioned love song..." -- Scully sang for what 
must have been the millionth time -- "playing on the radio..." 
She cradled Mulder's head in her lap while he dozed. 

It was morning, 6:03 a.m. according to her watch. The night had 
seemed to last forever. She'd turned off the flashlight hours 
ago to conserve its batteries, but then felt frightened by the 
dark. Funny, she'd never been afraid of the night before, not 
even as a child. But here, death loomed as large as those 
panicked Pleistocene beasts that had charged through the 
burning forest last night. The grim prospect of being left 
alone in this frightening universe grabbed hold of her thoughts 
and hung on tenaciously throughout the long, dark hours, making 
her teeth chatter and her arms quake. To lose Mulder... 

Please, God, no. Don't take him. Please. 

His breathing remained shallow, uneven, and each stalled breath 
portended to be his last. At one point, shortly after 3:00 
a.m., when his chest suddenly refused to rise on its own, she 
angrily rubbed his breastbone and begged him not to die. 

"Don't leave me, Mulder." Her massaging fingers coaxed another 
lungful of air into him. "Please, don't leave me here alone." 
It was enough for the time being -- his breathing resumed. 
Thank God. She hadn't wanted to resort to CPR. Although her 
lungs were free of particulate from the fire, she'd been 
exposed to carbon monoxide just as he had. The CO would still 
be present in her own system and would likely poison Mulder 
further if she attempted to give him mouth-to-mouth.     

What seemed like an eternity later, he was breathing a little 
easier. His cough still lingered, however, and it shuddered his 
chest now. His eyes fluttered open.

"Scully?"

"I'm here." She combed his sooty hair away from his forehead, 
surreptitiously feeling for fever. Again.

"Thought I heard singing."

"Must've been a dream. I don't sing, remember?"

"Oh." He made an effort to clear his throat. "We didn't happen 
to...pass a Mickey Dees last night...did we?"

"You feeling hungry?"

"Mm. Could eat a super-sized Egg Mac-Mastodon."

That was a good sign. Too bad she didn't have anything to feed 
him.

"Maybe our cavemen friends prepared a picnic," she said, eyeing 
their packs. 

She reached for the nearest one, trying not to joggle Mulder 
too much. Snagging its rawhide strap, she drew the bag to her 
and opened it. "Looks like we might be in luck. There are 
two...correction...make that *three* dead squirrels in here, 
and," -- she dug deeper -- "flint for starting a fire. Tah-
dah!" She held up the stones for him to see.

"Your turn to skin dinner," he said between coughs.

"Fair enough. I need your knife." 

"Coat pocket."

She searched his jacket. When she found the knife, she gave him 
a fleeting smile, then extricated herself from behind him. She 
removed and folded her own jacket and tucked it beneath his 
back to elevate his shoulders as much as possible while she was 
gone. It would actually be better if he sat up, but she wasn't 
altogether sure he could stay that way without falling over 
while left alone. 

"Don't go anywhere," she whispered, bending close to his ear, 
adjusting the jacket beneath his neck and head. She planted a 
gentle kiss on his temple. 

His skin felt warm. Too warm.

Reluctantly, she gathered the squirrels, and left to prepare 
breakfast. 

Outside, she found herself at the edge of a no man's land. 

"Oh, my God..." She looked down into the blackened basin where 
a series of small, muddy lakes dully reflected the dawn. All 
around the water, the land was charred black and smoke rose up 
from the burnt ground like ghostly fingers. Scorched, fallen 
trees, stripped of their leaves, crisscrossed the ground. There 
were no bird calls. No whine of insects. Only the hiss of 
cooling embers. And the desolate stink of lost life.

"What a difference a day makes." Mulder's voice, husky, almost 
unrecognizable, came from behind her.

She spun to see him propped against one of the boulders, legs 
shaky, the skin of his face and chest pale and sweaty beneath a 
veneer of soot. His dirty hands dangled loosely at his sides. 

"You should be lying down."

"Feels better to stand." He cleared his throat and spat a 
mouthful of dark mucus onto the ground. "We should go."

"Go? Where?" She turned again to face the razed valley. The 
fire had burned itself out for the most part, but the basin 
wasn't passable. A few golden flames still licked the 
northernmost region. Ash and blackened vegetation stretched 
from the eastern mountains where they were standing all the way 
across to the western range. The bowl of land was fogged with 
smoke.

"Other side."

"Other...?" She looked back at him, unable to make sense of 
what he was saying. 

He hooked a thumb behind him toward the rising sun. "East."

"But, the field is that way." She pointed south.

"Field?" Now he looked confused.

"Where we first arrived. We have to go back, Mulder."

He nodded once, and then said nothing, evidently reluctant to 
explain something he understood but she still failed to grasp. 
His face was pinched with fatigue. His hands quaked. He looked 
filthy and hungry and thirsty and maybe sadder than she'd ever 
seen him. Yet he waited patiently, allowing her the time she 
needed to come to her own conclusion. 

They weren't going back to the field. 

She craned to see it from where they stood, but it was too far 
away, somewhere beyond the basin and the waterfall and the 
ravine, grayed with ash, no longer recognizable. 

They weren't going home. Not now anyway. Not soon.

Maybe never.

The idea was crushing. Fighting back tears, she pivoted to face 
him, prepared to rail against his infuriating acceptance of 
their predicament. But when she met his miserable, weary gaze, 
she realized he was in no condition to do battle. Her arguments 
would have to wait. Mulder was sick and getting sicker. She 
composed her angry expression. "You need water. I'll scout 
ahead while you stay here and rest."

"And have you wandering out there alone? No way. Not with Conan 
around."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. We're not separating." 

"Mulder, you shouldn't be on your feet. You're in no shape to 
walk and you'll just end up making yourself sicker. This is no 
time to try and prove how macho you are." She wanted to add 
that male emergency patients outnumber females two to one for 
preventable and neglected injuries, and that a little common 
sense right now could make the difference between life and 
death.

"We are *not* separating."

"Mulder--"

"No!"

Like it or not she was going to have to accept his wishes. 
"Fine. But I'm carrying everything. Wait here while I get the 
rest of our gear." She set the squirrels at his feet while she 
went to collect the spears, packs, and jackets. Returning a 
moment later, she handed him his shirt, which he put on. Then 
she offered him one of the spears. "Here. Lean on this."

He took it, then paused to survey the ruined valley. When he 
spoke, his voice was as brittle as the landscape. "I haven't 
given up on going home. You know that, don't you?"

It relieved her to hear him say the words. "I know. Come on."

They started off, slowly rounding the giant boulders, heading 
east and walking side-by-side, taking their time so that Mulder 
wouldn't become too winded.

The view from the mountain's eastern slope couldn't have been 
more different than the charred basin they were leaving behind. 
Trees were sparser here. The slope was more gradual, and a good 
portion of the hillside was covered with a fresh, green meadow. 
Big horned sheep grazed on acres of grass, giving the land a 
polka-dotted appearance. Down in the foothills, perhaps a mile 
or more away, a narrow lake lay nestled in a verdant, forested 
hollow, its blue water sparkling beneath the morning sun, 
reminding Scully of how very thirsty she felt.

"Think you can make it to that lake?" she asked.

"Sure. Wanna race?" His voice sounded too thin to be 
convincing. He looked ready to drop where he stood.

He needed water and food and rest if he were to have a fighting 
chance against infection.    

"No racing. Just watch my back." 

His focus slid to her backside. "I'd follow that anywhere, G-
Woman."

She appreciated his attempt at humor, knowing how much pain 
each breath must be causing him. "So that explains why you 
always let me lead," she said, starting downhill.

"You're on to me."

"And all this time I thought you were just being polite." 

The meadow smelled wonderfully sweet, belying the seriousness 
of their situation. A spring breeze blew gently from the south, 
causing the grass to undulate in great, green waves. Bumblebees 
bounced between flowers, drowsily dodging Scully's legs as she 
waded through knee-high blossoms. Fat sheep cautiously eyed the 
newcomers from a distance, but kept on grazing.

Mulder stumbled along a step or two behind Scully. He was 
leaning heavily on his spear, using it for balance. After 
thirty minutes of hiking, his face was deeply flushed and when 
he coughed, his lungs sounded clogged and wet.

"Still gonna cook our breakfast, Scully?" he asked between 
bouts of choking.

"Sure. Squirrel is my specialty."

"I didn't know that." Air scraped in and out of his lungs. 
"Tell me something else I don't know...about you," he 
challenged.

His request made her think about her snake dream, which she had 
no intention of discussing. Not now. Probably not ever.

"Melissa and I once found a dead squirrel in the road in front 
of our house. It must have been hit by a car, because it was 
pretty flat. Missy dared me to skin it, cook it and feed it to 
Bill and Charlie in a sandwich."

"Did you?"

"I did skin it. But that's as far as I went, much to Missy's 
disappointment. She kept the squirrel's tail for a while 
though. Hung it off the back of her bicycle seat."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Seven or eight."

"Slicing and dicing even then." Mulder was walking very slowly. 
Every breath seemed to take enormous effort. His lips were a 
frightening shade of purplish-blue and his face was slicked 
with sweat.

Scully moved to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist 
for support. "No more talking, Mulder. Lean on me. We're almost 
to the lake. Try to make it a little further." 

The water was so close. Another five or ten minutes and they'd 
be there. 

"Sc-scully, I...can't..." His knees buckled. "Gotta rest." He 
sank to the ground, pulling her down with him.

His decline seemed to be happening incredibly fast. The fire 
had been only hours ago, and yet here he was, already overcome 
by fatigue and shortness of breath. The damage to his airway 
must have been worse than she realized. Either that or his 
injured lungs had been infected by some virulent Pleistocene 
uber-bug. 

Guilt settled over her. He was sick because of her. He had 
risked his life when he used his body to shield her. He must 
have sucked in lungful after lungful of scorching debris while 
she lay tucked safely beneath him.   

Exhausted and gasping for air, he laid down to rest. Trying to 
help him get comfortable, she noticed tiny ripe berries dotting 
the ground all around them. Strawberries! Thousands of them, 
growing in between the meadow grass.

"Mulder, look! Fresh berries." She picked one to show him, only 
to find he had lost consciousness.

*   *   *

Klizzie sat cross-legged on the ground outside the hut and 
deftly plaited her hair, weaving in fresh sweetgrass and bone 
beads. It fell nearly to her waist when it was not knotted into 
dozens of tight braids, and it would curl like moonseed vine if 
left hanging free. Thanks to the peccary fat she worked into 
her scalp after each washing, her dark tresses glistened like 
the hide on a new foal. Many seasons ago, her mother had shown 
her how to perfume the fat with flower blossoms, cooking them 
together before applying the sweet-smelling oil to her hair. 
Klizzie thought of her every time she mixed clover or vetch 
into the melting fat. She missed her very much and wished she 
were still alive. 

"Hurry up, Klizzie," begged Gini, Dzeh's eight-year-old sister. 
Gini squatted beside her, watching her braid her hair. The girl 
held a pretty carved comb Dzeh had given to Klizzie after their 
first mating. 

Gini resembled her older brother in many ways. They had the 
same full lips that quirked up on one side whenever they 
smiled, which was often. Their brows had the smooth curve of 
owl feathers and the left one arched higher than the right when 
they showed surprise or doubt. Their eyes were the color of 
hazelnuts and shone with candor and kindness. 

Klizzie's heart felt satisfied whenever she looked at Dzeh. He 
wasn't like the other men in the Clan; he treated her more like 
an equal than a woman. He was attentive and thoughtful. And 
smarter than most. A good hunter, too. She was fortunate to be 
his mate. 

"You fetch the baskets, Gini. I am almost finished."

The girl jumped to her feet and scurried into the lodge. In 
three heartbeats, she returned carrying two pine needle 
baskets, perfect for collecting strawberries. Klizzie planned 
to scour the western slope this morning, picking as many 
ripened berries as possible before the bears arrived to eat the 
rest. Every year it became a contest to see who would get the 
delicious treats first -- the Clan or the bears and birds.

Strawberries would taste perfect with the moose meat Dzeh and 
the other hunters had brought home after the forest fire. He'd 
been right; the fire had pushed plenty of game their way, 
making it easy for them to spear three large stag-moose. The 
younger boys had captured several fat rabbits, too, which they 
put into blackhaw cages to eat once the moose meat was gone. 
Now there was plenty of meat to cut up and cook, and more hides 
to clean and tan. 

"Ready?" Klizzie asked, seeing that Gini was anxious to get 
going. When the girl nodded, Klizzie took her hand. "Then let's 
go pick some berries." 

*   *   *

For a day and a half Mulder had drifted in and out of 
consciousness, his breathing becoming more and more labored. 
The initial airway occlusion from edema and endobronchial 
debris had made his lungs ripe for infection. His fever 
continued to rise.  

Scully examined him every few minutes, checking his pulse, his 
breathing, and his temperature, which she could only guess at 
by placing her palm against his fiery skin. When he was more 
lucid, she tried postural drainage and clapping his chest, 
hoping to clear his lungs at least a little. When he was 
unconscious, she went down to the lake where she removed her 
shirt and soaked it with cold water. She carried it back to 
him, dripping wet, and squeezed a few drops of water into his 
parched mouth. Then she would press the cold, wet shirt 
against his brow, cheeks and neck, trying to cool him. Several 
times he responded by mumbling in a disoriented way, begging 
her to loosen imaginary restraints on his wrists and to 
please, please believe him. 

She guarded her emotions against his suffering by treating him 
as a patient, not as her partner, her best friend, her only 
companion in this entire frightening Ice Age world. 
Concentrating on his symptoms, she tried to detach herself from 
her feelings for him.

As the hours wore on and night fell, however, she lost her 
detachment. She'd been without sleep for two days. Mosquitoes 
harangued her incessantly and her arms grew exhausted from 
swatting at them, fanning the air above Mulder to keep them 
from bleeding him dry, too. A sporadic breeze puffed across the 
field, brushing through the grass, sounding like hushed voices. 
She imagined she heard them whispering her name. Then she 
imagined the voices were Mulder, calling to her for help as he 
breathed his last breath.

Not knowing what else to do, she talked to him. From 2:00 a.m. 
until sunrise, she babbled non-stop about anything and 
everything she could think of. Eventually she came to the 
subject of her dream about the snake.

"Mulder, the day we ate the snake I had a dream, a nightmare 
really...you brought me a dead snake, only when I touched it, 
it wasn't dead any more, it came to life, and I ate it. I know 
it sounds Freudian, *is* Freudian; the snake is...was...a 
symbol of...I think...of our sexual relationship...the one we 
don't have. The snake made me pregnant...impossible of 
course...for a whole bunch of reasons. I didn't have a baby in 
the dream...I gave birth to another snake...or maybe it was the 
same snake, I don't know. You were there, but I once read 
somewhere that all the characters in our dreams are just 
varying aspects of our own personalities, which means that you 
must have been me...not that it matters. I don't know what the 
snake meant...uh, the snake I gave birth to. At first I thought 
it might mean that having a sexual relationship with you would 
end badly. But I don't really think that. I don't."

Mulder coughed, but didn't wake.

"You were wrong yesterday, Mulder. We've had motive...or at 
least, *I've* had motive. My feelings for you haven't changed -
- not from traveling through time or from some sort of genetic 
regression process..."

She rubbed circles over his heart with her hand. How could he 
not know she loved him?

"Mulder, you once saved me with the strength of your beliefs. 
You and I...we have so much left to do. I don't believe you're 
ready to die. Not now. Not here." 

By mid-morning Mulder's fever burned even hotter and his lungs 
rattled with every agonizingly slow breath. Scully began to 
pray, out loud and on her knees.

"God, please don't take him, please. I need him more than I 
ever have before. He is my only ally here, my only hope. I 
can't lose him."

Perhaps God wasn't listening or He had other more pressing 
things to do because Mulder's chest stopped rising. His heart 
stopped beating. The sun became too bright in a too blue sky, 
the smell of strawberries too strong and the drone of bees too 
loud as Scully felt for his pulse and found none. She bent over 
him, placed her mouth over his and blew into his lungs. Once. 
Twice. Still no pulse. Straddling his motionless body, she 
began chest compressions.

"Damn it, Mulder! Don't you dare die! Don't leave me here 
alone! Mulder? Please!"

*   *   *

"What is that?" Gini asked, stopping in her tracks and cocking 
an ear. She had been skipping ahead of Klizzie along the narrow 
lakeshore path that led to the strawberry fields. "I hear 
someone crying." 

It was true. A woman's cries came from somewhere up ahead. 
Whoever she was, she sounded grief stricken. 

"Let's go see," Klizzie said. She took the lead, hurrying 
toward the crying, but sticking close to the trees where they 
might hide in the shadows if the sobbing woman turned out to be 
a stranger and not a member of the Clan. 

They quickly came to the edge of the strawberry fields where 
they could see a red-haired woman crouching over an unconscious 
man about forty paces upland.

"Who are they?" Gini whispered, sounding both afraid and 
curious.

"Hush." Klizzie put a hand on the girl to hold her back. "I do 
not know."

"Is the man dead?"

He looked dead, even from this distance. His skin appeared 
bluish and his eyes sunken in their sockets. The red haired 
woman straddled his waist, while tears streamed down her face, 
which was badly bruised; she shouted at the man as if angry and 
pounded his chest. Klizzie wondered if this man had been the 
one who had given her the black eye and the swollen lip. Maybe 
she killed him because he beat her. Suddenly the woman bent 
forward and covered the man's mouth with her own, as if kissing 
him. His chest rose once before she sat upright and again 
pushed her fists into him.

"What is she doing?" Gini asked.

Klizzie had no idea. Maybe the woman was crazy. Grief sometimes 
made people do strange things. Klizzie felt certain she would 
lose all common sense if Dzeh were to die.

"Should we help her?" 

Should they? They didn't know this woman or the dead man. 
Strangers could be dangerous. And what could be done anyway? If 
the man was dead he was dead and only the Spirits could help 
him. 

But the red-haired woman appeared so desperate. 

"Come on," Klizzie said, leading Gini out into the field, her 
legs shaking and her stomach feeling knotted, the same way she 
had felt when Dzeh's mother lay dying three seasons ago, her 
stillborn baby taking her with it to the Spirit World. Even 
Dzeh had cried the night his mother's spirit flew away.

Klizzie and Gini slowly approached the red haired woman who 
seemed blind to them as she continued to shove her fists 
against the dead man's chest. When they stood only six or seven 
paces away, Klizzie cleared her throat and asked in as strong a 
voice as she could muster, "Can we help you, Sister?"

The woman looked up in startled surprise and slowed her frantic 
pounding. Tears streaked her bruised cheeks, pooled in her 
heartbroken eyes...eyes that looked as if her spirit wanted to 
fly away, too.

*   *   *

Klesh and Tse-e crouched behind a clump of blossoming fire 
cherries overlooking the strawberry fields. They quietly 
watched Red Hair squawk over her dead companion, while that 
troublemaking Klizzie and Dzeh's little sister stood by with 
stunned looks on their faces.

"It appears Li-chi Tse-gah has lost her protector," Klesh 
gloated, keeping his voice low and fondling the pouch he wore 
around his neck. He grinned at the feel of Red Hair's totem 
tucked inside. His widening smirk deepened the scar on his left 
cheek. 

"What are you going to do?" Tse-e asked.

"Take her for myself as payment for the supplies we lost."

"What about Klizzie and the girl?"

"They are of no consequence."

"But they could bring Owl Clan down on us."

"You worry too much, Tse-e," Klesh sneered. "The Clan will not 
care about this woman. She has no kin here. She is alone now 
and will be grateful to tend my hearth and share my sleeping 
skins."

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SIX

"Sister?" Klizzie repeated, trying to get the stranger's 
attention. She felt Gini's small hand slip into hers. The girl 
was shaking and wide-eyed. The strange woman was wide-eyed, 
too.  

Klizzie had never seen a woman who looked like this one. Not 
only was her hair the color of fox fur, her eyes were as blue 
as the sky, and those sad, blue eyes gazed at Klizzie and Gini 
for only a heartbeat before returning their focus to the dead 
man on the ground.

Cradling his jaw in her palm, the fox-haired woman bent to kiss 
his lips again, making his chest rise. Then she sat upright to 
pound his breast with clenched fists. She mumbled foreign 
words, possibly a prayer, or a curse: 
"Pleasemulderpleasemulderplease..."  

Klizzie was certain the woman's prayers were useless. The man's 
spirit had clearly flown from his body. His skin was grayish-
blue, his eyes glazed and unseeing beneath half-closed lids. 
But this woman was stubborn. She continued her chanting, her 
shoving of fists, and the strange kisses that made the dead 
man's chest rise.

Suddenly a weak cough sputtered from his throat. He gasped, 
squeezed his eyes shut, moaned. Great Spirit Mother! Klizzie 
began to tremble.

The strange woman sat bolt upright and stared at the man's 
creased face. 
"Mulder?" she said.

The foreign word hung in the air, unanswered. Although Klizzie 
didn't understand its meaning, she could hear both hope and 
fear in the woman's tone.

"Pleeeassse...," hissed the fox-haired woman, dropping her ear 
to the man's chest. 

Listening, she began to slowly smile. Her reddened eyes flooded 
with tears. She wrapped her arms around the man, gripped his 
shoulders, cradled him to her breast. A cry broke in her throat 
like a stone tossed into a pond.

Much to Klizzie's surprise, the man's arm lifted, little by 
little, quaking like a newborn foal's legs, until the palm of 
his hand came to rest on the woman's wet cheek.

Spirits be praised, the dead man was no longer dead! It was 
unbelievable! Without a doubt, this fox-haired woman possessed 
powerful medicine.

"Dah-de-yah," Gini whispered, sounding afraid and awestruck. 
"Kut...na-dzah! He came back!"

It was true! They could see the man's fingers moving ever so 
slightly, caressing the crying woman's cheek, smearing but not 
stopping her tears.   

"Gini, run and fetch Dzeh. Hurry!" 

*   *   *

"I told you she was a Spirit!" Tse-e cried. He squatted next to 
Klesh behind the cherry bushes, a stone's throw upland from Red 
Hair and her companion. He pointed a trembling finger at the 
impossible scene down below. "She has snatched the dead man's 
spirit out of the air and put it back into him!"  

"Quiet!" Klesh swung a brawny arm, striking the smaller man 
hard in the mouth to silence his blathering. "Do you want them 
to hear you?"

Tse-e hid his bruised mouth behind quaking hands and crouched 
even lower.

Klesh could not deny what he had just seen with his own eyes. 
Red Hair had somehow breathed life back into her dead 
companion. Was Tse-e right? Was she a Spirit? Or did she merely 
possess powerful totems, like a Shaman?

Reaching into the pouch he wore around his neck, Klesh fished 
out the tiny amulet he had stolen from Red Hair. The unfamiliar 
symbol looked like two crossed sticks and it glittered more 
brightly than any rock crystal. It held magic, he was sure, and 
once he discovered how to release its power, then Li-chi Tse-
Gah would do his bidding. Maybe others would bow to him, too.  
Klesh pictured himself as chief of his Clan, no longer living 
his life as an outcast. His first order would be to have Red 
Hair's companion killed, and then Klesh would take her as his 
mate. Next he would cast Klizzie from the Clan the same way he 
and Tse-e had been turned out. Seeing her humiliated and 
shunned would be even more satisfying than forcing Red Hair to 
her knees.

Down in the field, the girl -- Dzeh's puny sister -- was 
rushing off in the direction of Toh-ta Lodge. That meant Dzeh 
and his chindi uncles would be arriving soon. 

Klesh watched Klizzie drop to her knees beside Li-chi Tse-Gah 
and the dead man who now lived.   

Tse-e whimpered, "Klesh, let us leave this place."

"And where shall we go? Thanks to Red Hair, we have no shelter, 
no supplies." He almost added, "and no Clan," but caught 
himself before the words were out. No matter how much he might 
want to blame the strangers for all his misfortunes, he 
couldn't hold them accountable for his and Tse-e's exile. That 
had happened four Mastodon Feasts ago, long before Red Hair's 
arrival. Dropping her totem back into his pouch, Klesh wagged 
his head. "We will stay here."  

*   *   *

Scully pressed her ear to Mulder's chest, relieved to hear the 
drumming of his heart. Silently, she repeated "thank God, thank 
God" timed with each steady beat, grateful beyond words for his 
miraculous recovery.

When the feeble caress of his hand against her cheek abruptly 
stopped and his arm fell to his side, she sat upright, 
startled, thinking maybe she had only imagined his heart's 
beating. But when she examined his face, she could see that his 
color was returning, though his eyes were now closed.

"Mulder?"

He didn't respond, so she clutched his wrist, feeling for his 
pulse. 

The flow of blood thrummed beneath her fingers. He was alive. 
Thank God, thank God, thank God...

A puff of wind rustled the grassy meadow and siphoned some of 
the heat from Scully's fiery cheeks, causing her skin to 
tighten as her tears dried. Crushed strawberries spattered the 
ground around her, looking like blood clots, and the midday air 
was so thick with the smell of the ripe fruit that even as 
empty as she felt she was certain she would never eat another 
strawberry as long as she lived.

"...neh-hecho-da-ne. Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih..."

She glanced at the kneeling woman, who stopped talking as soon 
as their eyes met. The woman didn't appear dangerous -- she was 
perhaps only eighteen or nineteen years old and carried no 
obvious weapons. She sat about ten feet away, her palms held 
flat atop her tanned thighs. Two woven baskets lay tipped on 
their sides beside her brown knees. She wore an animal skin 
wrapped around her narrow hips. A small pouch dangled from a 
strip of rawhide between her bare breasts. Her skin was the 
color of coffee lightened with cream and her hair was almost 
black, long and braided into dozens of neatly woven strands. 
She had a straight nose and full lips, which quirked up at the 
corners where two crescent-shaped dimples punctuated her uneasy 
smile.

"Who are you?" Scully asked.

The young woman blinked at her, evidently not understanding. 

It dawned on Scully that the woman's friend, the little girl, 
was now gone. Pivoting, she searched the edge of the woods and 
then the upland field for the missing child.

"Where did she go?" Scully still straddled Mulder's hips. 
Feeling protective of him in his vulnerable, unconscious state, 
she reached for her weapon and let her hand rest on her 
holster.

"Na-dzah." The woman pointed at Mulder. "Na-dzah." She smiled 
more widely, showing white, strong teeth. 

When she made no attempt to rise or approach, Scully released 
her hold on her gun. "Well..." Keeping her eyes on the woman, 
she swung off Mulder and positioned herself on her knees 
between them. "What now?"

"Wha nauw?" the young woman parroted, a crease forming between 
her straight brows.

"Do you have a name?"

"Naym-muh?"

"Name. Uh...I'm Dana." Scully pointed to herself, tapping her 
breastbone with her finger, all the while feeling rather 
foolish, as if she were an actor in a jungle movie. Me Tarzan, 
you Jane. "Dana. Daay...nuh."

The woman smiled and repeated, "Day-nuh." When Scully nodded, 
the woman pointed to herself and said, "Klizzie."

"Klizzie?"

"Lahn." She nodded enthusiastically. Then her eyes fell onto 
Mulder. 

Scully placed a hand on his chest, relieved again to feel the 
beat of his heart there. "Mulder," she said.

"Muhl-dar?" asked the woman.

"Yes. Mulder."  

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar," Klizzie repeated, satisfied they now had something 
to call one another, although these new names were foreign-
sounding and meaningless to her, unlike ordinary Clan names 
that actually stood for something. Her own name was the word 
for "goat" and Dzeh meant "elk." Gini was "chicken hawk." 
Dzeh's uncle Lin was "horse." And so on for everyone. Maybe 
"Day-nuh" was the foreigners' word for Fox Hair or Sky Eyes. 
And "Muhl-dar"? Klizzie hadn't a clue, unless it meant "Man Who 
Does Not Die." 

Neighboring clans sometimes spoke unfamiliar words, but usually 
they could understand each other at least a little or, if they 
came from a great distance away, they would use hand signals to 
make their ideas known. This woman, Day-nuh, appeared to 
recognize neither Klizzie's words nor her signing. So Klizzie 
guessed that Day-nuh and Muhl-dar's clan must live many day's 
run from here.

Exactly which clan they might belong to puzzled her. Klizzie 
had been born to Badger Clan. Now, as Dzeh's mate, she was a 
member of Owl Clan. There were many clans: Bear, Deer, Rabbit, 
Cat, Wolf, Eagle, Turtle...the list went on and on. Different 
clans gathered together in winter for Messenger Feasts or in 
summer for Mastodon Feasts, like the one coming up in half a 
moon. Klizzie had attended these feasts all of her life, but 
couldn't remember ever seeing anyone with red hair or blue eyes 
before. Nor could she remember hearing such a strange language 
or seeing such unusual clothing. Looking at the hide of Day-
nuh's finely made cloak, Klizzie wondered if these newcomers 
might come from Eel Clan, a clan she had heard about but had 
never actually met. 

She noticed that both strangers wore lovely bracelets made from 
a shiny material that was quite striking and finely worked. The 
man's belt glistened, too, at the front of his waist. As did 
the little glossy holes in his extraordinary footwear, and the 
gleaming decorations in Day-nuh's pierced ears.

The man's ears were not pierced. How odd! All men wore 
decorations of bone or animal teeth or stone in their ears. 
Another strange thing: the hair of his beard was very short -- 
shorter than that on the muzzle of a wolf pup. Was he a boy 
just becoming a man? Day-nuh's son perhaps, not her mate? Or 
did he scrape his beard with a flint blade the way women 
cleaned hair from deer hides? It could be that Eel Clan kept 
their hair trimmed short to look more like eel skin. The hair 
on both the newcomers' heads was quite short, which seemed to 
lend credence to the idea. 

There were so many things Klizzie wanted to ask. And so much 
more she wanted to tell! Perhaps most of all, however, she 
wanted to wash the disturbing expression of worry from Day-
nuh's face.

"Gini has gone to fetch Dzeh and the others," Klizzie said, 
trying to relieve the other woman's anxiety. "They will be here 
soon to help your...um...Muhl-dar."

At the mention of his name, Day-nuh bristled like a she-bear 
protecting her cub, and Klizzie wondered if she had 
inadvertently shown disrespect. She decided it might be best to 
lower her eyes and bow her head to the ground. 

"Klizzie...?"

Klizzie kept her head down.

"Klizzie." 

She felt the tap of fingers on her arm and finally lifted her 
gaze to find Day-nuh had moved closer. She was gesturing toward 
the man named Muhl-dar and saying things that made no sense.

Then, from the direction of the camp, Klizzie heard Dzeh 
calling her name. Thank the Spirits. Klizzie was at a loss how 
to help these strangers. Dzeh would know what to do.

Gini was running at a gallop toward the strawberry fields, 
leading Dzeh, Uncle Lin and several of Dzeh's male cousins. The 
men were armed with spears and knives. They wore frowns on 
their faces as they jogged upland from the water's edge.

Dzeh sounded angry and a little nervous when he shouted to 
Klizzie to "Move away! Kut! Now!"

She scrambled to her feet and backed away, putting several 
paces between herself and the strangers, not because she feared 
them but because she was used to obeying the orders of her 
mate.

The men rushed forward, their spears hoisted shoulder high and 
aimed at the fox-haired woman who still squatted beside her 
unconscious companion. They formed a wide circle around her and 
she twisted her head first one way and then the other, trying 
to keep her eyes on them all. She placed a protective hand on 
the chest of the man named Muhl-dar. With her other hand, she 
pulled a gray fist-sized object from behind her back and 
pointed it at the men like an angry finger. She shouted a 
string of strong sounding words.       

Uncle Lin ignored her yelling and stepped close enough to touch 
the tip of his spear to her chest. "What is the name of your 
clan?" he demanded. Lin was the oldest member of Owl Clan and 
the leader. His beard was streaked with gray, yet he was 
solidly built and tough enough to break a ram's neck with his 
bare hands. He had the final say in all debates and his words 
were obeyed without question because he was both very wise and 
very strong. 

Klizzie stood off to one side with Gini, biting her tongue 
because she knew Lin would be cross if she interfered, but she 
desperately wanted to yell out to the men that they had no 
reason to fear these newcomers. Her stomach churned at the 
sight of the fierce, yet desperate woman surrounded by six 
angry men.

"What is the name of your clan?" Lin repeated, his voice 
roaring like a bear about to charge. He prodded Scully with his 
spear, hard enough to puncture a small hole in the hide of her 
pretty cloak.

Although tears rose in her eyes, Day-nuh squared her shoulders, 
clenched her jaw and used both hands to point her gray object 
at Lin's chest. "Back off," she said.

The foreign words had no meaning for the men, but the hardness 
of her voice and the direct way she stared into their eyes made 
them nervous. She faced them like a male, like an enemy. 

They would kill her for sure. 

Strangers cannot be trusted -- Klizzie had heard this saying 
all her life, had seen it proven true on more than one 
occasion. But she knew firsthand that sometimes kin could not 
be trusted either. Her cousin Klesh, for instance, and her own 
brother Tse-e. The memory of their transgressions could still 
knock the breath from her lungs. People were people, some good, 
some bad, and she felt certain this fox-haired woman was a good 
person. She had worked hard to save her companion's life. 
Clearly she had a caring heart, as well as the favor of 
powerful Spirits.

"Do something, Klizzie," Gini whispered as the men tightened 
their circle.  

Lin raised his spear.

"Stop!" Klizzie shouted, then, realizing her breach of 
etiquette, she dropped to her knees. "Please," she added, eyes 
fastened on the ground.

"Klizzie!" Dzeh growled, making her flinch. "This is men's 
business!"

Blood rose in Klizzie's cheeks. Men's business, men's business! 
Everything was men's business! Anger took hold of her and, 
ignoring the consequences, she rose to her feet, strode over to 
the men, and shouldered through their circle to stand between 
them and the strangers. She stared straight at their astonished 
faces, and said, "There is no threat here. She is but a woman. 
Her companion is unconscious. Please, do not harm them."

Dzeh glowered, embarrassed by her outrageous actions, and it 
hurt Klizzie to disobey her mate this way. She could scarcely 
believe she was doing such a thing. It took all her willpower 
to keep her feet planted where they were. 

Lin huffed his disapproval and warned Dzeh, "Remove your mate 
from here."

"Why kill them?" Klizzie demanded when Dzeh reached for her 
arm.

"They are not Owl Clan," he said.

"I was not Owl Clan either until I became your mate." 

The fierceness faded from his eyes. She knew he loved her and 
she felt a stab of guilt for causing him this trouble, bringing 
the disapproval of the Clan down on both their heads. He 
glanced at the other men, at the strangers, and then back at 
Klizzie. "You are Owl Clan now. They are not. They cannot be 
trusted," he said as if talking to a child.

Then an idea struck her. "But what if they become Owl Clan? 
Like I did."

"Klizzie, no one in Owl Clan will take either of these two as 
mates. They are too strange. They will never be our kin."

Lin announced, "We must kill them. Dzeh, get your mate out of 
our way." The other men nodded in agreement.

"No, wait!" Klizzie couldn't believe she was about to argue 
with Dzeh and his Uncle Lin. The Spirits must be giving her 
strength, wanting her to help these strangers, because 
otherwise she would never have dared to stand up against six 
clansmen this way. "The man could become your Trading Partner, 
Dzeh," she suggested.

She knew Dzeh needed a new Trading Partner -- he had gone four 
winters without choosing a new alliance, reluctant to take on 
another partner after all the trouble with Klesh. But it was 
custom. Trading Partners strengthened clan ties, made for 
peaceful negotiations, provided food in times of starvation. 
There had been many winters when the people of Owl Clan could 
not have survived without the help of their partners in Deer 
Clan or Turtle Clan or Badger Clan. If Dzeh accepted the man 
named Muhl-dar as his Trading Partner, the strangers would be 
considered kin.

Dzeh studied the newcomers, particularly the man. "He is too 
sick. He will not live long enough to make the first trade," he 
said, shaking his head.

"Only the Spirits know that," Klizzie whispered.

"Move out of our way, Klizzie," he warned, "or I will move you 
myself."

Just then little Gini surprised them all by plowing into the 
circle to join Klizzie. Everyone's eyes rounded at the girl's 
impudence. "If he dies," she said, her voice high and as clear 
as the call of a bird, "then all of his possessions become 
yours. Isn't that right, Dzeh?"

Ah, Gini was a smart girl! The man's clothes, his footwear, the 
unusual bracelet he wore on his wrist -- these were unlike 
anything the Clan had ever seen, making them worth a great 
deal. And who knew what he carried in his packs. If Dzeh agreed 
to become Muhl-dar's Trading Partner and then the man died, 
Dzeh would become the owner of these many fine things. And if 
he lived, so much the better, because it was obvious his clan 
was clever and rich. A partnership with them could be a 
lucrative arrangement. Dzeh and Owl Clan could not lose by 
agreeing to ally themselves with these strangers.

"He is too sick to agree to a partnership," Dzeh pointed out.

"We are not leaving Toh-ta Lodge for several days," Klizzie 
said, seeing that Dzeh was considering the idea. "If we feed 
him, he might get well enough before we go. And if he gets 
well, he might show his gratitude by agreeing to become your 
Trading Partner."

Lin suddenly burst out laughing, a deep hearty laugh. "Your 
clever mate has worked everything out, Dzeh. She may be 
impudent, but she is right. The plan is a good one." He lowered 
his spear. "Let's carry the man back to camp. The woman..." -- 
he glanced at Day-nuh -- "she can follow or not, as she 
wishes."    

*   *   *

Scully had no idea what had just happened, but she wasn't about 
to argue. Obviously Klizzie and the girl had intervened on her 
and Mulder's behalf. Whether they'd simply been persuasive or 
had negotiated some sort of agreement remained to be seen. As 
for now, the big brute with the gray hair was lowering his 
weapon and laughing, while several of the others were bending 
over Mulder.

"Wait, wait! What are you doing? Be careful." 

Her words fell on deaf ears. The men lifted Mulder and began 
carrying him in the direction they'd come. Klizzie was smiling 
and the little girl looked about to burst with excitement. The 
tallest man, the one who had done most of the talking, scooped 
up the two packs she and Mulder had brought from the basin. He 
eyed her suspiciously but said nothing when she rose to follow 
after him and the others.

"Please, be careful," she begged, seeing Mulder's head loll. 
"Where are you taking him? He's very sick."

They headed for a path that ran along the lakeshore. Klizzie 
and the girl hung back, walking with Scully. They chattered 
with each other, obviously in good spirits, despite the dire 
circumstances. They repeated her and Mulder's names several 
times. Perhaps they knew of a way to help him, although for the 
life of her she couldn't imagine what it might be. Mulder's 
condition was precarious, he needed medical attention, he 
should be in a hospital where he could get antibiotics, oxygen, 
fluids...not carried to who knew where. 

After a few minutes, the group arrived at a tidy campsite 
overlooking the lake. At least half a dozen structures formed a 
semicircle beneath the trees not far from a sandy beach. They 
looked similar to the one that had belonged to Scully's captors 
in the basin.  Some of the dome-shaped shelters were larger 
than others, as if whole families lived under the same roof. 
Several dozen men, women and children came running from various 
locations to get a look at her and Mulder. They gathered 
around, all talking at once, blinking in surprise. 

A balding man with a heavily tattooed face came forward out of 
the crowd, which parted to let him stand beside Mulder. He 
inspected Mulder's pale face, listened to his raspy breathing 
and then directed the men to carry him to a small tent set 
apart from the rest.

Scully trailed after them, pushing her way inside the shelter, 
where she found Mulder was being laid on a bed of furs. Baskets 
and bowls of unidentifiable powders and liquids were lined up 
along the hut's outer perimeter. Drying weeds hung in bunches 
from the shelter's oversized bone supports. 

The tattooed man knelt beside Mulder and began chanting. He 
picked up a rattle adorned with colorful feathers, and shook it 
three times over Mulder's head. Then he reached into one of the 
small bowls, removed a pinch of reddish powder and sprinkled it 
over his chest.

"What are you doing?" Scully asked, but the tattooed man 
ignored her. His chanting grew more insistent. 

She hoped that if he was this tribe's medicine man, he was a 
good one. Mulder was hanging on to life by a thread and needed 
all the help he could get. Selecting a place by his feet, 
Scully knelt to watch over him.       

*   *   *

"What now?" Tse-e asked. He stood beside Klesh not far from Owl 
Clan's campsite. They kept to the shadows while they spied on 
the Clan's comings and goings. "Lin has accepted Red Hair and 
her companion. Now you must forget the idea of taking her as 
your mate."

"Maybe, maybe not." 

Old Lin's actions made no sense. The Clan should have killed 
the strangers, or at the very least, killed the man and taken 
Li-chi Tse-Gah. It was the proper thing to do. It was custom. 

Not that Lin and Dzeh and these other Owl Clan chindis always 
did what was right. Klesh seethed with fresh anger over his 
unwarranted exile. The Clan had turned their backs on him and 
Tse-e, forcing them to live on their own. And they were kin! 
Bound by blood! Why adopt strangers and toss out family?

Taking in these two outsiders made no sense.

Once again the red-haired woman had managed to slip like a 
sleek eel through his fingers. 

"We will camp on the opposite shore where we can keep an eye on 
things," Klesh said. "I am not ready to fly away just yet."

*   *   *

"Day-nuh?" Klizzie waited at the entrance of A-zey-al-ih Lodge 
for Day-nuh to invite her in. When no invitation came, she 
ignored protocol and entered anyway. She carried a tray of 
food, hoping to coax the stoic woman into eating something. It 
had been two days since the newcomers' arrival, and the woman 
named Day-nuh had eaten almost nothing in that time. 

As usual, Gini followed close on Klizzie's heels, curious to 
see how the man named Muhl-dar was doing. The girl seemed 
inordinately inquisitive about him and asked Klizzie 
uncountable questions, most of which she could not answer. 
"Where did he come from?" "When will he wake up?" "Why does he 
not have any tattoos?" "Why are his clothes so strange?" "Is he 
going to live or die?"

"Only the Spirits know these things, Little Chick," was 
Klizzie's unvarying response. 

It was obvious friendly Spirits had blessed these strangers. 
Although Muhl-dar remained very sick, the speed of his recovery 
was astonishing. And Day-nuh seemed determined to make him 
well. Klizzie hoped that their good fortune would continue and 
the man would soon be up on his feet and healthy.

Day-nuh sat cross-legged on the skins beside Muhl-dar, who was 
sleeping on a silvery mat of wolf fur. Sweat slicked his pale 
face and his bare chest. His breathing was labored and he 
coughed frequently. Day-nuh had been watching him continuously 
through the last two sunsets, making sure to pour a little 
water or put a little food into his mouth whenever he happened 
to be awake, which wasn't often. Mostly he slept. Occasionally 
he cried out in his sleep, as if he were struggling against 
evil Spirits in the Dream World. He often shouted a word 
Klizzie didn't recognize, "skuh-lee," which never failed to 
seize Day-nuh's attention. She would then talk and sometimes 
sing to him while he wandered fretfully in his dreams. More 
often, she just sat quietly, looking exhausted and fearful.

"I brought you some strawberries. And roasted rabbit and fresh 
dandelion greens." Klizzie set her tray down beside the skins. 

Day-nuh ignored the food and seemed not to hear or notice her 
visitors, even when Klizzie stirred the ashes of the hearth, 
bringing the coals back to life. It was well past sunset and 
most of her kin were busy settling around the hearths of their 
various lodges, putting their children to sleep and getting 
ready for bed. Tomorrow was an important day. Owl Clan would be 
packing to move to Tabaha Lodge on Turkey Lake for the summer 
season. Klizzie had been hoping the man named Muhl-dar would be 
well enough to travel with them, but now it looked as if he 
wouldn't recover his strength before the Clan's departure. He 
would remain behind and Klizzie had no doubt Day-nuh would stay 
with him.

"Will they be okay here by themselves?" Gini asked, as if 
reading Klizzie's thoughts. The girl hunkered close to the 
man's head to get an unobstructed view of him. 

Klizzie's heart went out to the strangers, particularly the 
fox-haired woman. She looked bedraggled and exhausted. Her 
bruises were fading, but the shadows beneath her eyes grew 
darker each day. Her skin was as pale as a pickerel's belly and 
was dotted with inflamed mosquito bites. She needed a bath and 
her clothes could stand washing, too. Her odd garments were 
covered with mud and smelled a little sour. Klizzie noticed 
there was blood on her leg-coverings, a large, dark patch 
between her thighs that looked fresh. Day-nuh must be having 
her Moon Time, she realized. She was bleeding into her garments 
without seeming to be aware of it.

"Day-nuh?" Klizzie politely tapped her arm and pointed to the 
blood.

Day-nuh looked down. "Dammit..." Her eyes filled with tears and 
she gave Klizzie a pleading stare. She was obviously 
apprehensive about leaving her sick companion unattended, but 
she knew she had to do something about the blood.

"Gini, you stay with Muhl-dar while I take Day-nuh to wash up." 

Day-nuh cast troubled eyes on Muhl-dar. 

"He will be fine," Klizzie tried to explain. "Gini can fetch us 
if he wakes up." Frustrated by their lack of common language, 
she pointed again at the blood and waved Day-nuh toward the 
lodge's entrance.

Reluctantly, she rose and followed Klizzie outside. 

Because the strangers had arrived in the strawberry field 
carrying nothing but two hunters' packs and two spears, Klizzie 
suspected Day-nuh didn't have the necessities for her Moon 
Time. Sympathy settled like a stone in her stomach when she 
considered that Day-nuh might have let herself bleed into her 
garments not because she was intent on the sick man but because 
she hadn't known how to ask for the things she needed. 

Taking her by the hand, Klizzie led Day-nuh first to her own 
lodge, where she gathered clean skins for her to wear after she 
washed up, as well as her traveling pack. Dzeh wasn't in the 
hut yet, but several of his cousins were already bedding down. 
They peered at the fox-haired woman with curious eyes, but said 
nothing. The newcomers made everyone nervous. Strangers were 
not kin and could be dangerous, stealing food, weapons and 
women, sometimes killing the men. The Clan would not begin to 
relax until the man named Muhl-dar officially became Dzeh's 
Trading Partner. Until then, he and Day-nuh were considered 
outsiders and would continue to be regarded with suspicion.

"This way." Klizzie smiled and took hold of Day-nuh's hand once 
more. "You can bathe in the lake, then dress in these clean 
skins."

The fox-haired woman allowed herself to be towed out of the 
lodge and down to the lakeshore, which wasn't far, just a few 
rabbit hops. She stumbled as she walked, looking dazed and 
exhausted. Klizzie worried about her. She was like an orphaned 
child who had gone too long with too little care. Without a 
good meal or a long night's rest, she would soon become as sick 
as her companion.

For now, Klizzie was determined to help her, at least until the 
Clan left the day after tomorrow. She felt in her heart there 
was nothing to fear from these newcomers, no matter what the 
rest of the Clan might think.

Up ahead, the small crescent-shaped beach glimmered beneath the 
moonlit sky. The shore was sandy and smooth; it felt cool and 
soothing against the soles of Klizzie's feet as she padded 
along its length. Waves gently lapped the shore and the air 
smelled wet and silty and soft, like the lake itself. This lake 
was called A-ye-shi, because on nights such as this it 
glistened like the black, glossy egg of a frog. It held life 
inside it like a frog's egg, too. Fish, turtles and mussels, 
beaver and otter, water birds, other things. Gifts from the 
Spirits.

"You can undress here." Klizzie stopped beside a large, 
branched log of driftwood where she set down her pack. 
Intending to bathe, too, she unwrapped the furs from her waist 
and draped them over the log. Giving a quick silent prayer to 
the spirits, she removed the pouch from around her neck and 
laid it reverently atop her clothes. Naked, she turned to face 
Day-nuh.

Day-nuh slowly removed her eel-skin cloak and placed it on the 
log next to Klizzie's things. Then she stood staring at the 
lake as if uncertain what to do next.

"Do you need help?" Klizzie gave a tentative tug at her strange 
tunic. She wasn't sure how this garment was supposed to come 
off. It had no apparent fasteners and it felt strange to the 
touch, elastic like the stomach of a gutted deer, but dry, like 
lamb's wool. 

Evidently the garment needed no unfastening. Day-nuh removed it 
by pulling it up and over her head in one easy motion. 
Underneath it she wore another garment, the likes of which 
Klizzie had never seen. It was a small, tight-fitting scrap of 
black, shiny material. More eel skin, perhaps, shaped into some 
sort of vest. Reaching behind her back, Day-nuh unfastened the 
odd garment and let it drop to the ground, revealing nipples 
the color of pink rose blossoms. Klizzie couldn't help but 
stare; her own nipples were brown, the color of acorns, as were 
all of the Clan women's. And Clan skin was tan, not white like 
Day-nuh's. She was as ivory colored as a mastodon tusk. Paler 
than a person who was about to fly away to the Spirit World, 
she seemed to glow with the silvery luminescence of the 
moon...except where she was bruised, which was in many places. 
She was also spotted with insect bites and crisscrossed with 
welts and scratches.

It suddenly dawned on Klizzie that Day-nuh wore no totems 
around her neck. What sort of clan did not wear totems? And 
which Spirits would help people who prayed to none? There 
seemed no end to the strangeness of these foreigners.

Indifferent to Klizzie's wonderment, Day-nuh knelt to unfasten 
her footwear. Once the lacings were untied, she stood and 
kicked the coverings from her feet. Then she removed her thin 
inner footwear. Next she loosened the waist of her bloodied 
leggings, which she let drop to her ankles, exposing another 
odd undergarment. This one was black and shiny like the upper 
garment, although it was wet with fresh blood.

"I can wash your clothes," Klizzie suggested, "while you clean 
yourself."

Hesitating for only a heartbeat, Day-nuh slipped out of her 
strange undergarment. With Moon Blood staining her inner 
thighs, she shivered and looked hesitantly at the lake.

Klizzie gave her a reassuring smile before digging two amole 
bulbs from her pack. "Take this." She handed Day-nuh one of the 
soap-weed roots. The pale fox-haired woman stared at it as if 
she'd never seen a soap plant before. Klizzie realized that 
maybe she hadn't. It was possible soap-weed didn't grow in Eel 
Clan territory. "It will get you clean and will take the sting 
out of those insect bites. I will show you." 

She waded into the water, enjoying its coolness on her skin. 
The surface rippled around her plowing legs, bucking the 
reflection of stars and moon. Somewhere in the velvet black of 
the opposite shore, a loon warbled a love song to its mate. 
Klizzie glanced over her shoulder to watch Day-nuh, lunar-
white, trailing behind her.

When the water bumped the undersides of Klizzie's breasts, she 
gasped at its chilliness. "This is far enough," she announced, 
laughing as she began scrubbing the soap-weed root between her 
hands, working up a frothy lather. "See? This is how it is 
done." 

Day-nuh watched her for a moment before mimicking her motions 
and sudsing her own hands with the root. 

Klizzie approached her with soap dripping from her cupped 
hands. "Hold still," she murmured, and tenderly washed the soot 
from Day-nuh's face, careful not to press too heavily on her 
bruises. She half expected the ivory-white skin to feel as 
strange as it looked, maybe cool and hard like a mastodon tusk, 
but instead she found it was as soft and warm as her own brown 
skin. 

Day-nuh flinched when Klizzie's thumb grazed her swollen, split 
lip.

"Sorry," Klizzie apologized. She circled behind her and began 
wetting and washing Day-nuh's fox-colored hair. Working up a 
thick lather, she massaged soap into her scalp, while Day-nuh 
scrubbed her own arms and neck.

"Rinse," Klizzie said, once she felt satisfied that she had 
removed all the pine pitch, dried blood, twigs and leaves. To 
demonstrate her request, Klizzie made a show of holding her 
breath and ducking beneath the surface.

Day-nuh ducked beneath the water, too, sending soap bubbles 
spiraling to the surface.  

When both women came up for air, Klizzie moved them to 
shallower water. "I will wash your back." She twirled her 
finger to indicate she wanted Day-nuh to turn around. "You do 
the rest."

She seemed to understand and turned her back. Klizzie lathered 
her shoulders, her spine, the backs of her arms, treating every 
injury with extreme care and wondering how Day-nuh had gotten 
so many welts and scratches.

"You finish while I clean your garments," Klizzie suggested, 
satisfied that all the cuts on Day-nuh's back were clean. She 
waded to shore, leaving the pale stranger to scrub the 
remaining dirt from her arms and the blood from her legs.

By the time Day-nuh emerged pink and clean, Klizzie had her 
clothes soaped, rinsed, wrung out and hanging to dry on the 
driftwood log.

"Let's get you dressed before you bleed all over yourself 
again." Klizzie rummaged through her pack and pulled out a Moon 
Time belt and a dried cattail. She handed Day-nuh the belt, 
then burst the cattail open, producing wads of fluffy, 
absorbent down.

The belt consisted of two parts: a soft deerskin strap about 
three fingers wide and two hands long attached at both ends to 
a rawhide cord that was long enough to loop around the waist. 
After a quick inspection, Day-nuh slid the strap between her 
legs and held it in place by cinching the string around her 
waist. Klizzie handed her a clump of cattail down, which she 
tucked between her legs inside the strap. 

Klizzie offered her the remaining cattail. "For later," she 
said.

Day-nuh took the down, retrieved her jacket and stuffed the wad 
into a pocket. The pocket itself amazed Klizzie. A hidden 
carrying pack, nearly invisible! How clever!

Because Day-nuh was shivering, Klizzie didn't take the time to 
inspect this wondrous carrying device more closely, but handed 
Day-nuh the fur skirt she'd brought for her. When she fumbled 
with the fastener, Klizzie hurried to help, showing her how to 
loop the knot at her hip. 

Klizzie donned her own skirt before announcing, "Next, I will 
rid your hair of all those snarls." She searched her pack 
again, this time for the comb Dzeh had given her. The comb was 
well made, the tines even, straight and smooth, the handle 
intricately incised with the symbols of Owl Clan. Other than 
her totem pouch, it was Klizzie's most prized possession.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing at the log. Day-nuh did as she was 
told and Klizzie began combing the tangles from her hair. She 
hummed a little song as she worked -- a child's prayer to the 
Fox Spirit, because Day-nuh's hair reminded her so much of the 
hair of Ma-e, the Fox. 

"E ha e... yo e... yo... he ye ye--"

"Klizzie! Klizzie!" Gini's voice came from the woods. The girl 
arrived breathless on the beach. "Muhl-dar is thrashing in his 
sleep. He yells the strange word 'scuh-lee' over and over. Come 
quickly!"
   
Before Klizzie could gather their things, Day-nuh was already 
running toward the camp. 

*   *   *

"Scully, you *have* to be willing to see!"

"Mulder, the case is over."

"No, no, you have to believe me. You *have* to. No one else 
will. Please." Mulder struggles against restraints that bind 
both wrists to bedrails. He is back in Calumet Mercy Hospital, 
confined in the Psych Ward. The sheets of his bed have been 
washed in harsh chemicals to kill germs, and are stiff and 
rough against his exposed skin. The room smells like 
disinfectant and fear. Everything is white, white, white. 
Except for Scully. She is wearing her black satin bra and 
panties, and nothing else. Her lower lip has been recently 
split and is swollen. A bruise surrounds her left eye. She 
massages his chest with her palm while he begs her to help him. 
"Untie me, please. Scully, please unfasten the restraints."

"It's over."

"Scully--"

Mulder can smell smoke; he hears the crackle of fire. Hidden 
flames create flickering shadows, animated Rorschach's 
inkblots that look like demons on the curtain encircling his 
bed. Panic balloons in his gut and rises to his throat, 
threatening to choke him. 

Scully leans over him until her brightly lipsticked mouth is 
only millimeters from his own dry lips. "I'm going."   

"Going where? When will you be back?" 

"I won't be back."

No, no, no. Anything but that. He wants to grab her arm as she 
turns to go, hold onto her as tightly as he can. Losing her is 
the worst possible thing. Damn these straps!

"You've been a child, Fox."

"Scully?"

She peers back at him over her shoulder, but she is no longer 
Scully; she is Diana, and an ugly frown cuts across her face. 

"You've been a child with only the responsibility of a 
child...to your own dreams and fantasies..."

Her goodbye speech, from years ago, before she walked out of 
his life, before the divorce papers were served -- their last 
fight. She looks just the way she did that day. Achingly 
beautiful, despite her disappointed expression. He feels the 
dead weight of his wedding ring on his finger. He wanted so 
much for her to understand him, to love him.

"I have commitments," he tells her. God, he's repeated these 
words so many times. "To the X-Files, to my sister--"

"You think you know what that means -- commitment. But you 
won't know the true joy of responsibility until you plant your 
feet in the world."

"Meaning?" He knows what she means; he knows exactly what 
she's going to say, because she's said it dozens of times, 
fighting for her dreams just as often and hard as he's argued 
for his.

"Becoming a parent, Fox. Having a child."

"*No* children, Diana. We've been over this. A father needs to 
be able to protect his children. And I don't feel I... I 
can't..." He couldn't save Sam. He couldn't. He can't...

"You have to let go of the past, Fox."

"I'm just supposed to slip into domestic bliss? Just like 
that?"

"Yes."

"It's not possible. Not for me."

Her expression turns sad. Tears glisten in her eyes. She looks 
away and walks to the door.

"Diana?" Please don't go! Please, don't leave me! He struggles 
against the restraints.

But she has passed beyond the door into the hall. The skin of 
her back is milky white, framed by the black silk of her bra 
and panties. He wants to put his hand there, but his hands are 
tied, and besides, someone else is putting his hand there. The 
stranger's hand is scarred. The man stands with his back to 
Mulder, but Mulder can see he is muscular. He wears his hair 
long. He bends to nuzzle Diana's neck and she laughs when his 
beard tickles her skin.

The man's fingers stroke the tattoo on her lower back -- a 
snake devouring its own tail. Oh, God, it's Scully. 

"Get away from her!" Mulder shouts, his hips arching off the 
bed, straps cutting into his wrists. "Scully, don't leave! 
Scully? Scully! Come back! Come back, Scully! Sculleeeee!"

She glances at him and shakes her head. "Not everything is 
about you, Mulder."

Then she's out the door. 

When he tries to call to her, nothing comes out of his mouth 
but a silent scream that tastes like woodsmoke.   

*   *   *

"Mulder, wake up." 

Scully's voice came from beyond the black of Mulder's closed 
eyes. He struggled to lift his lids, which felt as if they were 
weighted by sandbags. When he finally managed to open them a 
crack, he discovered he was lying on a bed of furs in a low 
tent-like structure. Only Scully's pale, bruised face looked 
familiar.

She leaned over him, shoulders squared as if prepared for 
disappointment. Tears glossed her eyes and the way she trapped 
her lower lip between her teeth made his stomach clench. She 
was clearly worried about something. Very worried.

"That bad?" he whispered. The words scoured his raw, swollen 
throat. 

She shook her head, knocking loose a tear. "You're going to be 
fine." 

The tear skated down her cheek, and he reached up to wipe away 
its shimmery track, but she beat him to the punch, eliminating 
all trace of it with one quick swipe. Sniffing quietly, she 
transformed into Doctor mode, or maybe Special Agent mode, 
whatever it took to conceal her fears from him.

Craning to see past her, he tried to make sense of his 
surroundings. Smoke rose from a small campfire off to her left. 
The place was dim and cramped and smelled like...what was that 
smell? Mint? Over his head, the roof was made of animal hides 
stretched across several curving bone supports. 

Like the Neanderthals' hut. 

"Where are we?" He tried to sit up, feeling panicky. Scully 
hushed him and pressed her palm against his chest, prodding him 
back down onto the furs.

"We're at a camp not far from the field where you..." -- her 
composure wavered -- "where you passed out."  

How long ago was that? Hours? Days? If those bastards touched 
her while--

"Mulder, they're helping us," she reassured him, as if reading 
his mind.

"Who? Conan the Barbarian and his weasely sidekick?"

A humorless laugh chuffed from her lungs. "No. A woman named 
Klizzie. She found us two days ago. Her people brought us 
here."

"Her people?" He could feel a cough building in his chest and 
he cleared his throat in an effort to avert it.

"About fifty of them -- men, women, and children. They live 
here by the lake, at least temporarily. Klizzie convinced them 
to take us in."

"*Convinced* them?" Now he did choke. Deep, wet coughs that 
doubled him in half. Jesus, his lungs ached. Scully massaged 
his bare chest while he gasped for air. After several painful 
minutes, his cough subsided and he was able to speak again. 
"They didn't want to help us?" 

"Not really."

"That's a bit un-neighborly, given the circumstances."

"They're afraid."

"Of *us*?"

"Strangers in general, I think." 

Mulder recalled Dr. Diamond's words from several years ago 
when he and Scully were investigating the Jersey Devil case: 
"Humans tend to be tribal and aggressively territorial, 
oriented by selfish sexual and reproductive drives that make 
cooperation beyond the family tribe extremely hard." If 
Diamond was right, it made sense that these people would be 
leery of him and Scully.

Scully reached past his shoulder for a shallow bowl. Bringing 
it to his lips, she urged, "Drink."

"What is it?"

"Just water."

He took a sip and then eyed the odd container. It was roughly 
circular, about six inches in diameter, and appeared to have 
scales. "What is that?"

"Turtle shell." She set it back down and picked up a basket 
full of ripe strawberries. "You hungry? You should eat, try to 
regain your strength." She held a berry up for him to inspect. 

It looked delicious. He opened his mouth and she fed it to him.

God, it tasted wonderful. Like summer at Quonochontaug. 
Strawberry pie and grilled hamburgers and his mom's potato 
salad. Seagulls screeching for handouts, pinwheeling in the 
clear blue sky. The air smelling like the ocean. Sea salt 
speckling his bare feet and legs. Sam begging him to help her 
search for seashells and beach glass. 

None of which had happened yet, he realized, feeling queasy.    

"More?" Scully asked.

He shook his head. "Tell me about them...our hosts." Another 
cough rattled his chest.

She set down the berries and shrugged. "They speak a language I 
don't understand. They appear healthy, well fed, happy, for the 
most part."

"For the most part?"

"There was a lengthy, somewhat intense discussion before they 
brought us here."

"Which is where?"

"A camp of about half a dozen shelters near the lake we saw 
from the top of the hill. They sleep several to a tent. Cook 
and eat in groups. Seem to have a complex system for divvying 
up food." She nodded at the basket. "They're skilled artisans. 
They make baskets and jewelry and stone tools. They wear furs. 
Seem to love their kids, who have the run of the place."

So they weren't all brutes like Conan and his little buddy.

"Klizzie and a girl named Gini keep bringing us food and 
water," she continued, nodding at the strawberries. "Some sort 
of medicine man drops by every now and again to chant and leave 
offerings. The mint came from him." She indicated a posy of 
drying greens that hung like mistletoe from a bone support 
beside his head.

"So that's what smells."

"Wild spearmint. I suspect he thinks it helps you breathe 
better."

"Does it?"

"Actually...it's been known to have antiseptic qualities, which 
are most likely contributing to your recovery. He gave you an 
herbal tea that suppressed your cough enough to let you get 
some sleep, then another that acted like an expectorant to help 
clear your secretions. He treated your burns with a salve and 
so far there hasn't been any sign of infection. His knowledge 
of medicinal herbs is impressive." 

"Well, tell him to bring on whatever he's got. I'm feeling as 
weak as a baby cat."

She stroked his cheek, her palm making a scritch-scratchy sound 
against his sprouting whiskers. "You've been very sick, Mulder. 
You still are. A full recovery will take time."

That wasn't the news he wanted to hear. He was eager to get up 
and out of bed to start looking for a way home. He'd had about 
all he could stand of the Pleistocene.

He noticed Scully was barelegged and wearing some sort of fur 
garment beneath her leather coat. "Going native?" he asked, 
fingering the soft material.

"No, I..." Her eyes dodged his as a flush of pink crept up her 
cheeks. "I needed to clean up."

Was she embarrassed? Over what? "I wouldn't mind cleaning up a 
little myself." He ran his palm over his whiskers. 

"Not until you're stronger."

"Are you talking about my smell or my health?"

That coaxed a tiny smile from her. She took hold of his hand 
and gave it a quick squeeze. "Tell you what, I'll wash your 
clothes tomorrow. We'll worry about your personal hygiene once 
you're feeling better."     

"You could always give me a sponge bath." He waggled his brows.

"You are clearly hallucinating again." 

Deciding to go with the idea, he gently pulled her to his 
chest. Gathering her into his arms, he stage-whispered into her 
ear, "Make all my hallucinations come true, Scully."

She snaked her arms around his ribs and surprised him by 
clutching him fiercely. Her show of affection spawned a lump in 
his throat that swamped his eyes with tears. Not quite trusting 
his voice, he returned her embrace, held her, sank his fingers 
into her still-damp hair. If he could have strung more than two 
comprehensible words together, he would have told her how much 
he needed her...how much he loved her...how much he had always 
loved her and now couldn't imagine his life without her.

"Scully, I--" was all he managed to say before his voice gave 
out.

"You need to rest," she murmured against his collarbone. 

She started to rise, but he found he couldn't release her. Not 
yet. 

"Stay," he begged.

She hesitated, then nodded against his neck. "For a little 
while," she promised, her words sounding watery and unguarded. 

She shifted her position so that she lay beside him, her head 
pillowed on his arm, and he rolled to face her, curving his 
body to fit with hers. Pressing his lips to the crown of her 
head, he realized the ache in his chest had nothing at all to 
do with the fire on the mountain, and everything to do with the 
fire in his heart. 

*   *   *

Noontime. Mulder scratched his naked chest and rose on unsteady 
legs to empty his bladder while Scully continued to sleep on 
their bed of animal skins. He couldn't believe she'd spent the 
entire night...and morning...wrapped in his arms. Too bad he'd 
slept through most of it. Damn smoke inhalation. He shuffled on 
bare feet out of the shelter.

Outside, he discovered half a dozen similar shelters in various 
stages of deconstruction. Men, women and children chattered in 
an unfamiliar language around dismantled tents while they 
rolled up animal hides and packed baskets. The smell of 
roasting meat drew his attention to a sizzling carcass that was 
propped up on a wooden spit over an open fire about thirty feet 
away. Jesus, the aroma made his mouth water.

Pee. He'd come out here to pee. Better do it before anyone 
noticed he was up and about. Ducking behind the nearest tree, 
he unzipped his pants and took what felt like the longest piss 
of his life.

"Muhl-dar!" A child suddenly appeared behind him, startling him 
so badly he nearly sprayed himself.

He peered over his shoulder. Shit, it was the girl. Gini? Is 
that what Scully said her name was?

"Uh...I'll...uh...be right with you...Gini...in just a jiff--"

But the girl was already running off in the direction of the 
tents and shouting to the others, "Muhl-dar yeh-zihn! Muhl-dar 
ha-neh-al-enji."

He finished his business as quickly as possible and had just 
barely gotten himself tucked back into his pants when a small 
crowd began to gather around him. At least twenty people stared 
at him with unblinking, brown eyes.

He offered them an embarrassed smile. "Hey," he said, feeling 
dizzy and weak. His legs felt like they might give out any 
second and he couldn't quite catch his breath no matter how 
hard he tried to suck in a lungful of air. He decided to sit 
down -- uh, away from the tree -- and took three shaky steps 
before lowering himself into a squat. All twenty of his curious 
visitors squatted, too.

Except Gini, who ran off once again, presumably to bring back 
the rest of the camp to watch him either puke or pass out.   

So now what? 

"Anyone know any good jokes?" 

Apparently not. 

"We could sing All Along the Watchtower."

More onlookers joined the widening circle. They seemed to be 
settling in for some sort of show, although he had no idea what 
they were expecting from him. He wished Scully would wake up 
and get her ass out here. Better than that, he wished he would 
wake up to find out this was all a bad dream. 

A young woman with braids approached, flanked by a tall guy and 
an older gray-haired man. The men looked all business as they 
sidestepped through the crowd, closing in on Mulder. The taller 
guy moved to the front where he squatted an arm's length away.

"Dzeh," he said, tapping his chest and staring straight into 
Mulder's eyes. Then he pointed at Mulder. "Muhl-dar?"

"Yours truly."

"Dzeh. Muhl-dar." The man pointed back and forth between them.

"Okay, so now we know each other's names. What next, 
Mister...uh...Dzeh?"

Dzeh pulled a knife from his belt. Mulder tensed and reached 
for his gun, but Dzeh set the knife on the ground between them. 

The knife had a serviceable stone blade and what appeared to be 
a bone handle. Dzeh sat back on his haunches and looked up 
expectantly. Jesus, what the hell did this guy want? Was Mulder 
supposed to pick up the knife and admire it? Or was it a 
warning? He guessed that whatever he decided to do next must be 
very important. 

Too bad he was clueless about what it should be.

Klizzie came to his rescue. Amidst protests from the onlookers, 
she scurried forward to hunker at Mulder's feet. Keeping her 
eyes downcast, she tentatively tapped his wristwatch, and then 
pointed at the knife.

Ah! A trade! Mulder unbuckled his watch and held it up for Dzeh 
to see. Dzeh reached for it, but before he could take it, 
Mulder shook his head and withdrew the watch.

"Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Scully had joined the 
outer fringes of the crowd, standing with hands on her hips and 
an expression of incredulity on her face. "If he wants your 
watch, give it to him."

Mulder studied the crowd's reaction. Scully's interruption had 
produced frowns all around. The women looked apprehensive and 
crouched lower to the ground. The men sat up straighter with 
hands poised over the handles of their knives. Knives that 
looked very much like the one on the ground in front of him. 

This was a not a simple trade but a test. And everyone watched 
to see if he was going to pass or fail.

"Scully, I know what I'm doing," he said firmly. 

"Mulder, these people saved your life. You--"

"Scully!" Mulder barked at her, putting as much anger into his 
voice as he could muster. 

This was a patriarchal society. These people, men and women 
alike, weren't apt to respect a man who allowed a woman to tell 
him what to do -- or a man who made a lousy trade -- and at the 
moment, respect was absolutely essential. 

"Scully, do *not* say another word." 

He would apologize to her later. Right now he fastened his eyes 
on Dzeh's necklace.

Large, curving claws, maybe from a bear, lined a rawhide cord 
around Dzeh's neck. Intricately carved bone beads separated the 
claws, making the necklace a showy piece of jewelry. Mulder 
guessed it was worth far more than an ordinary knife.

Mulder held up the watch and pointed at the necklace.

Dzeh took a moment to consider the trade. Mulder hoped he was 
reading this situation right. Otherwise he had ticked off 
Scully for no good reason and they would probably both be 
killed before he could apologize.

Finally, Dzeh nodded his head and ceremoniously removed his 
necklace. He held it up, high enough for the entire crowd to 
see. Mulder imitated his gesture and held his watch aloft, too. 
Then Dzeh leaned forward and with great deference draped the 
necklace over Mulder's head. Relieved, Mulder returned the 
gesture by fastening the watch around Dzeh's wrist.

A wide grin split Dzeh's bearded face. He gave Mulder several 
appreciative whacks on the shoulder, nearly toppling him. He 
laughed a great belly laugh before rising to his feet, and then 
everyone began talking at once, coming forward to clap Mulder's 
shoulder, looking pleased with the outcome of things. Best of 
all, someone was carving the delicious smelling roast.

After the last person had come forward to congratulate him, 
Scully approached with arms folded across her chest. "What was 
that all about?" 

"Looks like we're having a par-tay, Scully," Mulder said, 
avoiding her frown and pointing at the roasting meat. "I'm 
hungry enough to eat a mastodon. Aren't you?"

Scully's anger melted into concern at the reference to his 
hunger. She crouched beside him. "How did you know what to do?" 
she asked.

"I didn't. Just went with a gut feeling."

She pursed her lips as she watched Klizzie approach with two 
platters of food. "You know I hate gut feelings."

"I know." He accepted a plate of juicy meat and fresh greens. 
"Thanks for going with it though," he said around a mouthful of 
the most delicious roast he'd ever tasted.

*   *   *

Klizzie's heart felt lighter than goose down. Muhl-dar and Dzeh 
were Trading Partners! That meant the newcomers were no longer 
strangers but kin, official members of Owl Clan.

She chuckled to herself. It was silly to have become so 
attached to the newcomers, but, like two lost children, they 
had needed her and she enjoyed helping them. Caring for them 
was like caring for the babies of Dzeh's cousins, a task she 
enjoyed. Since she had no children of her own, her arms were 
empty enough to lend a willing hand to others in need.

Which was exactly what she was doing now. 

The Clan would be leaving at sunup, so Klizzie was putting 
together some necessities to leave behind with Day-nuh and 
Muhl-dar, since he was not yet well enough to travel... 
certainly not all the way to Turkey Lake, which would take 
seven or eight days of strenuous walking and climbing. Today's 
simple celebration feast had worn him out; he'd had to retire 
to his skins at dusk to rest. 

Klizzie surveyed the items she'd gathered. Flints for fire, 
scrapers for cleaning furs, a sheep's bladder for carrying 
water, a buffalo blanket, three bone hooks and catgut for 
fishing, two new points for their spears, an amole root, 
cattails for Day-nuh's Moon Time, a brand new men's garment 
made from deer hide, and a supply of food that included dried 
meat, last year's nuts, some greens, berries and four fresh 
squirrels killed just yesterday. She packed everything but the 
food into her best travel pack. Then she put the food into a 
basket.

It didn't seem nearly enough. They would have no cooking skins, 
medicines, axes, snares or bolos, and Klizzie had none to 
share. Would Muhl-dar and Day-nuh be okay without these things? 
She wished she had more to give.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her fears about the 
newcomers' uncertain future. They would be fine, she told 
herself. They had lived many seasons without her help. 
Obviously they were skilled and intelligent. 

But to be left alone...

No one wanted to be without the protection of their clan. Being 
without kin meant certain death, sooner or later. And the 
loneliness would be the most difficult thing of all. Thank the 
Spirits they at least had each other.

Deciding to add one more item to the meager collection of 
supplies, Klizzie searched her own travel pack for her comb, 
her Joining Day gift from Dzeh. When she found it, she held it 
for a moment, tracing the carefully incised design with her 
finger while she recalled the moment Dzeh had given it to her. 
He had smiled at her with his handsome, crooked smile. His 
affection for her had made her heart feel like a pond when the 
ice goes out, ready for spring and the return of ducks. That 
feeling had not left her once in all the seasons they had been 
together.

Without regret, she placed the comb in the pack for Day-nuh.  

Supplies and food ready, she carried them to A-zey-al-ih Lodge.

Inside the medicine tent, she found Day-nuh and Muhl-dar 
sleeping together on the animal skins, his arm curled 
protectively around her shoulders. Not wanting to disturb them, 
she set the pack and basket by the entrance as quietly as she 
could. When she began to tiptoe away, she was stopped by the 
sound of Day-nuh's voice.

"Klizzie?" The fox-haired woman sat up, her blue eyes curious.

Klizzie whispered, so as not to wake Muhl-dar, "I brought you 
some things." She gestured at the packs, trying to get her 
point across. Day-nuh nodded, so Klizzie once more turned to 
go. But before she could step outside, Day-nuh was off the furs 
and coming toward her.

"Klizzie..." she said, her gaze grazing the packs. Day-nuh 
opened her arms and embraced her, bringing tears to her eyes. 
"Thank you. For everything. Thank you."

"Thahn-kew?" Klizzie repeated, returning her hug.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih Muhl-dar," Klizzie whispered, holding Day-
nuh tightly. She could not bring herself to say the word 
goodbye. 

*   *   *

"Ow! Mulder!"

"Huh?"

"You're poking me."

Mulder jerked his hips away from Scully's backside, opening up 
a space of several inches between them on the animal skins. 
"Sorry."

She turned to glare at him over her shoulder. "Not your..." -- 
she waved a hand in the general direction of his lap -- "Your 
teeth!"

"My tee..." Now he was really confused. He ran his tongue over 
his front teeth.

"These." Scully reached around to give Dzeh's necklace a tug. 
"Could you take this thing off, please?"

"But I like it. Brings out the caveman in me, don't you think?" 
He grinned and rattled the bone beads. 

"Go back to sleep, Tarzan."

"Tarzan was a *jungle* man, Scully, not a caveman."

"Call him whatever you like, I'm sure he slept through the 
night. Now go to sleep," she said, giving him a slitted, 
sidelong glance.

He let the necklace drop back onto his bare chest. "All I've 
been doing is sleeping...for *days*. I'm feeling..." -- he 
snuggled closer and prodded her ear with his nose -- "wide 
awake."

God, she smelled good. 

She rolled over to face him. He tried to read her expression. 
Sadness? Fear? Longing? Certainly not dismissal, which was what 
he was expecting.

Her next words were sad and deadly serious. "Mulder, you almost 
died. You *did* die." Imagined loss wavered in her voice and 
her obvious anguish cut off his own breath, threatening to 
strangle him as surely as the smoke that had invaded his lungs 
several days ago.

To steady himself, he stroked her bare shoulder with the backs 
of his fingers and focused his blurring eyes on the slim strap 
of her camisole. She must have retrieved it from his coat 
pocket while he'd been sleeping. What had gone through her mind 
when she found it there? Memories of her kidnapping? Worries 
that, if he had died, she would be alone in the Ice Age? 

That was his greatest fear. Not of being alone here, 
necessarily, but of being left anywhere without her. 

Images from his recent dream arose in his mind: Scully leaving 
him, walking out the door...the way Diana had once done. 

He felt the need to anchor himself to her, so he folded his 
arms around her and hugged her to his chest. Urgency ballooned 
inside him. The words "don't leave me, don't leave me" unnerved 
him from fingertips to the soles of his feet. He wanted to hear 
her say, "I'm right here. I will always be with you."

Instead she said, "Mulder, I can't breathe."

"Welcome to the club," he mumbled, and tried to relax his hold.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, sounding alarmed. She'd 
evidently taken his comment literally and thought he was 
suffering a relapse because she sat up and reached for his 
wrist to check his pulse.

"I'm not having a heart attack, Scully." I'm having an attack 
of the heart. He couldn't tear his eyes from her lips. "But 
you're welcome to try mouth-to-mouth, if you like. Just in 
case." 

Her right brow arched as he inched his mouth closer to hers. He 
paused, a millimeter away. Would she let him kiss her? She 
exhaled, a quivering puff of air warmed by her lungs that fired 
his skin. His bones turned liquid and his muscles went numb. He 
leaned in and nudged her lips with his, feather-light. Jesus, 
sweet Jesus. So little pressure, but enough to set his heart 
pounding.

Please, Scully, want me as much as I want you.

The tip of her tongue skated tentatively across his lower lip, 
jolting him with its unexpected warmth. She teased him with it, 
advancing and then retreating, only to advance again, 
delicately skidding into his mouth. 

How many times had he wished for this...imagined it?

God, don't let this be just another dream.

Her fingers settled on his chest, timid, inquisitive and so 
damn fucking hot it sent a tsunami of blood to his groin. And 
when her nails grazed his nipple, oh, Christ, he was lost. He 
rolled her underneath him and plunged his tongue to the back of 
her mouth.

Get inside her, inside her, inside her...

Take her...

Oh, God...could he?

Not waiting for God's answer, he thrust a hand beneath her 
camisole, found her left breast and squeezed. She arched into 
his palm and her nipple puckered as he alternately clenched and 
released her. She parted her legs, knees raised on either side 
of his hips, causing his pulse to roar in his ears. She 
actually wanted him. She wasn't pulling away. She was going to 
allow him to do this...to make love to her. He ground his hips 
into the cradle of her thighs, nipped at her neck, ran his 
tongue from her collarbone to her jaw, and growled when her 
lips met his once more.

"Mulder." The word echoed inside his mouth.

He reluctantly broke their kiss. Had he misunderstood?

"Are you up for this?" she asked.

Shit, he couldn't be more "up." His erection was straining 
against the fabric of his jeans. Too many clothes. They had on 
too damn many clothes. "You're the doctor, Scully," -- he 
swallowed hard -- "You tell me."

"I think..." She finger-painted an invisible stripe down his 
spine from neck to tailbone, sending a lightning bolt of desire 
to his crotch. "We need to slow down."

Of course. He was rushing things.

"I want you more than I've ever wanted anything, Scully." The 
words spilled out, heartfelt and uncensored.

She took a deep breath and said, "I want you, too." She sounded 
as if she meant it...*really* meant it. "But let's take our 
time. Okay?"

"Okay. I can do slow. I think." He leaned in to kiss her, but 
she halted him with the touch of her finger to his lower lip.

"One more thing."

"What's that?" He sucked her finger into his mouth.

"I, uh..." She paused, looking embarrassed.

"Wha ish it?" he asked around her finger.

"I'm having my period."

"Oh." Big deal, a little menstrual blood. Did she really think 
that would turn him off? She was frowning. Maybe the idea of 
having sex during her period turned *her* off. Or maybe she was 
physically uncomfortable. Cramps or something. He released her 
finger. "Would it...uh...hurt you?"

"No. It just might be, you know...messy."

"Scully, the linens aren't ours. Who cares?" He almost added 
that sex was always messy -- hell, even masturbating was messy 
-- but then thought better of it. "I'm fine with it."

"Well, it's just...I thought you should know."

"Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

"Then lose the pants, G-Man." The husky way she said it made 
every hair on his body stand at attention.

He wasted no time rising to his knees and unfastening his belt 
and fly. He quickly stripped out of his pants and boxers. 
Completely naked, he said, "Your turn."  

She sat up and slowly drew her camisole up and over her head, 
exposing her bare breasts. The left one was red where he had 
clutched her a moment ago. Jesus, he could see the pink 
silhouette of his fingers branded into her white skin. "Did 
I...did I hurt you?" He pointed to the mark.

She looked down, an expression of uncertainty on her face. Then 
shook her head and traced the pattern of his hand with her 
index finger. The sight of her topless, touching herself, 
increased the pressure in his groin. She was stunningly 
beautiful in the half-light of the dying fire, naked from the 
waist up, nipples puckered to rigid points.

"The rest..." Mulder implored, waving at the skins she wore 
around her hips. He assumed she'd gotten the skirt from 
Klizzie, something to wear while her own clothes dried. Her 
pants and turtleneck were hanging from the shelter's bone 
supports by the hearth. Right next to her sexy black panties 
and bra.

She fumbled with the knot at her left hip and her breasts 
joggled as she worked to unfasten the garment. They appeared 
heavier than he'd imagined, maybe due to her time of month, and 
it was all he could do not to grip himself and stroke his hard 
cock to orgasm while she stripped.

"I can't seem to--" 

"Here, let me." He crawled forward, erection bobbing as he 
knelt in front of her. Nudging her hands aside he took hold of 
the skirt and yanked. It tore easily away, pulling Scully 
toward him at the same time. Her breasts bumped his chest and 
he dropped the skirt. His hands climbed her back, kneaded her 
ribs, returned to her hips, her ass. He pulled her into his lap 
and kissed her deeply.

She returned his kiss and gripped his arms as if she never 
intended to release him. God, he was so grateful for that. For 
her. 

Hands roving across her backside, he discovered she still wore 
a slim garment slung between her legs, fastened around her 
waist by a string of rawhide.

"Scully, you're not naked."

"Feminine hygiene protection, Pleistocene style."

"Ah." That got the better of his curiosity. He pulled back to 
examine the garment, which looked like a deer-hide g-string. 
"Makes you look like an Ice Age stripper. Kinda sex-say." He 
tugged at the belt.

"Hardly. But it's keeping your lap clean."

"I don't want my lap clean." 

He found where the belt tied in front and pulled the bow loose. 
She gathered the garment and its contents, and set it aside, 
out of view.

"It's not disgusting, Scully."

"I didn't say it was. I just don't particularly want to roll in 
it."

Now she sat bare-naked in his lap, with nothing at all between 
them. He could feel the heat of her sex and longed to be inside 
her.

"Scully, it's gotta be now." He barely recognized his own 
rasping voice.

By way of agreement, she leaned back on the skins, knees drawn 
up, legs separated just enough for him to get a glimpse of 
curls and pliant lips. Rising onto his knees, he positioned 
himself between her legs and brushed a knuckle across her curls 
before sliding his finger into her humid depths. She watched 
him, wide-eyed, surprising him with her bold stare. He had half 
expected she might hide behind lowered lashes while making 
love. But the more he thought about it, the more sense her 
unabashed gaze made. Scientists are curious and she was above 
all else a scientist. 

He delved more deeply into her, making her gasp. Then, 
desperate to make her gasp again, he pushed even deeper. She 
rewarded him with a small groan.

"I want you inside me," she said.

"I am inside you." Heaven help him, he was actually in her and 
she felt even more wonderful than he had always imagined.

His pleasure increased when she reached down to curl her hand 
around his rigid cock. "I want this," she said, squeezing him, 
stroking him. Oh, Jesus.

"I thought...you said...you wanted to go slow...oohhh, 
Sculleee." He inhaled as deeply as his congested lungs would 
allow.

"I'm in no hurry." She lay supine, legs splayed, her hand 
gripping him, his index finger lost in her depths.

He grazed her clitoris with his thumb and felt her inner walls 
contract. She was slick with a heady mixture of desire and her 
monthly flow. He stirred her juices, and was enchanted when his 
touch inspired a soft moan.

"Is it okay if I use two fingers?" he asked.

"Mulder, I want this!" she said, sounding desperate and giving 
his erection a not-so-gentle tug.

"We're getting there." 

He inserted a second finger into her and her hips lifted to 
meet his inward thrust. Wanting to see her come, he began to 
rhythmically glide in and out of her, applying calculated 
pressure to her clitoris with his thumb on each down-stroke. 
Her breathing quickened. A sheen of sweat slicked her flushed 
cheeks, her chest, her abdomen. The palm of her hand felt fiery 
hot on his erection. And all the while, her eyes never left 
his. She must have wanted to see his reaction to her orgasm 
every bit as much as he wanted to see her climax. She was so 
beautiful. So open. He could scarcely believe they were here, 
doing this...that she trusted him in this way, wanted him as 
much as he wanted her, was allowing him to touch her there. The 
feeling was extraordinary. The emotion overwhelming. He hadn't 
realized he could love anyone this much. 

Without warning and almost before he had a chance to appreciate 
it, she was climaxing, teeth clenched. She inhaled and then 
held her breath, while her hips rose upward and her eyes 
finally squeezed shut. She bore down on his hand and he felt 
moisture seep across his palm. She released her hold on him to 
grip the fur blankets while waves of pleasure contracted her 
muscles.

"Mulder!" Her lungs expelled his name, and then she was 
breathing again, gulping for air, relaxing her grip on the 
furs, pulling back from his hand. "Oh, God." She opened her 
eyes and caught him staring at her.

"Jesus, Scully." His fingers slipped out of her. "You...are..."

"A mess?" She frowned at his bloody hand. "Sorry."

"For what?" To be honest, he found her blood erotic. Her 
menstruation was just another facet of her femaleness, like her 
breasts and her satiny skin and the mind-blowing cleft between 
her legs. His perfect opposite, alluring because she was 
nothing like him. He loved their differences -- had always 
loved their differences.

He moved up over her body on hands and knees, and before he 
laid himself on top of her, he painted the outline of a heart 
above her own heart with the moisture on his fingertip. "I love 
you," he whispered to her marked breast.

Her eyes brimmed with tears at his quiet confession, and seeing 
her tears, his own vision blurred. To keep himself from crying, 
he lowered his body onto hers, and reveled in the feel of her 
beneath him.

"My turn?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Yes, Mulder, your turn. Although, I do plan to 
participate, too, you know."

"Please, do."

He lifted his hips enough to snake a hand between their bodies 
to guide himself into her. She tensed when he pressed against 
her opening, and then relaxed again as he slid into her, pushed 
forward, deeper. She wrapped her legs around his back and 
moaned. Jesus, she felt so...god...damn...good.

He'd wanted her for so long and it turned out she had been 
worth every minute of the wait.

It was unthinkable to withdraw from her, even a millimeter or 
two, and yet the desire to start thrusting was unstoppable. Ten 
thousand years of animal instinct steered this act. Copulation 
required movement and no amount of restraint could hold him 
still now.

So he withdrew from her, nearly disconnecting their bodies, 
only to ram home a split second later, causing her to bark out 
his name. Her fingers dug into his back when he thrust a second 
time, but he barely felt the bite of her nails. He was focused 
on nothing but the part of him that was joined to her, driving 
hard, pushing into her as deeply as he could possibly go. 
Again. And again.

The woman he loved...spirit and body...was under him...around 
him.  

While the beat of his heart thrummed in his ears, desire stung 
his eyes, numbed his fingers, hammered his ribs. He hoped his 
frantic pounding felt as good to her as it did to him. He 
rocked against her, relentless and swift, jarring her beneath 
him, while satisfaction overran him and gratification seemed 
only a heartbeat away.

He felt his orgasm approaching and a pang of guilt slowed his 
movements.

"Scully...I'm not sure...I can hold out..." He felt selfish. 
Knew he should pull out, slow down. "I... You... Oh..."

"Mulder...you talk too much."

Oh, Christ, he was at the point of no return. Semen throbbed 
out of him as the words mine, mine, mine roared through his 
brain.

When there was nothing left in him, he rolled off her and onto 
his back. They lay there for several minutes without speaking, 
a sticky mixture of his semen and her blood drying slowly on 
his thighs. He felt drowsy and sated and happier than he'd felt 
in a very long time. Maybe happier than he'd ever felt in his 
entire life. Beside him, glossed with sweat and smelling 
delicious, Scully was tracing delicate circles on his damp 
chest with her index finger.

So this was "basking." 

"I'm rethinking my theory," he said, gathering her closer.

She continued to languidly stroke his chest. "Which theory?"

"The one about us."

"You had a theory about us?"

"Yeah, the one where we were physically altered on a genetic 
level when we traveled back in time, affecting the way we felt 
about each other. I don't believe that now."

"Why not?"

"Because my attraction for you is normal, not paranormal. 
You're sexy. There's no X-File in that."

Her fingers froze over the spot on his shoulder where she had 
once shot him. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Where is your scar?" 

"What?" He pushed her hand away to search his shoulder for the 
familiar, nerveless knot on his skin. 

Unbelievably, the scar was gone.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SEVEN 

"It's not here," Mulder said, his fingers searching for the 
old, familiar scar on his shoulder.

"Where did it go?" Scully sat up on the sleeping skins. 

The fire had burned down to a few cherry-red coals, making it 
difficult to see in the dark hut. 

Mulder crawled from the bed, located his jacket, and dug into 
the pocket for his flashlight. Light in hand, he aimed its beam 
at his chest, high and to the left, where Scully's gunshot had 
marked him -- presumably for life.

Not a trace of his scar remained.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he shined the light on his left thigh, where 
Lucas Henry's bullet had pierced him four years ago. A quarter-
sized scar still puckered his skin. "That one's there." He 
crooked his knee and inspected the exit wound. "Front and 
back."

Scully crawled closer and ran her fingers over his now 
unblemished shoulder. "This is impossible."

"Maybe not." 

His paranormal radar was picking up a signal the way it always 
did when they encountered an X-File. He reached around Scully 
and probed the back of her neck, feeling for the telltale bump 
of her implanted chip. 

It was there. Strange. He'd expected it to be missing. Okay, so 
maybe his radar was off today.

Then again... 

"Turn around," he ordered.

"Why? What's the matter?" She did as he asked and presented him 
with her bare back. 

He lifted her hair and ran his light over the tiny scar on her 
nape, then down her spine to her tattoo. "Um...Scully? Your 
tattoo..."

"What about it?" She craned to see over her shoulder. "It's 
there, isn't it?"

"It's there." He traced it with his finger. "Sort of."

"What the hell does that mean?" 

"It appears to be..."  -- he leaned in for a closer look -- 
"faded."

"Faded?"

"Mm hm."

She pivoted to face him and he found himself unexpectedly 
spotlighting her bare breasts. He clicked off his light.

"Sorry."

She drew a sleeping skin over her lap to cover herself. 
"Mulder, any number of factors can cause a tattoo to lose 
pigment: substandard inking practices, improper follow-up care, 
overexposure to the sun--"

"Have you been sunbathing in the nude, Scully?"

Her frown told him she was in no mood for jokes. "Skin types 
vary. Some don't hold ink. The fact that my tattoo is fading 
means nothing in and of itself. It certainly doesn't mean we 
were physically altered by the...the...time travel thing."

"Thing?"

"Event, phenomenon, whatever."

"Then how do you explain the disappearance of my scar?" 

"Scar tissue can lighten with age."

"Scully, it's completely gone!" He turned the flashlight on it 
again. Satisfied it truly wasn't there, he said, "I've got a 
theory, if you'd like to hear it."

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "I'm 
listening." 

"I think we're regressing."

"Regressing?" 

"Growing younger." He held up a palm to stall her certain 
objection. "My scar and your tattoo are the most recent marks 
on us respectively. Now they're gone -- or almost gone in your 
case -- suggesting a shift to an earlier version of ourselves." 

She raised an eyebrow. "One missing scar and a faded tattoo are 
your proof that we're growing younger?"

"Suppose time travel isn't like stepping through a door, where 
you're either on one side or the other."

"Then where are we?"

"In the broadest sense, we may still be *in* the door. In 
what's known as Flux Space."

"Flux...? Mulder, my undergrad work was in physics. Yet I've 
never heard of Flux Space."

"It's a bit...mystical."

"Ahh." Her expression told him she was translating that to mean 
"paranormal bunk." 

"Flux Space isn't a portal, per se, but is thought to be an 
inter-dimension that could serve as one. It doesn't conform to 
conventional physics."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Believers in the phenomenon claim it can be reached by way of 
technologically-created dimensional portals, or through 
naturally occurring sub-space anomalies like worm holes."

"And what do these believers say is inside 'Flux Space'?"

"That's just it...nobody knows for sure. But proponents of the 
theory hypothesize that it's not a physical 3-D space or even a 
4-D space-time."

Her tongue skated across her lower lip as she considered such a 
possibility. "Fifth dimensional." 

"Exactly. But here's the 64-thousand dollar question: Is the 
fifth dimension a spatial dimension or a time-related 
dimension?"

"Time has only one dimension." 

"Does it? A second dimension might explain how we could have 
traveled here to the Pleistocene where we're moving forward in 
time while concurrently experiencing a secondary physical 
regression, which is out of sync with the first." 

"You're saying we traveled backward 12,000 years...and are now 
moving simultaneously forward and backward in time?"

"That's what I'm saying. We're traveling along two time 
continuums at once."

Although she continued to frown, he could tell she was 
evaluating his premise, picking through it for reasonable 
details while casting aside those that would contradict logic. 

"All right. Let's suppose for the sake of argument that Flux 
Space exists and is responsible for putting us here in the 
Pleistocene, where we are moving forward in time, interacting 
with the locals, while also regressing, going back to younger 
versions of ourselves..." She looked into his eyes. 
"Regression? Really?"

"Kinda makes your head ache to think about it, huh?"

She didn't smile. If anything, her expression became more 
serious. "Where will it stop, Mulder? Will we regress to 
infancy? Conception? Past lives?"

He was certain there was a Shirley MacLaine joke in there 
somewhere, but at the moment he was drawing a blank. "I don't 
know. You shot me in '95. Lucas Henry shot me in '94. If we're 
growing younger, the scar on my leg should be the next to go. 
The amount of time it takes for that to happen should tell us 
when to expect additional changes." 

Like the disappearance of his fillings and his vaccination 
scar, or the reappearance of his tonsils and his... He glanced 
down between his legs at his circumcised penis.

"Hopefully, we'll find a way back home before the process goes 
too far," he said.

He noticed Scully was staring at his penis, too, with an odd 
expression on her face. 

"What?" he asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I was just thinking about my...um...infertility."

Now his eyes fell to her lap. 

If his Flux Space theory proved correct, then at some point 
she'd regain her ability to bear children. 

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

Back in their own time, he'd have been happy for her -- 
especially after what had happened to Emily -- but here in the 
Ice Age... Panic fluttered in his gut at the idea of getting 
her pregnant. He didn't want to have children...anywhere. Here 
it would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions. Giant snakes, 
saber-toothed cats, killer cavemen -- danger seemed to be 
lurking behind every damn Pleistocene tree. How the hell do you 
keep a kid safe in a place like this? 

Add to the mix the threat of regression...well, it would be 
downright irresponsible to bring a child into this world. 

They'd have to be careful. Watch for signs that Scully might be 
regressing back to a time when she was still fertile. The chip 
in her neck -- when it disappeared, then no more sex...it was 
as simple as that.

Christ, who the hell was he kidding? No more sex? Fuck. 

This had to be the cruelest cosmic joke of all time. Make love 
once and God tosses a ticking time bomb into their laps. 
Literally. Hope you're having yourself a mastodon-sized laugh 
up there, Big Guy. 

For the first time ever, Mulder began hoping Scully would prove 
him wrong.

Noticing his stare, Scully hugged the sleeping skin to her 
body. "Mulder, there's an aspect of your theory that doesn't 
track."

Yes! Argue me down, Scully! "Only one?" 

Her wry smile told him she believed his theory was in fact 
riddled with holes but she was willing to limit herself to just 
one for now. "My tattoo is only a little over a year old, much 
more recent than the scar on your shoulder. Yet it's still 
visible, whereas your scar has completely vanished."

Good point. "Maybe we're regressing at different rates. Some 
people age faster than others. Doesn't it make sense we might 
regress differently, too?"

"It doesn't make sense that we would regress at all." Her brow 
furrowed. "Mulder, you do remember being shot by me, don't 
you?"

"How could I forget?" 

"If you're growing younger, shouldn't your mind be regressing 
along with your body?"

"Losing memories at the same rate as years." Another good 
point. "I dunno, Scully, but there's some relief in knowing we 
won't be acting like children, even if we end up looking like 
them."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay, so *you* won't," he said with a chuckle. "Maybe I'm 
already there."

She reached across the furs to retrieve her clothes. "Let's 
continue this conversation after we have something definitive 
to go on. Right now, I'd like to clean up. You could use a 
bath, too." 

He looked down at himself, at his thighs, his penis, the 
fingers on his right hand, all smeared with traces of her 
menstrual blood. It made him feel marked by her and he almost 
hated to wash off this tangible proof of their intimate act so 
soon.

Patting the furs, he waggled his brows. "How 'bout a quickie 
before we get dressed?"

"No, thank you." She was already pulling her camisole over her 
head. "I'll make breakfast when we get back." 

Food? Several days of unplanned fasting, followed by an equally 
unplanned but considerably more appreciated sexual encounter, 
had left him feeling famished. "You're going to cook?"

"Yes, I'm going to cook."

He scrambled to his knees and began rummaging through the furs 
for his boxers. "Which way to the bath house?"

*   *   *

Pretending to busy herself with the knot on her fur skirt, 
Scully surreptitiously watched Mulder dress. No two ways about 
it, he was a good-looking man. Long-limbed and graceful, body 
fleeced with a smattering of springy dark hair, muscles toned 
from miles of running. Whether dressed in a suit or buck-naked 
like now, he was tempting. 

She remembered once describing him as "cute" to one of her 
girlfriends. An understatement, to say the least. She'd ended 
the conversation by bemoaning the fact that Mulder was 
excessively devoted to his work and all his good looks were 
going to waste.

In truth, she didn't know that they were wasted. She really had 
no idea what Mulder did in his off hours. It was entirely 
possible, even plausible, that some other woman, or several 
women, enjoyed his company when he wasn't chasing mutants and 
EBEs with her. Just because he didn't come on to her in any 
serious way didn't mean he was living the life of a monk.

To assume he was having no sex because she was having no sex 
was projecting. She was the one who had made a conscious 
decision to devote her life to their work and ultimately to 
him, not the other way around.

His love life -- past and present -- remained as mysterious as 
Flux Space to her.

Not that she'd shared any intimate details of her past 
romances. He knew only a little about Jack, and nothing at all 
about Daniel. He'd made some assumptions about Ed Jerse.

The fact of the matter was she and Mulder rarely talked about 
their personal lives.

She hoped that might change after this morning. Making love 
with him had been wonderful, satisfying on both a physical and 
emotional level. Lying beneath him, having him inside her, had 
felt--

"Santa must be in town," Mulder said, nodding toward two 
bulging backpacks that sat just inside the hut's closed 
entrance. 

His legs disappeared into his jeans. When he zipped his fly, 
Scully found herself suppressing a sigh. God, he was clueless 
about his effect on her.  

Next to the two packs was an odd stack of fist-sized stones, 
piled one on top of the other, looking like a small, granite 
snowman.

Scully went to examine the packs while Mulder scrounged through 
the furs for his shirt.

"Klizzie must have left these." She pulled a carved comb from 
the first container and recognized it as the one Klizzie had 
used two nights ago at the lake.

Mulder located and sniffed his shirt. Wrinkling his nose in 
disgust, he discarded it and searched for his jacket instead. 
"Did she leave any food?"

There was a basket of strawberries in the second pack. Scully 
still associated their smell with Mulder's near-death 
experience, so she gladly passed them on to him. "Help 
yourself."

He showed no similar distaste and ate greedily while she 
explored the contents of the packs.

As she removed each item, she held it up for him to see. 
"Flint, presumably for starting fires. Several razor-like 
tools..." These appeared very sharp. She touched a finger to 
one, testing its edge. "You might be able to shave with it."

"I'm willing if you're willing," he said, talking around a 
mouthful of berries.

The idea of unshaved legs and underarms didn't thrill her, but 
these Pleistocene razors looked a little too risky. She set 
them aside, deciding they must have some purpose other than 
hair removal. "What do you suppose this is for?" She held up 
what appeared to be the bladder of a rather large animal.

"Wine skin?"

"Or water bag." She set it aside. "Three bone hooks, two fur 
blankets--"

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Mulder sang. When she frowned 
at him, he shrugged and said, "We're opening presents."

She uncoiled a roll of stiff twine. "Catgut...I think." She dug 
deeper. "A couple of spear points. And two soap roots--"

"Those things are soap?"

"Yep. Oh, look!" She held up a buttery- soft piece of deerskin. 
"A change of clothes for you."

He inspected the garment through squinted eyes. "I'm supposed 
to wear that?"

"It's the latest in Pleistocene fashion." She tossed him the 
loincloth before unpacking a wad of cattails.

"What are those for?" Finished with the last of the berries, he 
passed back the empty basket. "You didn't want any of those, 
did you?"

"No, thank you." She took the basket and ignored his cattail 
question. Sex partner or not, she didn't feel like discussing 
the finer points of feminine hygiene with him. Instead she 
listed the contents of the second pack: "Dried meat, nuts...and 
four dead squirrels."

Using his best Homer Simpson impersonation, he hummed, "Mmmmm, 
squirrel." Then he indicated the odd stack of stones with a 
wave. "What do you suppose those are for? Pass the nuts, 
please."

She slid the nuts his way and studied the stones. Their 
presence was clearly no accident. Somebody -- most likely 
Klizzie -- had placed them there on purpose. Although their 
meaning was unclear, it was obvious Klizzie wanted to help 
them, and her generosity was touching.

"Let's get cleaned up," she said, collecting the soap roots and 
comb, planning to take with them with her to the lake. Almost 
as an afterthought, she grabbed the water bag.

Mulder tossed one last nut into his mouth, wiped his hands on 
his pants and rose to follow her out of the shelter.

Outside, they were surprised to find the village was completely 
deserted. All that remained were half a dozen large semi-
circles of mastodon bones -- jawbones from the look of them, 
interlocked and stacked to form the underlying supports for the 
abandoned huts. Stripped of their hides, the shelters were now 
roofless. Not a spear or basket or fur blanket remained in any 
of them.

The campsite must be seasonal, she realized. Hunter-gatherers 
were nomadic people who pursued migrating game. They followed 
their food source, rather than staying put and raising their 
own stock and crops. Agricultural societies wouldn't evolve 
until much later in history.

She pivoted, wondering which direction the tribe had taken. 
"How are we going to find them?"

"Who says we should?" 

"Mulder, we need this group's help. They know how to survive 
here; we don't."

Concern creased his brow and she guessed he was thinking about 
how close he'd come to dying a few days ago.

"Look at that." He pointed to another pile of fist-sized stones 
on the far side of the clearing. "Someone left us a trail of 
bread crumbs."

God bless Klizzie, she was showing them the way.

*   *   *

Hiking through a foggy, lowland swale, Klizzie and Gini 
followed the Clan northeast toward the next range of hills. The 
group moved slowly, every member laden with heavy packs. The 
ground smelled pungent and peaty, and countless irises dotted 
the surrounding marshland with bright, purple flowers. 
Dragonflies the size of Klizzie's hand darted around the 
travelers' heads. When the Clan passed too close to a flock of 
nesting geese, the birds rose up from the reeds in a frenzy of 
flapping wings and raucous calls. 

Klizzie stopped to collect several fist-sized stones, which she 
stacked one on top of the other. Then she placed three more in 
a line upon the ground, pointing in the direction of Tabaha 
Lodge.

Gini watched her arrange the stones. "Will Muhl-dar and Day-nuh 
find us?"

"You have asked me that question more times than a goose hen 
hides her eggs. My answer is still the same: I 
do...not...know." Although Klizzie loved Gini like a daughter, 
the girl's constant pestering was beginning to exhaust her 
patience. "If Muhl-dar and Day-nuh are meant to find us, then 
the Spirits will guide them."

"With the help of your stones." Gini grinned at her.

Klizzie returned the girl's smile. "Yes, with the help of my 
stones."

Turkey Lake was several days hike from Toh-ta Lodge, and it 
would be lucky indeed if the newcomers could find their way, 
even with the help of Spirits and stone markers.

"They might return to their own clan, you know," Klizzie said.

Gini frowned at the idea, her young brow puckering with worry. 
She looked so much like her brother Dzeh that Klizzie's 
impatience melted at the sight of her.

"They will miss the Mastodon Feast," Gini said, clearly 
disappointed.

"Perhaps Eel Clan has a Mastodon Feast of its own."

"With food and gifts and competitions?"

"Why not? Owl Clan is not the only clan to have feasts with 
races and dances and--"

"Blanket toss!" 

The girl's eyes shone with excitement. Blanket toss was the 
highlight of most Mastodon Feasts. To play, thirty or more 
Clan members took their places in a circle, grasping the 
rolled edges of a large blanket made from the skins of 
mastodons. The object of the game was to use the blanket to 
toss a person as high into the air as possible, while the 
player tried to keep his balance. Skilled players did flips 
and, while in the air, they threw out trinkets of ivory, 
tobacco and other gifts to the onlookers. As soon as a player 
lost his footing, another would climb onto the blanket to take 
his place until everyone -- men, women and all but the 
youngest children -- had had a chance to participate.

Blanket toss was not the only fun to be had at a Feast. There 
were cord pulling contests, spear-throwing competitions, long 
distance races, sprints, betting games, storytelling, jokes, 
songs...

And lots of food! 

Last spring, Turtle Clan had hosted an impressive event. This 
year, Klizzie's kin from Badger Clan were waiting at Turkey 
Lake to host the Feast. 

Klizzie felt enthusiasm blossoming in her breast at the thought 
of the upcoming celebration. She was eager to see her Aunt Ho-
Ya and her many cousins. Oh, there would be hugs and happy-
crying and plenty of opportunities to talk.

She rose to her feet, retrieved her pack, and began walking 
again. 

Gini hurried after her. "Klizzie, what is it like to lay with a 
man?" she asked.

Where in the Spirit World had *that* question come from? 
Evidently, Gini was growing up faster than Klizzie realized; 
she tended to think of her as the little four-year-old girl 
she'd met soon after becoming Dzeh's mate. But in truth, the 
child was nearly old enough to have a mate of her own. In just 
two or three summers, Gini would be Joined and move away from 
Owl Clan. Her going was sure to leave an aching emptiness in 
Klizzie's chest. She had taken care of this small orphan ever 
since Gini and Dzeh's mother had died. Saying goodbye to the 
girl would bring many tears. 

"If you love a man, there is nothing better than to lay with 
him on his sleeping skins," Klizzie explained, giving Gini a 
mother's advice. "He can fill you in a way that is hard to 
imagine. It is very pleasant." 

Gini didn't appear convinced. "You love my brother this way?"

Klizzie glanced ahead to where Dzeh was walking and joking with 
several of his cousins. He carried an enormous pack on his back 
and a long spear in his fist. He was muscular and confident. It 
made Klizzie's heart feel light to look upon him. "Yes, Gini, I 
love him. I love him very much."

*   *   *

Trailing Scully through the woods, Mulder suddenly burst into 
song. "Who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with 
all the chicks?" 

"Shaft?" she asked, playing along but not going so far as to 
actually sing. She picked her way between tree trunks and 
giant ferns toward the lake, while he hung back and watched 
her hips sway.

That cute ass is mine, he thought. "Can you dig it?"

"You're in a good mood." 

Yes, he was in a good mood. Correction -- he was in a *great* 
mood. Sex in general had a positive effect on his disposition, 
but sex with Scully had turned out to be the ultimate attitude 
adjuster. The memory of their joining displaced any and all 
concerns about time travel, congested lungs or fading tattoos.

At the moment, the one and only question that nagged him was 
"When are we gonna do it again?"

"So, Scully, when are we gonna do it again?" he asked, cutting 
to the chase.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You might want to give 
yourself a little time to recover, G-Man. Your respiratory 
system is compromised. Having sex after an injury like 
yours...well, you're lucky the parasympathetic and sympathetic 
outpouring didn't kill you this morning."

*Kill* him? He tagged her shoulder. "Can you think of a better 
way to die?"

She humored him with a tiny smile before continuing along the 
path. 

He smiled, too, as his eyes drifted once again to her curvy 
backside. Her hips were wrapped in animal fur and her gun was 
tucked into her skirt at the small of her back. On top she 
wore her clingy, black camisole. Her legs and feet were bare 
and, sweet Jesus, she looked sexy!

"They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother. Shut your mouth! 
Talkin' 'bout Shaft."

Scully led them to the lake shore and stopped at a sun-
bleached log, spiky with long-armed branches, where she set 
down her things -- two soap roots, Klizzie's comb, and the odd 
water bag.

Mulder had brought his dirty turtleneck with him, intending to 
soak it clean in the lake along with his other clothes while 
he bathed. He also carried the loincloth Klizzie had left, to 
wear while his clothes dried. Dropping his shirt on the 
ground, he draped the loincloth over the tree, and then began 
to strip out of his clothes. He hung his jacket and belt with 
holster and gun on the branch next to the loincloth, then 
added his pants and boxers to his pile of dirty clothes. He 
decided to keep Dzeh's necklace on. It looked manly, he 
thought, and made him want to beat his chest like a gorilla.

Must be the sex that had him so puffed with pride today.

"Shaft! Right on." 

He turned to face the lake, naked, hands on hips, feeling like 
the king of the jungle as he surveyed his territory.

Off to his left, a heron high-stepped cautiously along the 
shore, eyes trained on the water as it hunted for fish. A 
bullfrog hid in the nearby reeds, harrumphing the hollow notes 
of a bass cello. Crickets whined and peepers chirped. Birds 
squawked, cackled, and trilled from every tree branch.

To his right, an enormous beaver lodge created a spiky island 
in the lake about thirty yards out. Lily pads clotted the cove 
in front of it, where dragonflies the size of hummingbirds 
hovered like helicopters. The sun was just beginning to peek 
above the treetops.

The sky was clear, the air smelled sweet, and life was damn 
good.

Particularly since Scully was undressing right in front of 
him. His eyes slid to watch her carefully remove her clothes, 
taking her good ol' sweet time like she was performing a slow 
motion strip-tease.

She caught him looking. "Don't you have clothes to wash?"

Reluctantly, he gathered his laundry, palmed one of the soap 
roots and strode to the water's edge, where he waded in up to 
his ankles.

"Bomb's away!" he said, releasing the clothes. They landed 
with a slap in the lake beside his feet, and then inch-by-inch 
sank beneath the surface as air burbled through the fabric. He 
gave the pile a quick swish with his left foot before 
abandoning it and splashing into the water up to his thighs. 

"Shee-it!" he hissed, surprised by the lake's cold 
temperature. Goosebumps sprouted across his shoulders and 
arms. Wasting no time, he dove headfirst beneath the surface.

He'd always loved swimming in the ocean off Martha's Vineyard. 
He and Sam often spent entire afternoons in the water, there 
or at Quonochontaug, practicing underwater handstands and 
somersaults, competing in breath-holding contests, or just 
letting the waves carry them along, their laughter lost in the 
sound of surf. Their mom lovingly called them "my two sea 
monsters" when they returned home, pruney and sun-kissed from 
their day at the beach. By September their lean bodies were as 
brown as pennies.

Mulder surfaced for air and rolled onto his back to float. His 
muscles relaxed as the water buoyed him. The lake was chilly, 
but felt silky smooth, and the morning sun beat down on him, 
warming his face and chest.

Through half-closed eyes, he watched Scully bathe near the 
shore. Sitting waist deep in the water, she soaped her hands 
and then lathered her chest, neck and arms. Foam floated away 
from her in lazy spirals as she rinsed, and her wet skin 
gleamed in the early morning sun, confounding his eyes and 
overwhelming his heart with its shimmery beauty. 

Jesus. Just yesterday, she'd been Scully, his partner and 
friend; today she was Scully, his lover...her body no longer 
off limits.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

All too soon she was finished with her bath and rose from the 
water, naked and dripping. The sight kindled a fire in his 
veins and awakened his slumbering penis. As she waded from the 
shore to the log, he let his legs sink below the lake's 
surface to hide his growing erection. Treading water, he 
watched while she combed her wet hair.

When are we gonna do it again, Scully?

"I'll fix breakfast while you soak," she called out to him. She 
quickly put on and adjusted the odd belt Klizzie had given her 
for her menstrual flow, and then wrapped her fur skirt around 
her hips.

"More strawberries?" he asked, hopeful.

She pulled her camisole over her head. "Sure. More 
strawberries," she said before tucking her gun at the small of 
her back and leaving him to finish his bath.   

*   *   *

"They are splitting up," Klesh said, watching Red Hair and her 
companion from the far shore. Tse-e stood beside him in the 
shadows of a shagbark tree. "You follow Li-chi Tse-Gah and 
bring her back; I will take care of her mate."

"No, she is a Spirit, Klesh. I am not going after her." Tse-e 
tucked his wounded hand beneath his arm. Fear burned as 
brightly as fever in his eyes and he shivered like a frightened 
rabbit at the sight of the red-haired woman.

"Then *I* will go after her. You take care of her chindi 
companion," Klesh sneered. "Do you think you can handle him?"

"Y-yes." Tse-e nodded with uncertainty. "Do...do you want me to 
kill him?"

"Yes!" Klesh hissed. "Of course I want you to kill him. Bring 
his head to me. I want to see for myself that he is dead." A 
nasty smile deepened the scar on his left cheek. "Then Li-chi 
Tse-Gah will be my mate and tend my hearth."

*   *   *

Mulder's heart thrummed in his water-filled ears. He closed 
his eyes and let himself drift in the lake, feeling much the 
way he had earlier this morning after making love.
God, he had wanted to lay with Scully forever...

Basking. 

He had never "basked" with anyone before, not even when he'd 
been married to Diana. Their pre- and post-coital activities 
had consisted primarily of rushing off to find the next 
paranormal anomaly. Sex was a wham-bam-I-heard-there-was-a-UFO-
sighting-in-Phoenix-let's-go kind of activity. It was performed 
in hotel rooms and rental cars, while they waited for lab 
results, autopsy reports or returned phone calls. Who had time 
to bask when there were cow mutilations or Bigfoot sightings to 
investigate? 

Not that the sex hadn't been passionate. It had. Sex with Diana 
had relieved the stress of the job, and for a while, it 
relieved Mulder's loneliness, too. She was warm and beautiful 
and it was pleasant to have her in his bed, fending off his 
insomnia and his nightmares. With Diana in his arms, he found 
he could sleep without dreaming...for a while, at least. 

He had believed he was in love at the time because he had 
wanted to be in love.

As it turned out, she had loved the idea of love, too, albeit 
for different reasons than his own. She was hoping for a normal 
kind of life -- a house, kids, dog -- none of which meshed with 
their endless pursuit of the truth. It took him a while to 
figure out that their quest had actually been only his and not 
hers. And although procreation topped her wish list, having 
kids never made it onto his at all. He believed he possessed 
neither the skill nor the fortitude to raise children. Not 
after what had happened to Sam.

When Diana began pressing him to start a family, he balked, 
which made her dig in her heels. At an impasse, she finally 
left him. 

THWACK! The slap of a beaver's tail startled him from his 
reverie. He righted himself and glanced around. Nothing 
appeared out of the ordinary...except the beaver, which was 
about three times the size of its modern day descendants. 
Fortunately, it was swimming away.

Deciding to wash up, Mulder headed to shallower water where he 
stood knee deep and began rubbing the soap root between his 
palms.

"Whaddaya know? This stuff actually works." 

Lather overflowed his hands and he used it to slather his 
chest, neck, and arms. It felt good to scrub away several days 
worth of sweat and grime. Scully's blood vanished from the 
creases of his knuckles as he dug black dirt from beneath his 
caked fingernails. Jesus, how had she been able to stand him? 
He must've smelled funkier than a three-day stakeout. 

Wanting to remedy the situation, he went to work, scouring his 
scalp, his face, his armpits. Lather corkscrewed down his 
limbs, dripped into the water where it drifted in foamy 
mountains around his knees. When he was finished sudsing, he 
squatted and ducked his head beneath the surface to rinse his 
hair.

He was underwater when the attack occurred. Out of nowhere, it 
seemed, someone leapt onto his back and tightened a brawny arm 
around his neck. Startled, he rose up, lifting his assailant 
with him. He tried to dislodge the man by falling backward, 
sinking them both to the bottom.

The maneuver worked and the other man released his hold. 
Mulder turned on him and grabbed his wrist. The man struggled 
to get free, thrashing his arms and legs, churning the weeds. 
Bubbles jetted from his nose as he managed to loosen himself 
from Mulder's grip. He surged to the surface. Mulder popped up 
beside him. Both men filled their lungs with air.

Mulder recognized the small man. He was one of the two 
Neanderthals who had abducted Scully back in the ravine.

"Son of a b--" Mulder's fist shot out and connected with 
Little Big Man's jaw.

The caveman's teeth clacked together and blood spurted from 
his lips. Mulder struck again, this time a left that clipped 
the Neanderthal's nose.

More blood darkened the lake. Little Big Man howled, then 
torpedoed into Mulder, ramming the top of his skull at 
Mulder's throat. Mulder gasped for air and sank. He back-
peddled underwater, fighting his way toward the shallows, 
where he managed to get his feet under him and stand. Little 
Big Man bulldozed him again and caught him in a crushing bear 
hug. Both men grappled for an advantage. Unable to free 
himself, Mulder rolled to his left, dragging the cave man down 
with him.

In retaliation, the determined Cro-Magnon sank his teeth into 
Mulder's right shoulder.

A well-placed elbow dislodged him, but not without a price. 
Mulder's skin tore painfully from the bite. "Motherfucker!" he 
shouted. He seized the caveman by the wrist, twisted his arm 
into a hammerlock, and pressed his thumb hard into the gunshot 
wound in his palm.

Little Big Man shrieked and his knees buckled. Mulder pressed 
harder, hauling him out of the water and up the beach. He kept 
the man's arm twisted behind his back and continued to squeeze 
his injured hand until they reached the driftwood log. Blood 
poured from the Neanderthal's open mouth as he yammered and 
bawled.

Mulder dug his handcuffs from his jacket pocket and hooked one 
of the bracelets around Little Big Man's wrist. Then he hauled 
him to a nearby tree, where he twisted his arms behind the 
trunk and locked him in place with the other half of the 
cuffs.

"Where's your fucking buddy?" Mulder growled, not really 
expecting an answer and already guessing Conan had gone after 
Scully.

The small man spat a mouthful of blood at him.

"Suit yourself." Mulder quickly gathered his gun and abandoned 
the blubbering caveman to find Scully. 

*   *   *

The strawberry field stretched from the lake and its fringe of 
forest all the way up to the top of the western hills where 
Scully and Mulder had spent the night of the fire. The slope 
was long and gradual and dotted with stone outcroppings that 
rose like islands from a sea of windblown grass. Sweet-smelling 
clover perfumed the air, while butterflies fought the breeze in 
search of nectar, their wings winking shut whenever they 
managed to grab hold of a bobbing flower blossom. 

About a third of the way up the slope, a herd of fifty or more 
mastodons were gathered around a brand new baby. They formed a 
living bastion as solid as any stone fortress, their brawn 
belying their familial instincts and gentle sense of community.

One enormous female watched over them. Ten feet tall from 
shoulder to ground, she appeared insuperable. It seemed beyond 
possibility that a human hunter could bring down such a beast 
with little more than a stone spear and his cunning.

Only the leader seemed interested as Scully stepped cautiously 
out from under the trees into the field. It kept an eye turned 
her way, but didn't stray from the herd.

Watching to be sure the mastodons remained undisturbed, Scully 
hiked slowly uphill until she came to a patch of strawberries, 
where she knelt and began to fill her pack. After several 
minutes, she relaxed a little. Bees buzzed lazily around her. 
Plump, ripe berries stained her fingers as she picked. The 
mastodons seemed unconcerned by her presence and her mind soon 
wandered to other concerns.

Like her tattoo. 

Although she wasn't ready yet to concede to Mulder's theory of 
Flux Space, she did find the disappearance of her tattoo 
apropos, since her reason for getting it in the first place was 
fading, too. She no longer saw herself as the same person she'd 
once been -- the rebellious woman, trying to assert her 
autonomy...to the point of foolhardiness.

Ironic she'd been so eager to defy Mulder back then, given the 
current state of their relationship. Only a year ago, she'd 
felt stifled by him, and fearful she might lose her direction 
while blinded by his passion for the truth. Resistance had 
seemed the only option at the time.

The Ourobourus once symbolized her desire to move forward with 
her life. Now, the image struck her as absurdly self-absorbed, 
arrogant in its overt exclusiveness. What she once perceived as 
a representation of continual progression, now gave her the 
impression of being unattached to anything or anyone, self-
contained and intersecting with nothing but itself.

Fingers blood-red and her pack weighted with fresh fruit, she 
turned her efforts to picking greens. The only type she could 
identify as safely edible were dandelions. The others didn't 
look a thing like the variety Klizzie had brought to them while 
Mulder was recovering.

Scully missed Klizzie's expertise. The tribe obviously 
possessed extensive knowledge about their environment: food, 
medicinal herbs, predators...both animal and human. She and 
Mulder would need the group's collective wisdom if they were to 
survive for any length of time here. Without their generosity 
and the medicine man's competence, Mulder would surely be dead.

The memory of Mulder's near-death brought a lump to Scully's 
throat and tears to her eyes. Finding Klizzie and the others 
had been a godsend and it was paramount she and Mulder rejoin 
them as soon as he was strong enough to travel.

A sudden trumpet from one of the mastodons startled her and she 
looked up to see the females closing ranks around the baby. The 
leader tossed her enormous head and delivered a second loud 
warning.

Scully reached behind her back for her gun, in case they headed 
her way. She was stopped by the grip of strong fingers on her 
wrist and a menacing growl in her ear.

"Li-chi Tse-Gah," a man's voice rasped, before he yanked her to 
her feet. He twisted her arm and forced her to face him.

It was the scarred man.

She glared up at him. Had his weasely companion gone after 
Mulder?

He wrestled the gun from her hand. She responded by punching 
him hard in the groin.

When he howled and doubled over, she struck him again, this 
time in the face. The blow knocked him sideways and sent her 
gun spinning from his fist. It landed with a thud several yards 
away in the weeds.

She lunged for it, but found herself falling when he latched 
onto her leg. His grip held and she hit the ground hard. The 
gun remained just beyond her reach. She kicked at him, inched 
closer to the gun and managed to snag it with outstretched 
fingers.

Scarface crawled on top of her and pinned her in place. His 
giant hand clamped over hers and tore the gun from her grasp. 
He sat up, straddling her and weighting her to the ground. She 
lashed out, caught hold of the gun, struggled to pull it from 
his hands.

The gun discharged, firing at the sky and missing his right ear 
by millimeters. He jumped, astonished. Still holding the gun, 
he stared at it in disbelief. His expression transformed into 
one of panic. Eyes bulging, he hurled the weapon into the 
woods.

"Dammit!" she shouted, watching the gun vanish into the nearby 
trees.

She was trapped beneath him, pinned by his muscular thighs. He 
was panting; unconstrained fury darkened his face.

"Chindi!" he barked at her, then grabbed her by the hair. He 
bent over her until their noses almost touched. "Chindiiiii!!" 
he roared, spraying her with his spit.  

Struggling to free herself, she felt the ground start to 
vibrate beneath her. Scarface sat bolt upright, evidently 
feeling it, too. Silence hung in the air for one empty second 
before the thunderous crash of stampeding mastodons brought 
them both scrambling to their feet.

The enormous female was charging straight at them. Several more 
followed, heads bowed, tusks thrust forward. Their speed was 
astonishing.

Scully's legs went numb at the sight. Should she run? Stand 
still? Every instinct urged her to get out of their way, but 
her feet seemed to have rooted themselves to the ground.

Scarface bolted for the woods. The mastodons kept on coming. 
The ground shook, rattling Scully's teeth. God, she was going 
to be trampled.

She began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven..."

The air churned with dust and panic.   

"Hallowed be thy name."

She could smell them, musty and fierce and hell-bent on 
protecting their own.

"Thy kingdom come..."

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, they were right on her, around her, a 
thundering wall of reddish-brown, broken only by a blur of 
polished ivory and the ferocious glares of a dozen protective 
mothers. Their running jolted her spine, quaked the ground, 
shook her faith...

"Thy will be done..." Thy will... Thy will be...

The noise was deafening! Warning trumpets, pounding feet, the 
crash of underbrush as mastodons bulldozed around her, heading 
into the forest. Vegetation exploded, branches cracked, whole 
trees fell. The animals razed an alley several yards wide as 
they continued their forward charge.

Scully stood staring after them for several minutes, too 
astonished to move, even after they were no longer in sight. 

"Thy will be done..."

She looked behind her, upland across the field. The herd and 
the baby were gone. Only zigzagging trails and the tart smell 
of trampled grass remained.

"Sculleee!" It was Mulder, calling to her from the woods. 

She turned toward his voice, but couldn't find her own to cry 
out to him.

It didn't matter. He was walking out of the forest, completely 
naked, one muscled arm hooked around the scarred man's neck. 

Scully's legs finally gave way and she dropped to her knees.

*   *   *

"I say we leave them right where they are." Mulder picked a 
hunk of squirrel meat from between his teeth before grabbing 
another diminutive drumstick. The food tasted good, but four 
itsy-bitsy squirrels were not going to fill him. He sucked the 
tiny bone clean.

Conan and Little Big Man sat sullen and silent a few yards 
away. They were handcuffed to an enormous mastodon skull and to 
each other. Mulder had looped the cuffs through one of its eye 
sockets, using the skull as a sort of Pleistocene ball and 
chain.

Conan sported a nasty looking shiner where Mulder had walloped 
him "just because." Little Big Man was in worse shape, although 
his mouth was no longer bleeding. Mulder was pretty sure he'd 
broken the bastard's nose, as well as his teeth, since both his 
eyes were swelling shut and he whistled whenever he inhaled.

Scully removed the last squirrel from its spit, trying not to 
singe her fingers. "They could die if we leave them like that."

"So? What do you think they intended to do to us?" He tossed a 
bone into the fire and reached for a third helping of 
strawberries. "Besides, if they work at it, they can break 
free...eventually."

"That could take them days. They'll need food and water."

"Awww. Let 'em drag their sorry asses down to the lake when 
they get thirsty. Any greens left?"

She passed him the pack.

"Mulder, I just don't think--"

"Scully, a few days ago they tried to rape you," he reminded 
her. The memory made him want to blacken Conan's other eye. 
"They've tried to kill me twice." 

"So...we should do the same? We're living by the law of the 
jungle now, is that it? Kill or be killed? Since when did we 
turn into them?"

"When they held you to the ground and--" He stopped himself. 
His anger was meant for them, not her. He lowered his tone. 
"There's no due process here. What do you want to do?"

"If you're well enough, I'd like to go after Klizzie and the 
others."

"I'm good to go right now. And unless you let me kill these 
two, I have no intention of staying another day here." Seeing 
her shocked expression, he added, "That was a joke. Sort of."

She split the last squirrel in two and gave him the bigger 
half. "You really think they can free themselves?"

"If they're resourceful. It'll take them some time, but that'll 
give us a head start." He could tell she didn't like the idea. 
Finished with his meal, he wiped his hands on his bare thighs. 
"It's not like we have a lot of options."

"No, I guess not." 

"Come on then. I'll help you pack."

"Where are your clothes?"

"Still in the lake. I have to go back to fill the water bag 
anyway."

Mulder rose stiffly and walked over to the two prisoners. 

He bent low enough to smell Conan's sour breath. Keeping his 
voice dead calm, he whispered, "If you ever touch her again," -
- he paused to stare directly into the scarred man's eyes -- 
"I'll rip your fuckin' head off."   

*   *   *

Klizzie settled beside Dzeh on the sleeping skins. They were 
camped in the open under a clear, starry sky. She loved this 
time of night, hearing the sounds of the Clan all around her, 
some already snoring, others talking in low voices or singing 
lullabies to their children. She felt safe when surrounded by 
her family, especially with Dzeh by her side.

He was lying on his back, his muscled arm pillowing her head.

"The stars are bright tonight," he said, studying the sky. 

She looked up, too, content to watch the stars as he lightly 
stroked her bare shoulder.

"Gini asked me earlier today what it is like to lay with a 
man," she said.

Dzeh turned to look at her with surprise. "She did?"

"Mm hm."

"What did you tell her?"

Klizzie laughed. "My answer was for women's ears only," she 
teased.

"Women? Gini is only eight Mastodon Feasts old. She is no 
woman. Not yet."

"She will be soon, Dzeh. Some girls begin their Moon Time as 
early as nine."

He grunted, pretending to be offended. "I do not want to hear 
such talk. That is for 'women's ears only.'"

Again Klizzie laughed and then poked him gently in the ribs. 
"Seriously, it is time for you to start inquiries about a mate 
for her."

"No, my sister is still a little girl...a baby."

"She is not. Not if she is asking questions about laying with 
men."

Now he chuckled, a gravelly sound deep within his chest that 
loosened the muscles in Klizzie's legs and filled her abdomen 
with fire. 

"Fine," he said, "I will make inquiries at the Feast. I think 
your Aunt 'A-Chin' might have a son about Gini's age."

She slapped his arm. "My Aunt's name is not 'Nose.' It is 'Ho-
Ya' -- 'Smart.'"

He shrugged. "Well, she has a big nose. And she is not so very 
smart, as I recall."

It was true. Ho-Ya seemed to have no common sense whatsoever. 
She could get turned around in her own lodge. And she had made 
Badger Clan ill on more than one occasion when she added bad 
mushrooms to the evening meal. But she did have a good spirit 
and several sons with more sense than their mother. Perhaps one 
of them would be suitable for Gini.

Klizzie scanned the starry sky, as if she might find a mate for 
Gini there. "Tell me the story of Ant Clan," she asked, never 
tired of hearing about the Spirits and their heavenly world.

"Ant Clan? Klizzie, I have told you that story more times than 
I can count."

"Please, Dzeh? The Mastodon's Eye is visible tonight."

The Mastodon's hazy eye was little more than a faint smudge in 
the sky, visible only on the clearest nights. 

"So it is." 

"Tell the story," she urged.

Keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the others, he 
began. "Long before the days of Owl Clan, Badger Clan, Beaver 
Clan and all the other clans we know today, there was only one 
clan and it had no name because its people did not worship 
animal spirits. They killed and ate whichever beasts they 
desired without asking permission or sending up prayers of 
thanks. One day they speared and butchered a baby mastodon, and 
after eating their fill, these wasteful people fell asleep, 
leaving the remainder of the carcass for the buzzards." Dzeh 
traced a lazy circle around Klizzie's right breast, bringing 
her nipple to a point. He whispered into her ear, "I can think 
of better ways to pass this night than the telling of old 
tales." 

"Finish the story," she said, her voice made faint by his 
caress.

He drew a second circle around her left breast. "The Mastodon 
Spirit became angry at the clan for their carelessness. So, 
first taking the form of a mortal man, he sneaked into their 
camp while they slept and lay with the mate of the clan's 
leader. After planting a child in her womb, he returned to his 
place in the heavens. Nine moons later, the woman gave birth to 
a son who eventually grew up to be a powerful shaman." Dzeh 
tickled her inner thigh. "Are you sure you want me to continue 
the story?"

"Yes." 

He edged his hand up under her skirt. "One night, the powerful 
shaman had a dream, and in his dream his real father, the 
Mastodon Spirit, took him up to heaven and showed him the world 
of Spirits. He told his earthly son, 'Teach the clan to respect 
the Spirits. If not, they will be forever cursed.' So the 
shaman did as he was told and returned to the clan the next 
morning to tell them they must pray and give thanks to the 
spirits. The clan was lazy and refused to do as they were 
asked. Again they killed a mastodon and left its carcass for 
the buzzards, making the Mastodon Spirit angry. Sssoooo..." 
Dzeh's thumb brushed the curls at her groin.

She felt wetness flow from her womanhood. "Dzeehhh..."

"The Mastodon Spirit turned the people of the clan into ants 
and his son, the shaman, into a giant armadillo and he put them 
all in the sky where he could keep his eye on them." 

Much to Klizzie's disappointment, Dzeh removed his hand from 
between her thighs and pointed at the sky. 

"And there they are still," he said, "in the northeastern sky. 
To the east of the Steadfast Star, the Mastodon Spirit waits 
for the clearest nights to open his eye and watch the cursed 
Ant Clan crawl like a white river across the heavens while his 
armadillo son waits to devour them."

The legend was a warning. The ways of the Spirits must be 
followed or there would be a price to pay.

Klizzie had heard gossips in Owl Clan say that she was barren 
because angry Spirits willed it. They claimed her childlessness 
was a reprisal for her role in Dzeh and Klesh's falling out 
four summers ago.

In the years before Klizzie became Dzeh's mate, Dzeh had been 
Trading Partners with her cousin Klesh. The men's partnership 
created a necessary alliance between Owl Clan and Badger Clan, 
which had been enemies for many generations.

Unlike Hunting Partners, who were almost always kin, and Joking 
Partners, who were usually cross-cousins, Trading Partners were 
not related by blood. The purpose of their partnership was to 
create a bond between two clans that had no family ties, 
ensuring inter-clan cooperation during periods of peace, and 
tempering the amount of killing in times of war. A clan's 
survival often depended on the benevolence of its non-kin 
partners. 

To reinforce such affiliations, Trading Partners exchanged 
protection, food, goods and even their mates. Everybody agreed 
the tradition of exchange -- mate-exchange in particular -- 
was essential to the alliance, ensuring an intimate bond 
nearly as strong as blood between partners, their co-mates, 
and their respective clans. Ritual mate-exchange and the 
security it offered to clans benefited everyone. 

The waters had been muddied, however, when Klizzie and Dzeh 
became mates because she was Klesh's first cousin. Yes, it was 
custom for Trading Partners to exchange mates, but it was also 
taboo for Klizzie to be co-mate to her own kin. So of course 
Dzeh had to insist his partnership with Klesh be dissolved.
 
Klesh had become angry and refused to recognize the breaking of 
the partnership. He went so far as to demand Klizzie lay as his 
co-mate during the Mastodon Feast, ignoring the fact that she 
was his cousin. 

She had been only fourteen at the time, but that was no excuse. 
She knew she shared responsibility for what happened. Shame 
burned her cheeks at the memory of her transgressions against 
Owl and Badger Clans, against Dzeh.

Lying beside Dzeh now, looking up at the stars, Klizzie 
reminded herself it was pointless to relive those old days in 
her head. They were "fish down the river," as the elders would 
say. Klesh had been banished and his partnership with Dzeh 
ended. All Klizzie could do now was pray to the Spirits for the 
same forgiveness she had received from Dzeh and Owl Clan. 

"Were you marking our trail today, Klizzie?" Dzeh asked, 
returning his hand to her leg.

She nodded. "Yes." 

"For Muhl-dar and Day-nuh?"

Would he chastise her for her actions? Her eyes went to the 
strange bracelet he wore on his wrist, Muhl-dar's bracelet. She 
wanted to touch it, but kept her hands still for now.

"Yes, I left the markers for them."

"Klizzie..." He leaned over to kiss her nose. "You are a kind 
woman and I am hopeful the Spirits will reward you for it with 
a child this season. Then perhaps you will no longer feel the 
need to take care of orphans."

His words stung her, despite his good intentions. One of the 
orphans he was referring to was his own sister. "I pray every 
day," she said.

"Good." He cupped her cheek in his palm. "Maybe tonight the 
Spirits will listen," he said, before lowering his lips to her 
mouth. 

He rolled on top of her and she accepted his kiss. Parting her 
knees, she offered a silent prayer to the Spirits: Please keep 
Owl Clan safe; help the newcomers, Day-nuh and Muhl-dar, find 
their way to Turkey Lake; and please, please, bless me with a 
child.   

*   *   *

Somewhere in the distance a mastodon trumpeted, waking Mulder 
from a nightmare about Scully and a four-toed Cro-Magnon. He 
cocked an ear to listen. Crickets. Frogs. Owls. Nothing 
treacherous, yet he curled protectively around Scully, who was 
lying beside him on a fur blanket under the open sky. 

They were camped on a grassy hill next to one of Klizzie's 
stone markers. This was the fifth such marker they'd found 
before he had become too tired to go further. He'd fallen 
asleep almost immediately after finishing their evening meal 
and had slept soundly until just moments ago. 

"Scully. Scully, are you awake?" he whispered into her ear.

"M'now. Whassamatter?"

"I heard a noise."

This roused her. "What noise?"

"A voice. It said, 'Wake Scully up.'"

Laughter chuffed from her nose. "And why would this voice tell 
you a crazy thing like that?"

"Musta been feelin' lonely." He gave her hip an inviting 
caress.

She rolled onto her back within the circle of his arms and 
kissed him tenderly on the lips.

He wanted to make love to her again. Oh, God, how he wanted to 
make love to her.

She disappointed him by breaking their kiss to stare up at the 
midnight sky. "The stars are beautiful here."

"Mmm. No city lights to spoil the view." 

"Look, you can see the Andromeda Nebula." She pointed to a hazy 
spot east of the Pole Star.

It was true. The faint smudge that marked Andromeda's knee was 
visible tonight. "That galaxy is the most distant object that 
can be seen by the unaided human eye," he said, rolling onto 
his back, too. He kept one arm tucked beneath her, cushioning 
her head. "It contains more than one hundred billion stars that 
are more than two million light years away from here. Did you 
know that?"

"I did."

"You did?"

"Don't sound so surprised." A smile quirked her lips. "I 
studied astronomy as an undergrad, you know."

"Astronomy, anthropology, physics...wow. Frohike was right -- 
you are hot."

Her tiny smile widened into an all-out grin. "I know Greek, 
too."

"Then you know the myth?"

"Of Andromeda? Sure. Cassiopeia and Cepheus had a daughter--"

"See them there? Cassiopeia and Cepheus? Between Andromeda and 
the Little Dipper?"

"I see them. Cassiopeia boasted about Andromeda's beauty, so 
much so, she angered the sea nymphs who prevailed upon the god 
Poseidon to dispatch a sea monster--"

"A whale."

"Right, a whale, to ravage the coast of Ethiopia. To appease 
the whale, Cepheus chained Andromeda to a rock to be devoured 
by the monster."

Awful thing to do to your own daughter, Mulder thought. An 
image of Sam and his dad intruded on his thoughts, making him 
wince. Back-peddling from the unwelcome association, he focused 
instead on Scully's voice. 

"Fortunately Perseus happened by and killed the whale," Scully 
continued. "He liberated and married Andromeda, and the two of 
them rode off on Perseus' winged horse, Pegasus."

"To live happily ever after?"

"Presumably."

God, did life ever actually turn out that way? 

His eyes scoured the heavens while his imagination fleshed out 
the constellations. Pegasus, Hercules, Ophiuchus holding the 
two ends of the Serpent. That image seemed more representative 
of life than Andromeda and Perseus riding off into the sunset. 
It also reminded Mulder in a free association sort of way of 
the mark Scully wore on her back.

"Scully, why the Ourobourus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your tattoo."

"Oh, Mulder, I don't... Why is that important now?"

"Wasn't it always important? I mean, a tattoo is forever...at 
least, it's supposed to be. It must have meant something to 
you when you chose it."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can explain it. I was in a different 
frame of mind at the time."

"Different how?" He honestly wanted to know.

"I was feeling like my life was at a standstill. I guess I saw 
the Ourobourus as a symbol of movement."

And what about Ed Jerse? What had he symbolized? 

Mulder flushed with unexpected jealousy at the thought of that 
man's hands on Scully. Inappropriate and irrational, he knew. 
He and Scully hadn't been romantically involved at the time, 
although, admittedly, he'd always felt a tad territorial about 
her, long before her sojourn in Philadelphia. Truth be told, 
he'd assumed an air of proprietorship the day she walked into 
his office, considering her part and parcel of the X-Files, 
and therefore "his." 

God, he could be such an ass sometimes. 

"Did you sleep with Jerse?" he asked, surprising himself. It 
was none of his damn business and he hadn't meant to say the 
words out loud, despite the fact that he'd been wondering if 
she had or hadn't ever since he'd been called to St. John's 
Hospital to bring her back from Philadelphia. Christ, it had 
scared the hell out of him to discover she'd exposed herself 
to both ergot and a homicidal maniac. Seeing her in that 
hospital room, pale as the bed linens...fear and jealousy had 
sucker-punched him. Then when she couldn't even look him in 
the eye, he'd been convinced she'd done it, gone to bed with 
the cold-blooded killer.

It had taken every ounce of his strength to hide his fury. 
Hell, he was having a hard time controlling it right now.

Scully frowned. "Is it relevant anymore?"

"No. I just wondered what it was about him that you found so 
alluring."

She didn't even hesitate before replying. "He listened to me, 
Mulder. Never underestimate the charm of a man who truly 
listens."

"I don't listen?" 

Of course he knew he didn't, not always anyway. Shit, if 
anyone was to blame for Scully's rebellious romp in 
Philadelphia, he was. He'd practically pushed her into Jerse's 
tattooed arms.

"Mulder, I got my tattoo as a reminder to move forward with my 
life."

He took a deep breath, trying to cool his unwarranted pique. 
It was water under the bridge and shouldn't bother him like 
this. "Have you?" he asked, his voice calm, belying his true 
resentment. "Since then, I mean? Moved forward with your 
life?"

"I think so." Her gentle smile helped mollify his jealousy. 
She snaked her arms around his neck. 

He tightened his hold on her. "So..." He murmured into her 
ear, "when are we gonna, you know, do it again?"

She surprised him by rolling on top of him. "Right now, 
Mulder," she said, her voice muddled with longing. 
"Right...now."

x-x-x-x-x-x
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 

Mulder keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the silky warmth of 
Scully beside him on the furs. They are spooned together, her 
naked back against his bare chest, his bent knees fitted 
behind hers, his nose buried in her hair. He inhales, deeply, 
fully, and feels himself grow hard from the unadulterated 
scent of her. Wanting to make love, he tries to wake her with 
a gentle brush of his fingers along her bare arm.

She stirs, sighs with contentment, nestles more firmly into 
his lap, which causes a delightful friction there.

"Sculleeee...," he groans. His lips caress the curve of her 
ear; his tongue searches for the lobe, finds it, sucks. She 
moans, too, and the sound flows molten in his veins, making 
him desperate to be inside her. They've made love only twice, 
yet he has already become addicted to the act, to her. Now he 
wants to make love to her everyday for the rest of his life.

He positions himself so he can enter her from behind. They 
haven't tried it this way and he's eager. He nudges between 
her thighs.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice almost nonexistent.

In response, she grinds against him. Oh, God, she feels good. 
His hands grope her in the dark. Hip, waist... 

His exploration stops when his fingers encounter the swollen 
expanse of her belly. She is...

Enormously pregnant.

No, this can't be. What the hell is going on? 

"Scully?" Explain this. We never agreed to it.

He sits up, rolls her onto her back only to find she isn't 
Scully. She is Diana.

His erection goes soft.

Smiling, Diana sweeps her dark hair away from her face, which 
is flushed with satisfaction. She reaches up to cup Mulder's 
cheek with her palm. "It's wonderful, isn't it? We're having a 
baby. You're going to be a father."

"No, Diana, I don't want this."

"Of course you do."

"No, I--"

"Mulder, don't question it. It's a miracle."

Diana transforms back into Scully, who is still pregnant. 

Oh, shit...shit...that son-of-a-bitch caveman is lying on the 
other side of her, his scarred hand placed on her distended 
abdomen. He sneers at Mulder, arrogant, seemingly victorious. 
In his free hand he grasps a long snake and the snake's tail 
rattles, sounding like laughter. 

Jealousy, anger, and confusion swirl through Mulder in equal 
measure. Is the caveman the father of Scully's baby? 

This isn't a miracle. It's a fucking nightmare--

*   *   *

"Mulder, wake up. You're having a bad dream." Scully stroked 
Mulder's cheek, trying to bring him out of his nightmare as 
gently as possible. 

"Scully!" he gasped. His eyes flew open; a look of panic paled 
his face. Sitting up, he groped the air between them. His hand 
stopped dead on her stomach, his fingers clutching the fabric 
of her shirt. "You're dressed."

"Yes, so are you. We wore our clothes to bed, remember? It was 
cold last night."

He appeared confused and not entirely awake. "You're not 
pregnant?"

Where the hell had that come from? "No, I'm not pregnant."

He released his hold on her shirt, collapsed onto his back and 
wiped sweat from his face. "Thank God. Wow...that was a *hell* 
of a night--"

His mouth clamped shut so quickly she heard his teeth clack. 

"You dreamt I was pregnant?"

"Uh...the details are kinda fuzzy..." His voice petered out 
and his eyes looked everywhere but at her.

"Which parts do you remember?"

"It was just a dream, Scully. It didn't mean anything." He 
closed his eyes and drew the furs up to his chin as if 
intending to go back to sleep. 

She remained sitting up. The pre-dawn sky was crimson above 
the mountain peaks. They were camped next to one of Klizzie's 
markers on a hill overlooking a marsh, where weed-choked 
waters reflected the bloody glow of daybreak.

"Mulder, you were the one who once told me a dream is an 
answer to a question we haven't learned how to ask. What 
question do you think you need answered?"

His eyes opened reluctantly, filled with worry. "I..." Again 
he stopped.

"You what?"

He took a breath and made a face that looked as if he were 
preparing to go sewer diving for flukemen. "I don't think it 
would be a good idea for you to get pregnant right now."

A flare of annoyance heated her cheeks. "I shouldn't have to 
remind you, Mulder, I can't get pregnant." 

She threw back the animal skins, intending to rise from the 
bed. 

He stopped her with a tug on her shirtsleeve. "We don't know 
that."

"Yes, we do. I don't believe in your regression theory. Your 
missing scar and my fading tattoo are not proof of anything. 
We aren't growing younger. Even if we were, it wouldn't 
necessarily mean I'd become fertile again."  

Wanting to forego any further discussion about her defunct 
reproductive system, she rose from the bed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding conciliatory and a 
little nervous.

"To the marsh. I want to wash up," she said, tugging her boots 
on.

She located her jacket, then his, in the semi-dark and 
searched his pockets for the flashlight. Her hand closed 
around his jackknife. Better take it, too, since she no longer 
had her gun.

The loss of the gun still rankled. They'd spent nearly two 
hours searching for it, leaving Scarface and his sidekick 
handcuffed to the mastodon skull while they combed the woods.

"Are you *sure* he threw it this way?" Mulder had asked at 
least half a dozen times.

She grew increasingly irritated each time she answered him. 
"Yes, I'm sure." 

They both understood the importance of finding the weapon -- 
for protection and food -- but it had seemingly vanished in 
the mastodons' chaotic wake as if into Mulder's alleged Flux 
Space. Downed trees, shredded vegetation and muddy prints 
stymied their efforts, and eventually forced them to abandon 
their search.

There was some small consolation in the fact that it had been 
her gun and not his that was lost, since she'd been down three 
rounds, while his clip remained full. 

"Take my gun," he suggested when she tucked his knife into her 
pocket. "Please."

She flicked on his flashlight. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe I should come with you." He started to get up.

"Mulder, I'd prefer a little privacy, if you don't mind." 

That stopped him, as she knew it would. With a hesitant nod he 
lay back down on the skins. "Yell if you need me."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

The marsh was located approximately 600 yards downhill from 
their camp, where the land formed a shallow V between two 
sparsely treed slopes. The depression served as a catch basin 
for rainwater and snowmelt. Cattails and duckweed clogged its 
outer rim, making access to the water a challenge. 

Scully picked her way down-slope through thigh-high weeds. 
Mulder's waking words continued to nag at her as she tried to 
find solid footing in the spongy soil. It seemed muddier this 
morning than last night when she'd come down to fill the 
waterbag. She began to wonder if she'd taken the wrong path.

Mulder was right -- this wouldn't be the most opportune time 
for her to get pregnant. But if a miracle occurred and it 
happened, she would embrace the prospect of becoming a mother. 
Wouldn't he be equally pleased? He knew she wanted children; 
he'd helped her petition for the adoption of Emily. And 
although he'd never said anything outright about wanting kids 
himself, he'd been so supportive throughout Emily's illness, 
Scully had just assumed he wanted children...someday...not 
necessarily with her, but in a general sense. Had she misread 
him?

She'd also assumed their personal relationship was moving to a 
more serious level now that they'd slept together. To her, 
making love meant...well...she wasn't sure exactly what it 
meant...but it was more than being friends. 

In light of his behavior this morning, however, she could see 
they had opposing views about their intimate act. Apparently 
Mulder wasn't imagining 2.3 kids, a white picket fence, and 
"happily ever after."

It figured her dream-come-true would be his worst nightmare. 
They disagreed on so many things, why should this be 
different?

Two ducks squabbled for territory several yards to her left. 
The less dominant flew off, wings thumping the air, 
indignation nattering from its throat. She panned the reeds 
with her light. A snake slithered away from her beam.
 
She took a few careful steps forward, inching closer to the 
water. 

Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Mulder had never said 
that getting her pregnant was his worst nightmare. He'd said 
now was not a good time. 

It was possible he'd been having second thoughts about his 
regression theory. If that were the case, he might be trying 
to spare her feelings, knowing her fertility was not going to 
return. Perhaps he was worried he'd gotten her hopes up over 
nothing. He'd seen her dreams dashed once already, when she 
lost Emily.

Leaping onto a slippery stone at the water's edge, she nearly 
skidded off. Arms flailing, she caught her balance and 
steadied herself.  

Mulder had stood by her when Emily lay dying, until she pushed 
him away herself, preferring to go through her heartache 
alone. She'd been afraid to accept his support at the time, 
fearful his strength would invite her own weakness. And she 
felt certain if she let herself lose control, she would never, 
ever recover.

In the months following Emily's death, she shrank from the 
truth, unwilling to confront the fact that she'd lost her one 
and only child and could never have another. She found it 
increasingly painful to be around Mulder, knowing he had 
accepted her infertility a long time ago. Then she noticed she 
was starting to resent him because he still retained the 
ability to have children, whereas she no longer had the 
option, and she felt ashamed of her resentment.

Hunkering down on the stone, she blinked away tears, surprised 
at how angry the inequity still made her feel. She didn't 
blame Mulder, either directly or indirectly, then or now, for 
the things that had been done to her. The theft of her ova, 
her inability to conceive and bear children, Emily's death -- 
none of these had been his fault. 

He'd been a victim, too, his family whittled down to almost 
nothing. 

Bending forward for a drink, she sank her fingers into the 
mud. For just a second, she felt as if she were going to be 
pulled in. She sat up quickly, withdrawing her hands. Murky 
water quickly filled the indentations she left behind.

Sometimes she worried that no man would want her, a barren 
woman. Ridiculous, she knew. An old-fashioned idea. She could 
name dozens of women without children who lived happy, 
satisfied lives, who accomplished remarkable things and 
bettered the world.

But the desire to reproduce was strong. And without the hope 
of having a family of her own, she often felt incomplete.

The sunrise shone upside-down in the water, tinting it copper. 
An iris floated just beyond her reach, broken from its stem. A 
frantic insect ran round and round its sodden petals, 
searching for an escape. The blossom would eventually become 
waterlogged and sink, brown with rot. The insect would drown.

Hugging her knees, watching the dawn break, Scully felt 
isolated, cut off from creation the same way the lost insect 
was cut off from shore. Bullfrogs hummed on all sides, 
ballyhooing their territories. Ducks quacked, protecting their 
nests. The water smelled fecund, milky with fish eggs, teeming 
with the promise of life. Scully didn't share their future. 

She was a genetic dead end.

She turned off Mulder's flashlight. The sun had risen high 
enough to see the silhouette of the surrounding hills, the 
ducks on the pond, the fluttering rushes. Somewhere up the 
slope, still in shadow, Mulder waited for her. She had no 
doubt he was awake, alert, listening intently in the event she 
cried out for his help.

As always, he was watching her back.

They had made love twice since coming to this place. She 
wanted desperately to make love again, but now she didn't know 
if it was reasonable to encourage him. She loved him with all 
her heart, and yet in so many ways she hardly knew him. She 
was unsure how he felt about her, if he had any hope for a 
future with her, or what his real feelings were on the subject 
of children. 

One thing was certain: if he wanted children, the two of them 
had no future together. He deserved an opportunity to become a 
father. He deserved a woman who could give him sons and 
daughters. She would never ask him to forgo a family because 
of her defect.

She ran a finger through the water, causing a ripple. They 
never should have made love in the first place, not until 
they'd talked all this out. She'd been caught in a selfish 
moment, overwhelmed to have him back after coming so close to 
losing him. 

And now there was no undoing it.   

*   *   * 

Mulder hefted Conan's spear while gauging the distance to his 
target. Approximately 100 feet across the weedy meadow, 
Klizzie's stone marker mocked him. Three throws, three misses. 
To be fair, he was closing in; his last attempt had sailed 
mere inches over the top.

"Any last words?" he asked the pile of rocks. "No? Then 
prepare to be annihilated." 

Three long strides...he hurled the spear, lobbing it like a 
baseball, high and straight, and with every ounce of power he 
could put behind it. The shaft wobbled only a little this 
time. His aim was true. The point made contact, crashed 
through the stones and toppled the pile with a satisfying 
clatter.

"Yes!" Mulder's fist jabbed the air. 

"Nice shot, Tarzan." Scully approached carrying a small basket 
and two skewered, roasted lizards. Big lizards. Two-foot-long 
lizards, if you counted their charred tails.

"Where'd you get those?" he asked, relieved to see her with or 
without food. When she left their bed this morning, she'd said 
she needed a few minutes to herself. A "few minutes" had 
stretched into an hour -- as far as he could tell without his 
watch -- and he'd become worried. 

Wanting to go look for her, but not wanting to invade her 
privacy -- or answer any more questions about his nightmare -- 
he decided to burn off his nervous energy by practicing with 
the spear.

Scully set the basket on the ground beside her feet and 
extended one of the skewered lizards like an olive branch. He 
accepted it, feeling unworthy after this morning's foul up. 
She was wearing her "I'm fine" expression, but he knew she 
must have been dissecting and analyzing what he'd said -- and 
not said. Concern showed in the tightness of her mouth, in the 
gloss of her eyes.

As much as he hated to see her worried, he couldn't tell her 
the truth: he didn't want children, not now, not ever. Not 
even with her. Or maybe especially with her. Any kid of his 
was doomed and he'd be dooming her, too, to a lifetime of 
disappointment and heartache if she became pregnant by him. 

He was simply not father material, any more than he was big 
brother or husband material. 

For that matter, most of the time he wasn't even good FBI 
partner material.

Best case scenario, their kid would be in therapy for the rest 
of its life, assuming it wasn't abducted or killed first. And 
Scully would grow to hate him, assuming she wasn't 
abducted...again...or killed, too.

Then she'd leave him, just as Diana had. 

Scully was holding her lizard like an ear of corn and nibbling 
daintily on a hind leg. Humidity from the marsh had curled her 
hair today and the morning sun was shining through the frizz, 
giving it the appearance of a coppery halo. A scrap of meat 
clung to the corner of her mouth. She looked so beautiful he 
could barely breathe.

He reached over to wipe the food from her lips. When she 
didn't duck away from his hand, he decided to kiss her, 
wanting...*needing*...the intimacy. Bowing his head, he leaned 
in and gently pressed his lips to hers. Was it fair to 
encourage this, knowing she wanted kids and he didn't? Her 
fertility would return...probably soon. Wouldn't it be better 
to end things now before that happened?

Otherwise, he would end up hurting her...hurting them both.

She was responding to his kiss with such tenderness. He hated 
himself for it. He was leading her on, giving her false hope.

He pulled back, uncertain what to do. The idea of losing her 
scared the hell out of him. 

Then again, so did fathering a child.

"You were going to tell me where you found breakfast," he 
said, knowing this wasn't the subject they needed to discuss.

She waved the lizard. The tension seemed to lessen around her 
mouth and eyes. "There were dozens of these sunning themselves 
on the rocks by the marsh."

"How'd you catch them?" 

Digging into her pocket, she produced his jackknife. "With 
this."

"The lizards just sat there while you sliced and diced?" 

"Hardly." She handed him her half-eaten lizard and then opened 
his knife to demonstrate. Pointing its blade at an orangey 
toadstool growing in the damp soil about ten feet away, she 
said, "See that mushroom?"

"Uh-huh."

"Watch." 

The knife pinwheeled through the air and landed dead center in 
the cap of the toadstool, halving it.            

"That's pretty fancy knife-throwing, Jane of the Jungle."

"You're no slouch with that spear of yours either, Tarzan." 

"Are you speaking metaphorically?" He let himself smile.

She smiled, too, which pleased him even more than usual 
because it wasn't one of her typical barely-there smiles, but 
a rare teeth-and-gums grin that made up for all of his failed 
attempts to make her laugh. Especially now, given the way 
their morning had started.

"Metaphors aside, Mulder, keep practicing. Without my gun, we 
need all the survival skills we can muster."

It was true. Three days of traveling had exhausted their food 
supply. And although the snapping turtle they'd managed to 
catch and stone to death last night had filled their stomachs, 
there'd been no leftovers for breakfast. 

Procuring food in the Ice Age was evidently going to be a 
constant struggle since they didn't know which plants were 
edible and which were lethal. With no way to safely supplement 
their paltry meat diet, Mulder was finding himself 
persistently hungry; he'd already lost an inch or two around 
his waist, enough to make him cinch his belt a couple of 
holes. 

Scully walked away to retrieve the knife. He felt a flutter of 
panic as he watched her retreating back.

"Where'd you learn to throw like that?" he asked, needing to 
connect with her, if only by the sound of her voice.

"My dad. He taught Bill, Charlie and me after giving us Swiss 
Army knives for Christmas one year." She returned with the 
knife, wiping bits of toadstool from the blade and folding it 
closed. She traded it to him for her breakfast.

Mulder's knife had once belonged to his father. Bill Mulder 
had acquired it while in the military soon after Mulder was 
born and had carried it for years. The grip was worn smooth by 
constant handling. Whether pacing the shore at Quonochontaug 
or the floor of his study in Chilmark, Bill Mulder kept a hand 
thrust into his pocket, turning the knife round and round. He 
occasionally drew it out to slice an apple or open a letter, 
but most of the time it remained hidden away...like so much of 
his life. 

A few months after his father had been killed Mulder was 
packing his belongings in West Tisbury when he found the knife 
in a packet from the funeral home. He decided to keep it, 
hoping the weight of it in his pocket and the feel of it 
against his palm might somehow bring his dad closer, even if 
posthumously. While holding it, Mulder could almost believe 
that under different circumstances he and his father might 
have been Indian Guides for real.  

"Melissa didn't get a knife, too?" he asked.

"Yes, but as a self-proclaimed pacifist, she declined to use 
it." 

Scully's brows pinched together and Mulder guessed she was 
thinking about the violent way Melissa had died.

He quickly steered the subject in what he hoped would be a 
less painful direction. "Didn't your mom object to giving you 
kids knives as Christmas gifts?"

"Not at all. Mom's a practical woman. And in the days before 
cell phones, a Swiss Army knife was probably the most 
practical thing we could carry. She did insist Dad instruct us 
on proper handling. Besides, we weren't *that* young. And 
Swiss Army knives were an improvement over the BB guns."

Her mention of the BB guns brought to mind that unspeakable 
afternoon when he'd accompanied her mother to the monument 
shop to pick up Scully's headstone...which reminded him of 
Duane Barry and Scully's abduction...which reminded him--

"You were gone a long time this morning," he said. "I thought 
we decided you weren't going to go off on your own."

She stopped chewing. Downcast eyes hid her emotions. "I wasn't 
very far."

"I called to you." The fear he'd felt at that moment returned 
to him now full force. Could he demand she never leave his 
sight? "You didn't answer." 

"Mulder, nothing happened. I'm fine."

He nodded, not wanting to argue. Right now all he wanted to do 
was get back to the way things had been the day they first 
made love, when he'd felt on top of the world. He didn't want 
to lose the closeness they'd had at that moment, the happiness 
he'd felt. 

He pointed to the basket she'd set on the ground earlier. 
"What's in your basket, Little Red?" 

His question brought a smug grin to her face. She picked up 
the container and lifted the lid so he could see inside. 
"Fresh duck eggs."

Three large eggs sat nestled in the bottom of the basket. His 
mouth began to water. 

"Scully, I love you." 

The words just popped out -- heartfelt and meaning so much 
more than "thanks for bringing eggs." 

She seemed to miss his greater meaning, however. Or was 
purposely ignoring it. "Hope you don't mind eating them raw."

"Not at all." 

He fished an egg from the basket. Using his knife, he chiseled 
a dime-sized a hole into the top of the shell. He handed her 
the knife and raised the egg to his lips. "Down the hatch." 

He sucked out the contents as if drinking from a cup. Yolk and 
white slid into his mouth and he bit down on it, breaking the 
yolk with his tongue. God, it tasted wonderful-- 

"Oh..." Scully's gasp drew his attention. 

She was staring at the egg she held, a look of revulsion on 
her face. Tears suddenly swamped her eyes, overflowed her 
lashes and plummeted in two straight lines past the lowered 
corners of her mouth.

"What is it, Scully?"

She handed him the egg. Curled inside was the gray, sticky 
embryo of an unhatched baby duck. The bird was dead. 

*   *   *

Tsa-ond was a sacred place, a mountain cave where men had come 
for generations to express their devotion to the Spirits, to 
make offerings, and to pray for good hunting, good health, and 
peace among the clans. 

This afternoon a central fire warmed the cave with a 
flickering golden glow. Dzeh crouched in front of the Prayer 
Wall, his hands cupping a small bone idol, an offering to Hare 
Spirit. Behind him, the men of Owl Clan chanted individual 
prayers. Group prayers would come later, after the Shaman led 
them in a Telling Ceremony, an exchange of stories about 
personal spiritual encounters. Each man's supernatural 
experience would be held up for scrutiny by the group, 
evaluated and accepted or rejected as a true spiritual sign.

Today Dzeh had a story to tell -- a dream vision he'd had 
three nights ago. He was not eager to tell his dream; it was 
full of mystery and foreboding.

Dzeh reverently placed his offering, a small fertility idol, 
on the ground in front of the Prayer Wall. He'd carved the 
figurine from the jawbone of a hare hoping the dead rabbit 
would speak to Hare Spirit on his behalf. Because rabbits 
mated year-round, producing many offspring, Dzeh was appealing 
to Hare, hoping the Spirit would bless Klizzie with a child 
this season.

The bone idol had been meticulously crafted. Smaller than 
Dzeh's thumb, it represented a woman ripe with child, her 
breasts swollen with milk. She had wide hips, to ensure an 
easy birth. Too many women were lost during their labor -- 
like Dzeh's mother and his oldest sister, Ne-zhoni. He did not 
want to lose Klizzie this way, too. He would rather she had no 
child at all than to see her fly off with the Spirits as she 
struggled to give birth.

The idea of losing Klizzie made Dzeh feel panicked and queasy. 
He loved her so much. Too much perhaps. Whenever he looked at 
her, lay with her, even talked with her about trivial matters, 
such as the gathering of pine nuts or the cleaning of deer 
skins, his heart beat like skull drummers at a Mastodon Feast. 
He had been very fond of his previous mate, but his affection 
for Klizzie outshone that older love as the sun to the moon. 

Dzeh's tiny idol had a nearly blank face, as was custom; only 
a few shallow notches hinted at features. Its hair, however, 
was crosshatched to represent braids similar to Klizzie's. 
Dzeh had spent many winter evenings incising each precise 
line. The hands and feet were simple points with no toes or 
fingers; the fertility Spirits cared little for these parts of 
the body, attentive only to the reproductive aspects of the 
offering, which were exaggerated and detailed. Dzeh had 
polished the entire figure by rubbing it with sand and then 
bear fat until its breasts and belly glistened. 

He murmured placating words to Hare Spirit before leaving the 
idol and rising to his feet to add a picture to the Prayer 
Wall.   

Several other men stood at the Wall painting images. Small 
bowls of pigment and binder dotted the cave floor. The binder 
had been made from a mix of albumen and pinyon gum. The 
pigments ranged in color from black to blue to red to white. 
Charcoal, azurite, hematite, and white clay had been ground 
into powders. Brushes had been prepared by chewing the tips of 
twigs to remove the pulp, leaving fibers for painting small 
solid areas, clear lines and fine details. Dots were applied 
with fingertips.

Dzeh selected a tortoiseshell bowl filled with binder. He 
added a pinch of charcoal to it and, using his brush, mixed 
the materials together, creating a viscous black paint. He 
wasn't much of an artist -- not nearly as accomplished as his 
Uncle Lin -- but it was the act of painting itself, not the 
quality of the image, that mattered. Painting a picture on a 
Prayer Wall was akin to singing a song to the Spirits during 
Feast Days or wearing a totem all year round. It was an act of 
respect, faith, and obedience. It focused a man's thoughts, 
opening a path of communication to the Spirit World. 

The Wall already held countless drawings made over many 
generations. Finding an unmarked area wasn't easy. If a man 
wanted to paint a large picture, he must draw atop an older 
one. Feeling humbled by his communication with Hare Spirit, 
Dzeh decided to paint only a small picture this year. He found 
a blank space the size of a newborn's palm between the tusks 
of a bull mastodon and the outstretched arm of Serpent Holder, 
a Spirit who held a large snake. 

The image of the Serpent Holder was intimidating, almost life-
size, and reminded Dzeh of his dream vision. He wondered again 
if the elders would deem his vision a true spiritual 
encounter. 

In many respects, he hoped not.

Using careful strokes, he sketched the delicate outline of a 
jackrabbit. Additional paint was needed to color the rabbit 
reddish-brown and give him white eyes that could see their way 
between this world and the Spirit World.

When Dzeh was satisfied with his picture, he put down his 
brushes and paints, and joined the other men in a circle 
around the fire pit. 

Fifteen men and nine boys waited eagerly, yet quietly, for the 
Shaman to lead them in the Telling Ceremony. Only the smallest 
children and infants were excluded from this ritual. And 
women, too, of course, who were busy taking care of the young 
ones and preparing tonight's Spirit Feast.

The Shaman walked a circle around the men. He wore a helmet 
made from the skullcap of a musk ox, its great horns curled 
low over his ears. White clay painted his face in hopes the 
Spirits would mistake him for a ghost and allow him access to 
their world. A silvery wolf-skin cape, trimmed with owl 
feathers and bone beads, hung from his broad shoulders, open 
at the front to expose his Owl Clan tattoos - circular 
designs that represented owl's eyes and superior vision. 
Bracelets of snail shells jangled at his wrists and ankles. 
Around his neck he wore an impressive amulet made from 
iridescent heron feathers, clattering muscle shells and the 
gleaming tusks of a saber-toothed cat. 

A fog of burning sage, tangy and pleasant smelling, filled the 
cave as the Shaman paced, holding a smudge-stick aloft in his 
outstretched hand. In his other hand he carried a 
tortoiseshell rattle, which he shook to the cadence of his 
deep-throated chant. The men joined his chant, lifting their 
collective voices to the Spirit World. Dzeh's heart began to 
beat faster as the chanting progressed. He felt as if the 
Spirits sat with him at the hearth fire. This both frightened 
and made him glad.

When the Shaman had gone four times around the circle, 
cleansing the cave with his trail of smoke and calling to the 
Spirits with his singing, he took his place among the men, 
sitting to the right of Lin, the eldest. 

Now it was time for the Telling Ceremony.

Foreboding caused Dzeh's hands to quake and he stilled them by 
grasping the pouch he wore around his neck. The future held 
many secrets. Was his dream a premonition or just a simple 
nightmare?  

The men proceeded to tell their stories, going in the order of 
their ages, starting with Lin. Dzeh listened and waited his 
turn. Several of the stories were deemed true visions, their 
ramifications were discussed and appropriate prayers were 
offered.

The moment finally came for Dzeh to begin telling his story. 

"Three nights ago, I had a sleeping vision," he said before 
dread seized his throat and stole the force from his voice. 
The men nodded, encouraging him to go on. He squeezed his 
totem pouch. Took a full breath. Speaking in a hushed tone, 
like a mourning dove separated from its mate, he continued, 
"In my dream, the newcomer named Muhl-dar captured a snake, 
which he placed in a bone cage. When Snake Spirit discovered 
the caged snake, he became angry. Snake Spirit released the 
snake and turned it into a man, then sent this snake-man to 
seek revenge. After much searching, the snake-man found Muhl-
dar living with his red-haired mate at the camp of Owl Clan."

This brought nervous looks to the other men's faces. He knew 
they were thinking it had been risky to welcome the strangers 
in the first place. 

"Muhl-dar fought with snake-man," he continued, "and defeated 
him by breaking him into two halves."

Dzeh glanced over at the Prayer Wall with its enormous 
painting of the Serpent Holder. For a heartbeat, it looked as 
if the snake might be severed in two. A spear of panic slashed 
into Dzeh's belly.  

"Snake Spirit became enraged by the death of snake-man, so he 
disguised himself as a lightning bolt and traveled to earth in 
the belly of a giant storm, intending to kill Muhl-dar. The 
night sky was turned inside out. The stars and the moon were 
moved from their customary positions as the lightning bolt 
grew to an enormous size. Cottonwood seeds fell like snow, 
even though it was not the season for them. Clansmen ran in 
every direction, afraid for their lives." Dzeh closed his 
eyes, recalling the fear he felt when he discovered Klizzie 
was not by his side. "Those who remained behind heard the 
chirping of a bird." Dzeh opened his eyes. "It was followed by 
the voice of a far-off female Spirit, who spoke to Muhl-dar, 
and although we could not understand her words, he was able to 
speak to her in her own strange language, and he became quite 
excited and happy to talk with her. She took a deep breath and 
blew the cottonwood seeds back to the Spirit World. Then she 
swallowed up Muhl-dar and his mate. The people of Owl Clan 
were sad to see them go."

That was the end of the dream. He hoped the elders would 
decide it was not a prophecy, but only a silly nightmare.

Several moments passed while the men considered what they'd 
heard. Finally Dzeh's Uncle Lin spoke.

"I accept Dzeh's vision as a true spiritual sign."

"I agree," said his cousin Wol-la-chee, "but what does it 
mean?"

"It is clearly a bad omen," said another man. "Clan members 
were lost and the man named Muhl-dar was at fault for their 
hardship."

"If that is true, then why does the female Spirit help Muhl-
dar and why is the Clan sad to see him go?" Lin asked.

"It makes no sense," said Wol-la-chee.

"Who is this female Spirit?"

"Who is the snake-man?" asked another.

"Prophecies are often unclear when they are first revealed," 
said the Shaman. "Interpreting them is like hunting in fog. 
Sometimes we must wait until events reveal themselves before 
we can know whether it is best to charge or run."

"But it is never desirable to lose Clan members," argued a man 
who had recently lost his son to dysentery and fever. 

"Maybe someone should return to Toh-ta Lodge to kill Muhl-dar 
before he cages the snake," suggested a boy barely into his 
thirteenth year.

"It might already be too late for that," said Uncle Lin.

"Then we should send Muhl-dar away when he comes," said the 
boy's father. 

"No." Dzeh shook his head. The dream frightened him, 
particularly the part about Klizzie. Even so, he was left with 
the feeling that Muhl-dar was the Clan's only hope against the 
vengeful Snake Spirit. Dzeh believed the snake-man intended to 
cause trouble for all of Owl Clan. He couldn't explain how he 
knew such a thing, only that he felt it like the chill of 
winter across his back. "Muhl-dar is my Trading Partner. He is 
Clan now and has given us no reason to either banish or kill 
him." Dzeh glared at the 13-year-old.

The boy lowered his eyes, looking ashamed.

"All aspects of the partnership have not been fulfilled," the 
boy's father reminded Dzeh. "You have made only a single 
trade."

"We will make more," Dzeh said.

"You will exchange mates with the stranger?"

"Yes, of course," Dzeh said, knowing the ritual would earn the 
Clan's trust. Mate-exchange was the ultimate demonstration of 
a man's loyalty -- to the Trading Partner and to the Clan. 

"Until Dzeh or Muhl-dar choose to sever their partnership, or 
Muhl-dar breaks a Clan custom, the newcomer and his mate will 
be treated as members of Owl Clan," Lin said. He looked at 
each man in turn. "We have accepted Dzeh's vision. We will 
watch for additional omens."

Before moving on to the next man's vision, the Shaman urged, 
"We must continue to offer prayers to the Spirits for the 
protection of Owl Clan. I fear difficult times ahead."

Dzeh silently agreed. Again he glanced at the painting of the 
Serpent Holder on the Prayer Wall and again he felt the chill 
of winter run down his spine.     

*   *   *

While the men were praying in the cave and the women were 
preparing the evening's ceremonial meal, Gini and her best 
friend Jeha hiked down a gravely trail to the stream to fill 
waterbags for tomorrow's journey. Twins Do and Ehdo followed 
several paces behind, more interested in playing with their 
dolls than in fetching water. The twins were a couple of years 
younger than Gini. Jeha was older -- two Mastodon Feasts older 
-- and was full of talk about this year's Feast and her 
imminent Joining Ceremony. Jeha had been promised by an uncle 
to Moasi, a young man in Badger Clan, one of several clans 
that would be participating in this year's Feast. Although 
Jeha had never met Moasi, she'd heard from a cousin that her 
future mate was a good hunter and very handsome.

"Moasi has already killed his first bear, you know," Jeha 
bragged.

"So you have told me." 

Moasi, Moasi, Moasi. Could Jeha think of nothing else? All 
this talk about mates and Joining Ceremonies was making Gini's 
stomach hurt. She had learned from Dzeh only this morning that 
he was going to inquire about a mate for her at the upcoming 
Feast.

"You are growing up, Gini," he had said after finishing his 
breakfast. "It is time for you to be mated. I will make 
arrangements." 

And that was that; he said nothing more and walked away 
leaving her too stunned to speak. Which was just as well; it 
would have been inappropriate for her to object in any case.

Gini had gone immediately to find Klizzie, hoping to talk to 
her about Dzeh's decision, and the bumblebees it had put in 
her stomach, but Klizzie was too busy preparing the day's 
Spirit Feast to answer her questions. 

"We can talk tomorrow. On our way to Turkey Lake." Klizzie 
kissed her on the head and hurried away to add pine nuts to 
the Offerings.

Gini was as nervous as a trapped goose about the idea of 
taking a mate, moving away to a strange clan, leaving the only 
family she had ever known. It seemed so unfair. Why did girls 
have to leave their clans to be mated and not boys?

"My mother is sewing ivory beads and blue jay feathers to my 
Joining Skirt," Jeha prattled as they neared the stream. The 
woods thinned here and the twins ran ahead, wanting to be 
first to the water. "Ma-ma made the skirt from doe skins as 
white as new-fallen snow. And soft! You have never felt such 
soft hides."

Jeha would look pretty in her Joining Day skins, Gini had to 
admit. Long hair done up in braids with beads and feathers and 
a crown of flower blossoms, her perfect skin oiled and 
perfumed. Jeha stood half a head taller than Gini. Her waist 
curved in and her hips curved out, and her breasts had begun 
to swell. Gini's chest remained as flat as any boy's and her 
narrow hips led straight down into her skinny legs, knobby 
knees and big feet. Sometimes she felt as ugly as a 
grasshopper next to her older friend.

It struck her this might be a good thing. Maybe Dzeh would not 
be able to find a boy who would want an ugly girl like her. 
Then she could stay with Owl Clan and Klizzie.
 
It was sad losing her best friend. Gini and Jeha had been like 
sisters all their lives. Now they would never again have the 
opportunity to play string games or dolls or Find Me. Jeha 
would become a member of Badger Clan. She would be expected to 
tend her mate's hearth, raise lots of children. She would 
leave Turkey Lake in the autumn and it would be many seasons 
before Gini would see her again. 

If ever. 

The twins stripped out of their fur skirts and waded into the 
shallow brook, while Jeha and Gini settled side-by-side on a 
low moss-covered rock where they could dangle their feet in 
the cold, clear water. They sat near one of Klizzie's stone 
markers, set out for the newcomers to follow.

Gini wondered if Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had left Toh-ta Lodge 
yet and if they were following Klizzie's trail. Or had they 
decided to return to Eel Clan instead? Gini liked the 
strangers, especially Muhl-dar, and hoped to see them both 
again soon.

Maybe Dzeh could find her a mate like Muhl-dar. Gini guessed 
he was a good hunter and she knew he was handsome -- in a 
foreign sort of way. Although she had never met Jeha's future 
mate, she was quite sure the boy from Badger Clan could not be 
as good looking as Muhl-dar. 

"Does it not scare you a little?" Gini asked, watching the 
twins splash and chase each other in circles. They looked so 
much alike, it was easy to lose track of who was who. 

"What are you talking about?" Jeha asked.

"Being mated to a man you have not met." Gini could not 
imagine it. Klizzie had told her that laying with a man was a 
pleasant thing, and Gini believed her, but she also wondered 
why women sometimes cried out in the night as if in pain when 
they laid with their mates. 

Klizzie herself had cried out just last night.

Jeha put on the expression of a grownup. "It is the Clan way. 
There is no point in being frightened." 

Gini was not so sure. Last fall she had seen a stallion mount 
a mare. He had climbed onto her back while she whinnied, the 
whites of her eyes showing all around. Clearly, she didn't 
like it. When the stallion finally got off her, his male part 
hung long and wet-looking.

Did that happen to men? 

"Besides," Jeha said, while drawing shapes in the water with 
her toe, "it is a worse life to have no mate at all."

That was true. A woman without a mate had no status and was 
always last to get her share of meat or skins. If there was 
not enough to go around, she went without. A woman alone must 
rely on the charity of the Clan for all things.

"And don't forget, you must lie with a man if you want 
babies," Jeha said matter-of-factly. "You want babies, don't 
you?"

She supposed she did. "What does laying with a man have to do 
with getting babies?" 

Jeha laughed. "You are still a baby yourself if you do not 
know the answer to that."

Gini flushed with embarrassment, although she was uncertain 
what it was that made Jeha laugh at her. Klizzie prayed to the 
Spirits to bring her babies; she had never mentioned any other 
way of getting them. "If you are so smart, tell me where 
babies come from."

Do and Ehdo had stopped their running and now sat in the brook 
playing a clapping game.  Jeha watched them while she 
explained. "You know that a man puts his be-zonz inside a 
woman when they lay together, don't you?"

"Yes. Of course." Again she pictured the stallion.

"Well, the baby crawls through the man's be-zonz into the 
woman. Ma-ma told me so."

Was that true? It didn't seem possible. It didn't even make 
sense. 

"Where does the man keep the baby before he puts it in the 
woman and how does it fit through his be-zonz?" 

"The baby is very small, silly. It grows to normal size 
*after* it gets inside the woman."

Well, that made sense at least. Pregnant women were not large, 
not at first. They grew bigger only as their time drew near. 
Animals were like that, too. The horses mated in the autumn. 
By spring, the mares were heavy with foals. 

A man's be-zonz might grow large during mating to allow for 
the baby's passage, Gini supposed.

Still, why did people pray to Spirits for babies if they came 
from men? 

Jeha turned away from the twins and lowered her voice to a 
whisper. "Watch them sometime. See for yourself."

"Watch what?"

"Our aunts and uncles when they are in their sleeping skins."

"Jeha, that is not polite!" Gini said, wanting suddenly to be 
playing games with Do and Ehdo rather than continuing this 
conversation. Jeha's talk was making her stomach hurt worse 
than before. "Let's swim." 

"If you want." Jeha laughed again. She stood to remove her fur 
skirt. "But one day you will see I am telling you the truth." 

Again Gini pictured the stallion's enormous male part and the 
bumblebees in her stomach began to buzz more violently than 
ever.  

*   *   *

Mulder carried the larger pack and the spears, occasionally 
using one of the spears as a walking stick. Scully lugged the 
waterbag and the smaller pack, which was intended for storing 
food but was currently empty. It was late afternoon and they 
were climbing yet another forested hill. They'd been following 
Klizzie's markers and traveling northeast for seven days. 
Mulder guessed they were covering fifteen to twenty miles a 
day now that he was feeling stronger.

"There." Mulder pointed to a stack of fist-sized stones 
balanced atop a mossy boulder twenty yards upstream.

"Camp now?" Scully asked. She had begun talking 
epigrammatically around mid-morning and had said almost 
nothing at all since noon. 

Mulder assumed her terseness was the result of fatigue and 
hunger. Or a reaction to his own irritability. He felt 
snappier than A.D. Skinner at an OPR meeting.

"We still have several hours of daylight left. Let's keep 
going. Maybe we can crest the next ridge before dark." 

They couldn't stop now -- they had nothing to eat. 

"Fine." Scully switched the waterbag to her other hand and 
continued hiking. 

The path was steep here, zigzagging uphill between ghostly 
aspens and sparse evergreens, following a channel carved by the 
stream. Loose stones lined the trail. Granite cobbles and tree 
roots served as irregular steps. Aspens shivered in the chilly 
breeze, their papery leaves chattering like teeth. 

The air smelled like pinesap and last year's fermenting 
chokecherries.  The skies were overcast again today. Last 
night had been downright frigid. He and Scully had huddled 
together for warmth, fully dressed beneath the sleeping skins. 

Their all-night embrace had been for practical purposes only. 

They'd made love only once since Mulder's nightmare, and it 
had not been particularly satisfying for either one of them. 
They couldn't seem to get out of each other's way, fumbling 
with their clothes, bumping noses, elbowing and pinching. It 
was all over in less than ten minutes, which was probably for 
the best. 

Mulder was still embarrassed to think about the welt he'd 
raised on Scully's chin when he accidentally clipped her with 
his knuckles. He'd meant to caress her, but was distracted by 
a biting deerfly and wound up walloping her instead. 

They'd both been in sour moods ever since.

Although unwilling to take the lead in their intimate life -- 
at least for the time being -- Mulder did volunteer to occupy 
the forward position on the trail. He set a strenuous pace, 
hoping to burn off some of his unrequited sexual energy. He 
wanted to be bone-tired before falling into bed with Scully at 
the end of each day. That way, he was sure to keep his hands 
off her and avoid making an ass of himself...again.  

Something moved in the woods up ahead, just beyond Klizzie's 
marker. Mulder caught a glimpse of shaggy, reddish-brown fur 
between the tree trunks. He stopped and held up a cautionary 
finger to Scully. 

She came to a standstill a step or two behind him.

"See it?" he whispered, never taking his eyes off the animal. 
It was shuffling slowly downhill, partially obscured by 
vegetation as it grazed on leaves. Was it a bear? A gorilla? 

"Megalonyx," Scully whispered, when it came into full view.

"Megalo-what?"

"Giant Ground Sloth." 

Jesus, it looked like some sort of mutant hamster. A ten-foot-
tall mutant hamster.

The bizarre animal rose up on its hind legs, reaching a long-
clawed paw into the upper limbs of an aspen. It tore off a 
leafy branch and stuffed it into its mouth. Its arms were 
massive. Each paw sported six-inch curved claws. Its head was 
undersized for its brawny body, with a wide face, a flat 
snout, short, rounded ears, and pig-like eyes set far back on 
its skull.

"Carnivorous?" Mulder asked.

"No, but dangerous from the look of those claws."

The sloth hooked another branch and brought it crashing to the 
ground. It turned an inquisitive eye toward Mulder and Scully 
and sniffed the air. Seemingly unconcerned, it continued to 
lazily munch leaves.

God, the thing must weigh three tons. 

Three tons of fresh meat. 

Thick flank steaks. Tenderloins the size of a man's arm. T-
bones to die for. Mulder's empty stomach rumbled. He quickly 
set everything he carried down on the ground...except his most 
durable spear.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"I'm gonna bag us dinner, Scully." 

He hefted the spear, gauged the distance.

"Mulder, use your gun," Scully urged through clenched teeth.

And waste a bullet? Nnnaaah, the sloth was moving very slowly. 

"Mulder--"

Ignoring her warning, he charged the beast, spear raised 
shoulder high. The sloth stopped eating when it heard him 
stampeding up the hill. It turned to face him. Rearing up on 
its hind legs, it honked a warning that sounded like a cross 
between a grizzly bear and a Mack Truck.

Mulder bellowed right back at him, racing forward, sending a 
mini avalanche of gravel downhill behind him. He targeted the 
animal's heart, gripped the spear, and prepared for impact. 

Twenty feet...fifteen...ten... 

The sloth swiped the air with an enormous paw as the spear 
punctured its chest. A thick, curving claw raked Mulder's face 
and pain exploded along his left cheek. Blood spurted from the 
wound.

Ignoring his injury, Mulder thrust the spear more deeply into 
the animal's breast.

The sloth roared and pivoted, lifting Mulder to his toes. He 
clung to the weapon, while the beast flailed an enormous arm, 
trying to bat him off. He dodged the blow, released the spear 
and dropped to his knees. Quickly, he scrambled back a step or 
two.

The injured sloth attempted a charge but staggered sideways 
instead. It lashed out again and missed Mulder by mere inches 
before it lost its balance, tottered, and finally collapsed 
onto its back.
 
Mulder wasted no time. He clambered up onto the giant's 
mountainous belly. Using all his weight, he drove the spear as 
deep into the animal as it would go.

The sloth gasped, its head lolled, and its limbs went limp. 

Balanced on its chest, Mulder let out a victorious whoop.

"Mulder!" Scully rushed forward, fear in her eyes. "You're 
hurt!"

"I'm okay." He jumped to the ground and circled the sloth, 
practically dancing with excitement. "Do you prefer your 
steaks medium or well done?"

"You're not okay. You're bleeding." She slowed his restless 
pacing by grabbing his sleeve. "Hold still. Let me see." She 
reached out to probe the wound on his cheek.

"Ow!" He ducked away from her hand, but she was as tenacious 
as a fat-sucking mutant and was on him again in an instant. 
"It's nothing," he protested, arm extended to keep her at a 
distance. "We have meat to cut up. Sirloins to grill."

"You need stitches."

"Too bad we're twelve thousand *years* from the nearest 
hospital." He tried again to get around her, but she body-
blocked him. He settled for inspecting the carcass over the 
top of her head.

"Look at those drumsticks, Scully. And that rump roast." He 
pictured a couple of super-sized sloth-burgers, with a side 
order of onion rings and a large frosty milkshake.

"I have needle and thread."

"Hm?" Mulder glanced down. Scully was holding one of those 
cheapo hotel sewing kits in her hand. 

Oh. Crap. He'd forgotten she had that.

She steered him to the boulder that held Klizzie's marker and, 
with the point of a finger, ordered him to sit. Then she laid 
out her needle, thread and a pair of miniature scissors that 
came with the kit. "I'm going to wash and stitch that wound. 
Give me your handkerchief."

He obliged her with the handkerchief but refused to sit. "I 
killed it, Scully," he said, grinning. "Did you see me?"

"Yes, I saw." She washed her hands and soaked the handkerchief 
in the stream. The minute her attention left him, he returned 
to the sloth.

"Mulder, I told you to sit." She went to him and guided him by 
the arm back to the rock. "What you did was foolhardy." 

Foolhardy? He shook his arm loose. "Tell that to the sloth." 
He was hoping she'd be impressed by his success. Not to 
mention the gazillion pounds of fresh meat. "Still got all my 
bullets," he bragged.

"And one nasty cut." 

"How sanitary is that needle?" he asked when she cornered him 
beside the boulder. "Won't I get an infection?"

"That'd be preferable to bleeding to death. *Sit*."

He did as she asked and eyeballed her needle, while she 
inspected his wound. Gently, she swabbed his bloody cheek with 
the wet handkerchief. 

"This would be easier without all the whiskers."

It had been a week and a half since he'd last shaved and he 
guessed he must look pretty scruffy.

Scully used the waterbag to rinse his cheek.

"Hey, you're getting my clothes wet." 

She continued to pour.

"That hurts!" He winced more for effect than from pain. 

She raised an eyebrow and handed him the waterbag and the 
blood-soaked handkerchief. "Hold these." 

"Shouldn't you use some of that soap root or something?"

"It isn't antibacterial, Mulder. Your own blood will do a 
better job of cleansing the wound than that root." She 
threaded her needle.

"Can't you just kiss it and make it better?"

"I'm a doctor, Mulder, not your mother."

"You're a pathologist." Her needle stung when it pierced his 
skin. "Ow! Don't forget, I'm not a corpse."

"Shhh."

"Do I get a reward if I don't cry?"

"We'll see."

She worked fast, quickly closing his wound with careful 
stitches. The cut was just below his eye. An inch or two 
higher--

He didn't want to think about it. He also didn't want to watch 
her needle popping in and out of his skin, so he avoided 
looking at her hands and focused on her eyes instead.

In them he saw determination, self-control and compassion.

She leaned close to tie off the final knots. "Almost finished," 
she murmured, and tears filled his eyes -- not from the pain 
she was causing, but from the devotion in her voice.

He held perfectly still, waiting...

"There," she said at last. "How does that feel?"

He pouted. "It hurts."

She tucked the scissors and needle back into her kit, and gave 
him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry."

"I didn't cry. You owe me a reward."

She gave him a quick kiss on the nose, then took the bloody 
handkerchief from his hand. "How about we cut up that carcass 
now? I'm pretty handy with a knife."

"That wasn't much of a kiss." Taking a chance, he wrapped his 
arms around her. Still seated, he had to look up to give her 
his best puppy-eyed stare. He knew she was more apt to indulge 
him after he was recently injured. "Kiss me and make me better, 
Doctor Scully."

She smiled, and he felt the tide of tension between them ebb a 
bit. An apology hung on his lips, but he was afraid to speak of 
their recent rift for fear he might reopen the gulf between 
them.

"Close your eyes," she said.

"I can't watch?" His tone turned petulant but he did as he was 
told.

From behind closed lids he felt her place a feather-light kiss 
on the lashes of his left eye, just above the wound on his 
cheek.

He tightened his arms around her and mumbled into her neck, 
"What do you know, it worked."

She kissed the crown of his head. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you. Much."

*   *   *

Klizzie shivered as she looked up through the evergreen boughs 
at the overcast sky. Clouds marched like mastodons overhead 
and a bitter wind was blowing in from the north. The air 
smelled like snow, which wasn't unusual at these altitudes, 
even in mid-summer. She followed the Clan up the southwestern 
slopes of Sleeping Wolf Mountain. Spruce and white pine grew 
tall here. A dense layer of rust-colored needles blanketed the 
ground, muting their footfalls.     

"Are we almost there?" Gini asked, whining like a mosquito. 
She dragged her feet with exaggerated exhaustion.

"We will make camp soon. Tomorrow we will be at Turkey Lake," 
Klizzie said, trying to cheer the girl. Gini had been in a 
somber mood for the past two days, ever since the Clan had 
left Tsa-ond Cave. 

Dzeh had been subdued, too. When Klizzie asked him to share 
his troubles, he refused to discuss them, saying his head was 
full of men's business and she was not to worry, which made 
her worry even more.

"I'm hungry," Gini complained.

"You are welcome to the pine nuts in my pouch." Klizzie nodded 
her chin at the bag tied to the belt of her skirt.

"I do not want pine nuts."

"Well, that is all there is." 

That wasn't true; Klizzie carried an assortment of berries, 
burdock root and dried meat, but they were packed away and she 
didn't feel like stopping to dig them out.

"Uncle Lin has a honeycomb," Gini said, looking hopeful.

"That is for the Mastodon Feast and you know it."

The Clan had brought many gifts for the celebration. Furs, 
spear points, bone beads, but the most prized was the large 
comb of honey, stored in a hollowed gourd and wrapped tightly 
with fresh cattail leaves to keep out insects...and hungry 
children.

"Ask Jeha if she has any more spruce gum," Klizzie suggested.

Looking ahead to where Jeha walked with her mother and aunt, 
Gini frowned. "She is busy."

"She is just talking."

"Yeah, about Moasi. I have heard enough about him." 

"You will have a mate of your own soon enough. Then you will 
talk about nothing but him, too, just as Jeha talks about 
Moasi."

"I will not." Gini's frown deepened. 

Klizzie was about to ask her to explain her angry face, but 
the Clan was stopping. The men and boys were circling around 
something in the path up ahead.

"Are we camping here?" Gini asked, curiosity replacing her 
storm-cloud expression.

It was too early to set camp. Something else was going on. 

"Let's go see," Klizzie said, and she and Gini broke into a 
trot. 

They found everyone had gone as quiet as stone while they 
gaped at something on the ground. Klizzie shouldered her way 
through the circle to see what it was they were looking at.

Mother Earth, it was a baby owl and it mewled pitifully, its 
wings too underdeveloped to fly. 

"It must have fallen from up there," Uncle Lin said, his 
finger aimed skyward.

Klizzie lifted her eyes to a notch high in the hemlock that 
towered over the trail. The mother owl was nowhere to be seen. 
The baby would not last long. A predator would take it as soon 
as the Clan moved on.

This was a bad omen. The owl was the symbol of the Clan. Its 
fall from the nest portended a tragedy.

Klizzie felt Gini take her hand. "Can we put it back?" the 
girl asked.

"Its mother will not accept it." 

"Maybe we can take it with us."

"It would die just as surely, Gini."

"But if we care for it and feed--"

The Shaman glared at Gini, silencing her. Turning his 
attention to the owl, he knelt and spoke loud enough for all 
the Clan to hear. "The Spirits have thrown this bird here for 
us to see, and only they can save it."

Klizzie glanced at Dzeh, who had gone pale. The young owl 
squealed and Klizzie felt the soft tread of Spirits passing 
across her flesh.

*   *   *

"We should start cutting up that carcass, Tarzan," Scully 
said, still locked in his embrace. 

He was looking past her at something on the hill. Saying 
nothing, his arms dropped away and he rose to his feet.

She turned and tried to make out what it was that caught his 
attention. " Another sloth?"

"Uh-uh. A cave." He walked away from her, heading uphill.

She hurried after him, following him between trees and around 
boulders. He moved faster the higher he climbed and she 
scrambled to keep pace. 

Sure enough, a cave came into view. She was amazed he'd been 
able to spot it from below. Camouflaged by shadows, the 
entrance was nearly invisible.

When they reached it, they found the opening was actually 
quite large, approximately six feet across and equally tall. 
It had a wide stone landing, which was flat and offered a 
spectacular view of the valley below.

Mulder paused at the entrance to dig his flashlight from his 
pocket.

"Don't wanna trip on any bears," he said, aiming the beam into 
the dark. 

He stepped inside and she followed. His roving flashlight 
spotlighted bats the size of lab rats hanging by the dozens in 
clumps overhead. Annoyed by the unexpected visitors, they 
squeaked and wriggled, but stayed put.

The cave was too deep for the flash light to penetrate all the 
way to the back. "Anybody home?" he yelled, his voice 
ricocheting off the rock. "What's that smell?"

The tangy aroma of burnt herbs and woodsmoke blended with the 
syrupy odor of the bats. 

"Sage, I think," Scully said. "Somebody must have been in here 
recently." 

"Klizzie's people?" Mulder moved further into the cave. 

"Probably. Her marker is just down the hill."

Mulder's beam revealed a large fire pit in the middle of the 
rock floor. Scully walked over to it and crouched. 

"Still a little warm," she announced, fingers testing the ash.

Mulder swiveled, painting the cave with his light as he 
explored their surroundings.

"What's that?" she asked when his beam reflected off a small 
white object lying on the ground by the far wall. 

She crossed the cave and picked it up. 

"It's female," Mulder stated the obvious, spotlighting her 
palm. "Looks like a fertility idol -- like the Venus of 
Willendorf, found in Austria. Pendulous breasts, pregnant 
belly, no facial features to speak of. Similar figurines have 
been found all over the world."

"They date as far back as 30,000 years."

She turned it over in her hand, impressed by its smoothness. 
It felt strangely warm, almost alive, as if imbued with the 
faith of its careful carver. She stroked its roundness with 
her thumb. For just a moment, she thought she detected a 
heartbeat there.

"Powerful magic." Mulder turned away, taking his light with 
him, his attention already focused elsewhere. 

"Why do you say that?"

"The 20th Century is full of people, isn't it?" 

She gripped the idol and was startled when she felt what she 
could only describe as hope tickle her palm. Damn it, she was 
being foolish, letting this place get to her. The carving was 
nothing more than a lucky charm, like a four-leaf clover or a 
rabbit's foot.

"Wow, look at this, Scully." 

Mulder was examining a painting on the rock wall. He stepped 
back, broadening the circle of his beam, revealing a stone 
canvas covered with pictograms. 

"Jesus, there're hundreds of them," he said, as his light 
crawled across the wall. Mastodons, bison, men with spears, 
horses, rabbits, owls...lots of owls. He stopped when he came 
to a nearly life-size image of a man holding a snake. 

"Ophiuchus."

"Who?" She joined him at the wall for a closer look.

"The Serpent Holder." He ran the light along the length of the 
snake. "You know, in the sky. The constellation."

Of course. He'd pointed it out only a few nights ago when they 
were admiring the Andromeda Nebula. 

Ophiuchus had been a Healer who was struck dead by a 
thunderbolt from Zeus at the request of Hades, God of the Dead, 
because he had brought Orion back to life. Gods' work.

"The myth of Ophiuchus is years in the future, Mulder," she 
reminded him.

He nodded absently. "Yeah. Maybe." He was using his I'm-
agreeing-with-you-without-really-agreeing-with-you tone, which 
meant that he was formulating some new theory he wasn't yet 
ready to share.  

The Serpent Holder loomed over them, staring out of blank eyes. 
It was unnerving. The way Mulder's light played across the rock 
made the snake look as if it were undulating in the Serpent 
Holder's hands. A tiny reddish-brown jackrabbit with frightened 
white eyes huddled next to the snake, looking powerless and 
vulnerable. 

The carved idol seemed to throb in Scully's palm. She felt 
suddenly lightheaded, queasy. Doubling over, she cried out as a 
slash of pain seared her abdomen.

"Scully?" Mulder was instantly by her side, arms thrown around 
her to keep her from falling. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"I don't...I don't know..." Oh God, the pain was awful. "It 
hurts..."

"Where?" Mulder's expression was frantic.

"Here...ooohhhh!" She clutched her stomach, just above her 
navel. 

He aimed his light at her, tugged her shirt up to reveal her 
bare skin.

"I don't see anything. What is it?"

She gasped for breath. "I feel...I think...ooohhhh, Mulderrr." 
Sinking to her knees, she tried to breathe through the pain.

"Talk to me, Scully. What can I...how can I help?"

"I feel like...I think I've been...shot." But there had been no 
gun, no bullet. There was no blood. Just pain, terrible pain, 
burning a straight line through her stomach and out her back. 

She reached for Mulder, grabbed him around the neck. Oh God, oh 
God. The idol slipped from her fingers and fell soundlessly to 
the ground.   

*   *   *

CHAPTER NINE

Scully closes her eyes against the pain that is slicing 
through her abdomen. Searing white light flashes behind her 
closed lids. The cave disappears; Mulder's embrace 
disintegrates.

A vast Pleistocene plateau separates them. He is almost 
indiscernible on the distant horizon, but only for an instant. 
Just as suddenly, he is back with her...in their basement 
office.

Splashes of light and dark mottle the wall. Mulder is showing 
slides, crime scene photos of baby killers, murderers posing 
as Santa Claus and insurance salesmen. Image after image fills 
Scully's field of vision in a seemingly endless progression. 
None of the cases look familiar.

"Focus, please," Scully tells Mulder, her voice strident. This 
close-up view of nothing is getting on her nerves.

"Can't. Seems to be broken." He fiddles with the lens. Jiggles 
the carousel. The picture becomes blurrier, if that's 
possible. He hisses, surrenders by turning off the projector.

She sighs with relief when the fan stops spinning. 

Blinking, she finds they are no longer in the basement; 
they're riding in a rental car. The light from the projector 
has been replaced by twin highbeams piercing the desert night. 
She feels disoriented by the sudden change of scene.

Mulder appears unconcerned as he concentrates on acres of 
emptiness beyond the windshield. He's driving, as usual. "What 
is your point?" he asks, tone curious, with no trace of 
judgment.

Although she has no idea what her point was or is, she hears 
herself ask, "Don't you ever just want to stop?" Her tone is 
petulant, almost whiny. "Get out of the damn car? Settle down 
and live something approaching a normal life?" She realizes 
she's wanted to ask him this for a long time, ever since 
Emily.

She also wants to roll down her window and let the night air 
blast her hair away from her face, but she doesn't. 

Where are they and why are they here? The car's AC has brought 
the aroma of sage and sand into the vehicle, and she is 
reminded of the desert that surrounds Hills Air Force Base in 
Box Elder County, Utah. 

Another wild goose chase that led nowhere.    

Still looking out a window, she is no longer in the car, but 
in Mulder's apartment. It's night outside and snow is falling 
in ghostly clumps. She wonders how life can turn on a dime 
when you're standing still. 

"You didn't want to be there?" Mulder asks. She doesn't know 
to what he's referring. His brow furrows as he considers his 
own question, and he appears disappointed, conciliatory. "Oh, 
that's, um...that's self-righteous and narcissistic of me to 
say, isn't it?"

Is it? She doesn't understand what he means; she can't make 
sense of any of this, but hears herself reply, "No, I 
mean...maybe I did want to be out there with you."

Confused, she gapes at him for a moment without speaking. She 
has no idea where they've been, or why she would or wouldn't 
want to be there, or even how they got into Mulder's 
apartment. 

But she is glad to be with him, not because he is giving her a 
brightly wrapped Christmas gift but because he's smiling 
shyly, like he has a secret to share but doesn't quite know 
where to start. He's speaking in his most gentle voice, the 
one he reserves for the rare occasions when he's being 
extraordinarily tender with her, like the time she woke up in 
a hospital after being abducted by Duane Barry.

She has a gift for Mulder, too, and his eyes light up as he 
takes it from her. His eyelashes look so soft; she wants to 
reach out, feel their tickle against the pad of her index 
finger.

But that's impossible because he is no longer in the room, 
which is a doctor's examination room now, not Mulder's 
apartment. The doctor stands a few feet away beside a sink and 
removes his latex gloves. Scully sits with her back to a wall, 
wearing a paper gown, feeling exposed, skin crawling with 
irritation.

"It'll take at least two more sessions to get all the pigment 
out," the doctor says. A sympathetic smile warms his face.

"Getting rid of it hurts more than getting it in the first 
place," she says, knowing from the sting on her back she must 
be referring to her tattoo.

"A lot of patients tell me that. You can get dressed now." He 
tosses his gloves into the medical waste bin before leaving 
the room.

Why is she having her tattoo removed? 

She's beginning to suspect this is a dream, but doesn't 
remember falling asleep. Wasn't she in a cave? With Mulder? 
Perhaps this is a hallucination.

Rising from the exam table, she casts off her paper gown and 
dresses in business clothes, planning to return to the office 
for another hour or two. Mulder wanted to go over a case 
about...about...

She can't remember. It seems the mutants are all beginning to 
look alike, running one into another, countless genetic freaks 
strung like mismatched beads on a necklace of abnormal DNA.

Emily was such a mutation, she remembers. A miracle that was 
never meant to be. 

Mulder is once again with her in his apartment and he's crying 
over the loss of someone close to him. Her heart goes out to 
him; she understands bereavement, has felt its miserable ache.

Somehow she knows his mother has died of Paget's Carcinoma. 
She can picture Teena Mulder, split open on an autopsy table, 
her insides exposed. Heart, lungs...the womb that once cradled 
Mulder and his sister. 

She tries to embrace Mulder, but her arms close around 
nothing. It's night. She is standing on the doorstep of a 
house she's never seen before; a man she doesn't recognize 
stands to her left. Mulder waits back at the car. Scully is 
facing a screen door and an elderly woman is on the other side 
looking out at her, curious.

Scully asks her, "Are you the same Arbutus Ray who worked as a 
nurse at the Dominic Savio Memorial Hospital in 1979?" 

"Yes, I am she."

Gooseflesh dots Scully's arms. Mulder's sister is dead. She 
died at age fourteen. 

God, can that be true? Can any of this be true?

Mulder stands beside her, looking up at the stars.

"You know, I never stop to think that the light is billions of 
years old by the time we see it. From the beginning of time 
right past us into the future," he says. "Nothing is ancient 
in the universe."

She follows his line of vision only to find she's now in an 
unfamiliar apartment where there are cameras on every shelf. 
The room smells of chemicals, like a darkroom. A stranger is 
loading film.

He tells her "You're very lucky, you know that?"

He barely finishes speaking when a bullet pierces her abdomen. 
The pain is a shock, buckling her knees, sliding her to the 
floor.

Mulder! Help me, please! 

What the hell is going on? This is all too much. She feels 
queasy from the shifts in place and time. She looks down at 
her hurting stomach and sees blood staining her blouse. 

Pain rips through her abdomen. Oh, God, oh, God!

The apartment vanishes. The blood disappears. Scully is once 
again in the cave with Mulder. Everything is back at the 
beginning. And everything hurts. 

"Mulder..." she groans. "Help me."

*   *   *

"Scully...?" Not knowing what else to do, Mulder sat on the 
ground and embraced her, petted her hair, repeated her name. 
She clung to him, her nails drawing blood as they dug at the 
nape of his neck. She moaned and he thought he had never heard 
such a godawful sound. It stripped him of reason, set him on 
the edge of panic. "Fuck!" he finally shouted, at wit's end.

She didn't respond. A bad sign in itself.

So he rocked her, waiting, helpless, biting his lip against 
another outburst. She didn't need his fear. She was battling 
her own demons, trying to ride out her pain, probably trying 
to diagnose it even as it overwhelmed her.

What the hell was happening to her? Food poisoning? Could last 
night's miserable meal have made her sick? It seemed unlikely 
-- he'd eaten twice as many of those awful snail-things as she 
had and he felt fine. Maybe she'd contracted a disease...or 
was bitten by a poisonous insect. It couldn't be her cancer, 
could it? 

When her nails finally relaxed their grip in his neck and her 
trembling eased, he continued to soothe her by rubbing her 
back and whispering, "Shhh, it's okay, it's okay," trying to 
persuade himself as much as her. 

She'd been talking through gritted teeth for the last ten or 
fifteen minutes -- an eternity under the circumstances. Her 
conversation was disjointed. One-sided. She didn't respond to 
any of his questions, but seemed to be speaking with someone 
else. She mentioned several familiar names -- his mother, 
Emily, Duane Barry. And a name he didn't recognize: Arbutus 
Ray. Who the hell was that?

"Scully?" He tried to look at her face, but she buried her 
nose deeply into the crease of his neck. "Are you still in 
pain?"

She tightened her grip and shook her head.

"What happened?" he persisted. "Come on, Scully. Say 
something."

Air shuddered audibly from her lungs as she slid out of his 
arms and rose to her feet. She stood with shoulders hunched 
and head hanging so that her hair veiled her eyes.

He stood, too, and she stepped away from him, putting several 
feet between them. Her eyes roamed the cave; she looked 
everywhere but at him.

"Scully, talk to me."

"I... It felt like I'd been shot." Her hand moved to shield 
her stomach. "I saw things."

"What things?"

"Images. Just flashes really."

"Can you remember any of them?"

Again she avoided looking at him. "Nothing made any sense," 
she insisted. "It was just a bunch of jumbled, unconnected 
pictures." 

"Caused by what?"

She shrugged, turned away, shielding her eyes and her 
expression. "A perceptual disturbance of some kind, like 
hypnagogic or hypnopompic imagery. It's not uncommon for 
people to see strange images, or find themselves temporarily 
unable to move or speak, while in a state between sleep and 
wakefulness."

"Scully, this happened while you were wide awake." He took a 
step forward and tagged her hand. "You were talking the entire 
time."

"Was I?" Worry creased her brow.

"You mentioned Duane Barry. Do you remember that?"

Her eyes searched the ground and finally came to rest on the 
tiny carved idol. He followed her gaze and focused on it, too. 
His paranormal radar was picking up a signal, loud and clear. 
The idol was connected in some way to her sudden collapse, to 
the images she was refusing to discuss. He could feel it as 
surely as a tap on his shoulder.

"Scully, who is Arbutus Ray?"

"I don't know. The name isn't familiar." She straightened and 
finally looked him in the eyes. "We should cut up that sloth."

Shouldering past him and out of the cave, she gave him little 
choice but to follow.

*   *   *

Klizzie stood on the uppermost ridge of Crouching Cat 
Mountain, overlooking a broad valley that cradled Turkey Lake. 
Gray as stone beneath the low overcast, the big lake stretched 
all the way to the Traveling Camels, a range of hills named 
for their rounded, evenly spaced peaks. Dense forest bordered 
the lake to the northeast, grassland to the southwest. On the 
nearest shore were the domed shelters of Badger Clan. 

Klizzie's heart felt lighter than dandelion seeds on a summer 
breeze. She squeezed the pouch that hung between her breasts 
and offered a quick prayer of thanks to the Spirits for 
delivering Owl Clan safely to their destination.

The hike down to Tabaha Lodge would be easy, the slope gradual 
across open meadow.  The sky appeared unwilling to release its 
rain just yet. And although the wind was cool, it wasn't 
biting.

Already a group of children were running ahead, laughing, 
wanting to be first to reach the lakeside village. The men 
followed behind them, gathered in knots according to kinships, 
discussing upcoming events. Dzeh walked with his Uncle Lin and 
the Shaman, his head bent as he listened to the older men. 
Klizzie guessed they were reviewing the many upcoming 
ceremonies and scheduling the rituals.

The women brought up the rear, traveling in clusters of three 
or four. They chatted while they lugged infants and supplies. 
Occasionally one would shout to the older children whenever 
they ran too far ahead. Everyone appeared happy and relaxed 
despite their long trip.   

Klizzie smiled, too. Tonight she would be sitting at the 
hearth of her first family. She would embrace her aunts and 
her cousins. The clans would trade gifts, food and stories. 
She would learn who had died and who had been born since her 
last visit. 

Additional shelters would be constructed tomorrow. She and 
Dzeh would once again sleep beneath a roof shared by his 
closest kin. She would miss the stars, but not the chill and 
the damp and the mosquitoes.

In a few days, Turtle Clan would arrive from the south and 
Otter Clan from the east, and then the Mastodon Feast would 
officially begin.

Klizzie gathered several fist-sized stones and stacked them 
one on top of the other. This would be her last marker. If 
Day-nuh and Muhl-dar traveled this far, they could not miss 
the summer camp below.

Stones set in place, Klizzie hurried to catch up with her 
family.

*   *   *

Jogging with an awkward sidestep down the steep mountain path, 
arms held wide for balance, Mulder kept his eyes glued to 
Scully's retreating back. Her hair bounced with a determined 
rhythm as she hurried down the slope. He sped up to catch her.

More than a decade as a professional profiler and he still 
found it impossible to figure out what was on her mind. She 
had him feeling clueless. Which just made him want to try 
harder to ferret out her secrets. If history repeated itself 
she would remain inscrutable, an enigma despite his best 
efforts.

Scully was Mulder's blind spot. There was no seeing into her 
unless she let him. 

She was nearing the stream where they'd left the sloth when 
she suddenly stopped and held up a cautionary hand. He slowed, 
drew his gun, and stepped carefully, quietly to her side.

At first he couldn't see them hidden behind the sloth's bulky 
carcass. But he could hear them growling, tearing at flesh. 

Then a pair of silvery heads appeared over the top of the 
sloth's rounded belly. Pointed ears, blue-white eyes, fangs, 
muzzles dripping with fresh blood. 

Wolves. 

Eating *his* sloth. Fuck. 

He brushed past Scully and strode downhill, arms waving. "Get 
the hell outta here! Goddammit!"

A third wolf peered over the carcass. Then a fourth and fifth.

Shit. 

Mulder slowed his steps.  

The first wolf barred its teeth and growled. Mulder's stomach 
growled back. He was hungry. He hadn't eaten since last night 
and that was only a handful of berries and a bunch of bitter 
slug-things. No way was he going to let a bunch of mangy 
wolves steal his hard-earned supper.

"Sorry, boys, no cutting the line. We were here first." He 
aimed his gun into the trees and fired. The blast startled and 
scattered the wolves. It also unsettled a bunch of buzzards 
that had been skulking in the branches overhead, waiting their 
turn for leftovers. The wolves disappeared into the woods.

"That was a waste of a bullet." Scully frowned and marched 
past Mulder toward the sloth. She examined the dead animal 
from several angles, fists on her hips.

"They didn't look like the sharing types, Scully."

"We agreed to use the gun only in life-and-death situations."

"I don't know about you, but I happen to be starving to 
death."

"We could have tried chasing them off first."

He opened his mouth to argue, but then gave up the idea. He 
was tired of fighting with her, of being at odds this way. 

He dug his knife from his pocket and held it out to her. "Why 
don't you cut up the meat while I build a fire. We can camp in 
the cave tonight."

She took the knife.

"Take this, too." He offered his gun.

"Mulder, I didn't mean..." She shook her head. "I trust your 
judgment. Really, I do."

"I'm glad. But the wolves might come back and I'll be up in 
the cave." He resisted saying, "Of course, you could try 
chasing them off." Instead, he placed the gun in her palm. 
"Take it."

Before she could object, he grabbed the pack with the flint in 
it and headed back up the hill.  

*   *   * 

Gini searched for colorful snail shells at the water's edge. 
Wading ankle deep into the lake, she closed her ears to the 
laughter and talk coming from the camp behind her. So many 
people! And all of them saying, "How big you have grown!" and 
"This cannot be little Gini, can it?" Her poor scalp ached 
from all the yanking on her braids. 

"They are just being friendly," Klizzie had said before 
falling into the arms of another cousin.

Maybe so, but their tugs hurt just the same.

Of course, Jeha and her aunts went immediately to visit the 
hearth of Moasi's uncle. They were eager to catch a glimpse of 
Jeha's mate-to-be before the upcoming ceremony. Jeha and Moasi 
would be officially introduced at tonight's First Night Feast. 
A few days from now, four clans would celebrate their Joining 
Ceremony.

And sometime during the next several moons, Dzeh would make 
arrangements for Gini's future mating. She gripped her aching 
stomach; it hurt almost as much as her scalp.

"Who are you?" asked a voice behind her.

She peered over her shoulder. A boy stood several paces away, 
fists on his hips. He appeared to be about eleven or twelve 
Mastodon Feasts old and he wore his hair in the style of 
Badger Clan -- cut short along the part and then greased with 
bear fat to make it stand up like porcupine quills. He wore a 
fringed loincloth with a knife tucked into his belt. A pair of 
bear claws hung from his pierced ears and he sported a new 
tattoo on his right shoulder -- a prickly Badger Clan design. 
His freshly scabbed skin looked red and sore.

"My name is Gini. Who are you?"

"Chal," he said, swaggering closer. "Why are you not with the 
others?"

She crouched to pick up a snail and pretended to examine it. 
"My head hurts."

A bored expression settled over the boy's features. He had 
almond-shaped eyes the color of hazelnuts and his skin was a 
shade darker than Gini's. He was long-legged and big-nosed, 
reminding her of a stork. "Are all Owl Clan girls as ugly as 
you are?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Are all Badger Clan boys so rude?"

His eyes rounded and he laughed out loud. "You are calling 
*me* rude?"

It was a mean thing for her to say and she was usually not so 
impolite. "Sorry," she mumbled, hunching over her knees. She 
wished he would go away and leave her alone.

Instead he walked closer and squatted beside her. He looked at 
her face and proclaimed, "You are Dzeh's sister."

"How did you know that?"

"You look as he does. Your mouth and eyes."

She didn't like him staring so hard at her.

He went on, "Klizzie is my cousin. My mother is her aunt."

"Almost everyone here is Klizzie's cousin or aunt."

"My mother is Ho-Ya. You will be eating at our hearth 
tonight."

Oh great, she would not be rid of him soon.

"You frown too much," he said, rising to his feet. "I think 
you might be prettier if you smiled."

Tears sprang to her eyes. He apparently didn't see them or was 
ignoring them because he ambled slowly away, heading for a 
group of boys who played wrestling games in the field beyond 
the camp. She waited until he was all the way to the field 
before letting her tears fall.

*   *   *

"Mulder, come to bed," Scully urged. She lay on the furs, 
stripped down to her camisole and panties. She and Mulder were 
back in the cave. Sunset had been hours ago and she was eager 
to go to sleep and forget her earlier nightmare... 
hallucination...vision -- whatever the hell it'd been. She 
felt sated from their supper of roasted sloth meat, but sleep 
was proving impossible with Mulder wide awake and jabbing at 
the fire only a few feet away. 

He was frustrated, she knew, by her reluctance to talk about 
what had happened earlier. But what was there to say? The 
images she'd seen were confusing and probably meaningless, and 
she had no explanation for them. 

Crouched by the fire, Mulder prodded the coals with a stick, 
sending sparks into the air. He was shirtless and the blaze 
painted his chest gold while casting his back in shadow; dark 
and light stumbled over the muscles of his arms, wrestled 
across his face.

"I'm not tired," he mumbled.

"Just come and lay with me then."

His back stiffened. He gave the embers a final poke before 
tossing his stick into the flames. Rising to his feet, he 
glanced at her, uncertainty shading his eyes. The stitches on 
his cheek bristled like barbed wire above the dark line of his 
whiskers.

He crossed to the furs and sat down. A sigh -- weighted with 
fatigue, worry, and frustration -- chuffed from his lungs as 
he slowly untied his boots. He tugged them from his feet, 
exposing inflamed skin and broken blisters.

"Mulder...your feet..." Scully sat up for a closer look. 
Grasping his ankle, she held him immobile while she examined 
the lesions by firelight. "You should wash these."

"Tomorrow." 
 
"They're becoming infected."

"They've been like this for days. A few more hours won't 
matter."

Days? Why hadn't she noticed? Guilt flushed her face. She'd 
been too immersed in her own worries to see that he'd been 
suffering.  

He set his boots aside and lay down on his back on top of the 
furs, keeping his pants on and taking care not to touch her. 
Just an inch or two separated them, but the space felt 
impossibly wide to Scully. 

Pillowing his head in his hands, he stared at the painted rock 
wall, eyes focused on the Serpent Holder. 

"It looks alien, don't you think?" he asked.

She had to admit it did. Two horns curled antennae-like out of 
the top of its head. Round, hollow objects that resembled 
spaceships floated near its shoulders. It had enormous, blank 
eyes, and no mouth or nose.

"Yes, it does."

Her answer evidently surprised him because he twisted to look 
at her. The distance between them seemed to shrink a little.

He was right there, close enough to embrace if she let 
herself. She breathed him in -- musky, male, edgy. His scent 
aroused in her an almost crushing desire to take him into her 
body, give herself over to him while he filled her, spilled 
into her, bathed her with caresses and sighs. He hadn't 
touched her in days, other than to comfort her earlier when 
she'd been gripped by pain, and now she longed to turn the 
clock back... before today, before Mulder's nightmare a week 
ago, before their silent arguments. She wanted to go back to 
the night they'd slept together in the tribe's skin hut, 
surrounded by the aroma of mint and the scent of their 
passion, when he had brought her to orgasm and then rode out 
his own. That night she had been free of all doubts. That 
night, for the first time in her life, the act of joining with 
another person had felt unequivocally right.  

Mulder propped himself on one elbow and searched her face. 
"Scully, what was it like...your first time?"

There were moments, like this one, when he seemed able to see 
straight into her. 

Or perhaps she'd tipped her hand, revealing her lust through 
body language, dilated pupils, a rush of pheromones. 

"My first time? You mean--?"

"Sex. What was it like?" He leaned closer.

She recognized his invasive posture for what it was -- a 
technique he'd perfected over their years together. He was 
corralling her without making any actual physical contact. 
Early on, his crowding had irritated her, made her feel 
awkward and nervous; she'd interpreted it as aggressive, 
purposefully intimidating. Then when she figured out he wasn't 
bullying her but was in fact trying to connect with her, get 
her to focus, dig deeper for her answers, she no longer 
objected to his looming. She grew to expect it...and even to 
appreciate it.

"What was it like?" she repeated, thinking back. "Predictably 
dismal, I guess." Age eighteen. First year at college. Jimmy 
Pendleton, upper classmen. A molecular biology major with 
grades so high he was already being recruited by Merck Frosst, 
Nanogen *and* the U.S. Department of Energy. "Well, not 
dismal, really, but not great either. A little painful." And 
scary, disappointing, exciting, mysterious, over too soon but 
not soon enough. "You?"

He took a moment before answering, thoughtfully gnawing at the 
inside of his lower lip. Then a grin nudged his cheek and his 
eyes sparkled with the golden light of the fire. "It 
was...intense. Beautiful." His tone made her curious, and a 
little jealous. "Don't laugh, Scully, but I felt like crying 
when it was over. I desperately wanted to be back inside her. 
I guess I was afraid the opportunity wasn't going to present 
itself again."

"Did it present itself again? With her, I mean?" she blurted, 
not certain she wanted to know the details of his earliest 
sexual encounters.

He smiled, looking both shy and smug. "Yeah. It did. But..." 
His smile faded. "As sublime as it was, the act of separating 
always educed a feeling of unspeakable loss. It terrified me 
to think I might never experience that closeness again."

His unexpected candor left her with additional questions. Was 
sex that way for him still -- a few blissful moments of human 
contact in an otherwise solitary existence? How alone did he 
feel? 

He stared directly into her eyes, evidently trying to tell her 
something she wasn't hearing, not about his past, but about 
the present, about her.

"Scully, what's your greatest regret?"

Jesus, he was in a peculiar mood. He never talked this way. 
Neither of them did.

He moved his hand toward her, bumping the tips of her fingers 
with his. A light touch, seemingly accidental, but she'd 
learned a long time ago that nothing was unintentional with 
Mulder.

"Losing Emily," she said without needing to think.

He frowned and shook his head. "Doesn't count. You didn't 
cause Emily's death."

That was debatable. Scully knew she wouldn't have treated her 
daughter even if she'd known how, and that made Emily's death 
a calculated choice in her book. "I could have done more for 
her."

"No. Pick something else -- something for which you were 
wholly responsible. What would you most like to go back and 
undo if you could?" 

Where was he going with these questions? 

"I regret a lot of things," she said, hedging. "The loss of my 
gun, for instance."

His hand slid away from hers, breaking their hard-won contact. 
He said nothing.

"Mulder, I don't know what you want to hear."

"The truth, Scully. Only the truth."

"I don't have any life-altering regrets. I really don't."

"None?" He sounded incredulous. "You've never made a decision 
you wanted to reverse?"

"No, not really." Her eyes searched the cave as if her wily 
regrets were hidden somewhere in its crevices. 

She focused on the Serpent Holder, which glared back at her 
through its empty eyes. The way it gripped its twisted snake 
appeared threatening. Scully suddenly missed her apartment 
with its tidy rooms, everything in its place. She wanted to be 
there, not here, preparing for bed, soaking in her tub, 
sipping wine while reading the latest edition of the NEJM. The 
steam from her bath would smell like jasmine and the radio 
would be playing Bach.

The fire snapped, sending a flare of sparks toward the cave's 
roof. Scully felt out of control here, vulnerable, and she 
hated the way her blood was pulsing too loudly in her ears. 

"What about you, Mulder? What do you most regret?"

Sadness welled in his eyes. "Lots of things, but the one that 
tops my list happened years ago..."

"What was it?"

"I broke Samantha's trust."

Samantha's trust? This wasn't at all what Scully was expecting 
him to say. An image of Arbutus Ray returned to her, along 
with an inexplicable certainty that Mulder's sister had died 
at age fourteen.

She tried to blink it away. "What happened?"

Mulder rolled onto his back and spoke to the shadows in the 
cave's roof, his voice tight and subdued, as muted as wind in 
a bottle. "We were playing Hide and Seek. Her idea. I hadn't 
really wanted to -- I felt much too mature to be playing games 
with my kid sister. But she pleaded and I relented. I hid 
first, in an obvious spot -- I wanted to hurry the game along. 
She quickly found me, just as I knew she would, and then it 
was her turn to hide. As soon as she was out of sight, I took 
off to spend the afternoon at a friend's house. I figured Sam 
would wait a few minutes, get bored and give up the game. I 
should have known better." He paused, grief glittering in his 
eyes. His lower lip trembled when he began to speak again. 
"When I came home for supper that night, Mom was livid. She 
told me she'd found Sam hiding in the garage behind the 
lawnmower, where she'd been waiting for more than three hours 
for me to find her. Three hours! When Sam learned I wasn't 
even looking for her--" Again he stopped, tried to control the 
emotion in his voice. The fire crackled and hissed. "Sam cried 
herself to sleep...inconsolable. She gave me the silent 
treatment for days -- which I deserved. I tried everything to 
make it up to her. Let her use my telescope. Told her to punch 
me in the nose. Finally I won her over with a trip to the 
movies. But things weren't the same and I felt like such a 
stupid--"

"Mulder, you were just a kid. It was a childish lapse of 
judgment. That's all. You can't blame yourself for that."

"She was abducted three weeks later." 

Oh God. No wonder he refused to give up on her now. 

//"Are you the same Arbutus Ray who worked as a nurse at the 
Dominic Savio Memorial Hospital in 1979?"//

Sam was dead. Scully felt it as surely as she felt her own 
heartbeat.  

Mulder continued speaking. "After she went missing, I kept 
thinking...I *keep* thinking still, she's out there somewhere, 
believing I've given up on her.

"Mulder..." Scully reached for him and wrapped her arms around 
him. He slid into her embrace, silken-skinned and over-heated, 
his whiskers scouring her shoulder as his fingers pressed hard 
into her back.

His weight softened her, unknotted her muscles, and tempered 
her worries while thawing her resolve. She felt foolish for 
the times she kept him at arm's length. None of her carefully 
considered reasons made sense right now. 

It was impossible to keep her perspective when he caused such 
desire to blossom in her. 

She snaked an arm between them, intending to end this 
conversation, put aside her doubts, and ignore their 
individual and collective heartaches, if only for the time 
being. But when she tried to unfasten his fly, he stopped her 
by loosely securing her wrist in the circle of his fingers. 

He drew back to look into her eyes and she lost herself in his 
glistening pupils, bottomless wells of patience grown large 
with passion.

"Tell me what you want, Scully," he murmured.

"I'd rather show you." Again she tried for his zipper. 

And again he stopped her, grasping her more firmly this time. 

"Tell me...what you want."

She wanted to make love, not conversation. "Mulder...not now." 
Her voice escalated to a weak, desperate whimper.

"*Tell*...me," he insisted. Clearly he wasn't going to let her 
off the hook.

 "I want a kiss."

He nodded but didn't move, so she leaned in and gently kissed 
him on the mouth. His lips felt warm and pliant beneath hers, 
but he didn't deepen the kiss and he didn't allow her access 
to his mouth when she tried to slide her tongue between his 
teeth.

Stymied, she retreated.

"What else?" he asked.

She took his hand and placed it on her breast.

He removed it. "Tell me." 

"Damn it, Mulder, what is this about?"

"I want you to talk to me."

"Talking dirty turns you on?"

"I didn't say that."

What then? Did they really have to play this game? "I want you 
to put your hand on my breast."

He returned his hand to her breast, gently cupped her, but 
didn't stroke or squeeze her. Even so, the warm weight of his 
fingers caused her nipple to harden. 

There was no way for him to miss the transformation, yet his 
hand remained motionless.

"Mulder, why are you acting this way?"

"If you don't talk to me, Scully, I can't know what you want."

Ah, so that was it. As usual, Mulder was taking the long way 
to his point. This holding back, his questions about her first 
time and greatest regrets -- these were strategies intended to 
open her up. Like his looming. Well, she didn't feel like 
having a heart-to-heart. She found introspection and 
revelation difficult in the best of times and this was 
definitely not the best of times. Right now she needed him to 
love her without explanations, without reason. 

"Scully, you hold all the cards here."

"Do I?" He was lying to himself if he believed that. The 
recent wedge of unease between them had begun with his 
nightmare, not hers. "Are you sure there isn't something you 
need to say to me?"

His mouth opened and then closed. He gave a single nod, 
conceding her point without argument, and then met her 
halfway, his lips pressing into hers as fervently as hers 
pressed his. This time, he allowed her to explore his mouth 
with her tongue. This time he didn't stop her when she reached 
between them to unfasten his pants. He leaned into her, onto 
her, pushed her camisole up, bared her right breast and 
clutched it in his left fist. 

We are both in denial, she thought. We are co-conspirators 
dodging the truths in our hearts. There is no blame for it, 
beyond our cowardice and false hopes. You want to believe, 
Mulder, and so do I -- in a future that allows for your 
devotion and my love, a future in which neither of us must 
forfeit our happiness.

She unzipped his pants, burrowed into his boxers and grabbed 
hold of him, semi-erect and growing more rigid as his ardor 
overtook him. She liked the firmness of him in her palm, his 
heat, his smoothness; she curled her fingers around him, 
squeezed him, tugged him closer to the V of her legs.  
He needed no coaxing, and scrambled on top of her, sliding his 
pants down past his hips as he settled between her spread 
thighs.

Only when he tried to enter her did he discover she was still 
wearing her panties.

"Shit," he said, rising to his knees. 

With his help, she wriggled out of her underwear. He tossed 
the silky, black garment aside and repositioned himself 
between her legs. 

His erection, fully engorged now, pressed hard against her 
pubic bone. He kissed her neck, her lips, her brow. His hands 
traveled up her sides, over her shoulders. He plowed his 
fingers into her hair; plunged his tongue into her mouth. Oh, 
God, she loved the weight of him on her. And although she was 
only able to take in half-breaths, it was him, not air, that 
she craved. She wanted to inhale him, swallow him, draw him 
into her. She wanted to feel his pulse vibrate in her veins, 
invade her bones, renew her soul. She wanted him whole -- to 
make her whole.  

"Mulder, I want--"

Her words stalled when he lifted his hips and pushed into her. 
She spread her knees wide to accommodate him. 

When he filled her, she cried out.

"Shhh, it's okay," he breathed into her ear.

She shut her eyes against the sudden tide of emotion and tears 
his soft words inspired. She felt an extraordinary mix of want 
and satisfaction. Remarkable, perplexing.

He rocked against her, fitting his body more tightly into 
hers. The pressure both alleviated and increased her restless 
yearning. Her juices slicked her inner thighs with each of his 
thrusts, allowing him to glide smoothly, lovingly in and out 
of her.

Hugging him to her, she felt his heartbeat. Rapid. Earnest. It 
rattled her ribs. Set her own heart pounding.    

She began to meet his thrusts with raised hips. Her timing 
encouraged him to pick up his pace and she liked the new 
rhythm. Relentless, forceful. He was breathing more rapidly 
now. Sweat slicked his neck and chest, dripped from his chin 
onto her cheek. Each pounding down-stroke drove the air from 
her lungs. 

She dug her nails into his back as she felt her orgasm 
approach. Heat radiated out from her center. Pressure 
blossomed in her abdomen, making her feel swollen, explosive. 
Tingly. Warm. Chest, arms, nipples, fingers, thighs...gone 
numb. Face flushed. She would come in four strokes, three, 
two--

When it hit, the world seemed to vanish. She heard nothing but 
a crash of blood in her ears. She felt nothing but the hammer 
of her heart. No breath, no voice, no strength, no memory or 
thought. Only now, only him. Mulder. Filling her, pushing her 
over an edge. Out of herself. Into bliss.

She floated in that place of euphoria, beyond sensation, 
swaddled in cottony nothingness. Safe. Sated.

And then she gasped, drawing air and reality back into her 
lungs. She felt Mulder's solid weight on her, heard his 
labored breathing. Sensation returned to her fingers and toes. 
She gripped his back and whispered, "Now, Mulder. Come inside 
me."

That was all it took. He pressed as far into her as he could 
go and roared with his pleasure. She embraced him as he 
emptied into her. The intimacy awed her, brought tears to her 
eyes.

This was their most perfect moment. 

Waiting for his muscles to relax, she lay unhurried and 
unmoving beneath him, allowing him time to catch his breath, 
return to reality, just as she had done moments ago. Although 
the press of him inside her was already diminishing, he 
remained where he was, spent but evidently unwilling to 
withdraw just yet.

She drew lazy circles on his back with her fingertips. His 
heart slowed. He sighed. 

Then he heaved himself off her, slowly, as if reluctant to 
leave her. Before he could turn away, she glimpsed the look of 
fear and loss in his eyes.

"The opportunity will present itself again," she promised.

"Will it, Scully? Are we going to be alright?"

Was there any way to know the future? "I'm not ready to give 
up. Are you?"

He shook his head, took her into his arms and hugged her 
fiercely. "You know me better than that."

*   *   *

Klizzie woke to find Gini crawling into her bed. Dzeh had not 
yet returned from the Prayer Lodge where he and the other men 
were planning the Mastodon ceremonies, smoking their pipes and 
drinking wo-chi. It was possible they would spend the entire 
night there. 

Tonight Klizzie and Gini were staying at the hearth of her 
Aunt Ho-Ya. Soft snores came from the skins of her cousin's 
sleeping sons, worn out from their afternoon games. A fire 
burned low in the center of the hut and eight beds surrounded 
it, filled with the sons, some uncles and aunts, a cousin or 
two. Ho-Ya slept by herself, an arm's length from Klizzie. Her 
mate was at the Prayer Lodge, too. 

Klizzie made room for Gini, who snuggled beneath the furs.

"What are you doing in my bed, Little Chick?"

"I cannot sleep."

"What keeps you awake?" Klizzie pulled the furs over the 
girl's shoulders and tucked her in.

"My stomach hurts."

"Still? Did you not drink the tea the Shaman gave you?"

"Yes. But there are bees buzzing in me." Gini buried her face 
against Klizzie's shoulder.

Klizzie stroked her hair. "What is causing these bees to 
buzz?" 

Gini shrugged.

Evidently, she needed some coaxing. Kissing the top of the 
girl's head, Klizzie whispered into her hair, "Usually bees 
buzz in my stomach when I am afraid."

"What makes you afraid?"

"Oh, the usual things. Saber-toothed cats. Winters without 
food. Being left alone while Dzeh travels to faraway clans for 
supplies." This had happened last winter when Owl Clan had run 
dangerously low on meat. Dzeh and two cousins set out for Bear 
Clan. They were gone many days and returned frostbitten and 
tired, but with enough dried meat, mastodon fat and pine nuts 
to last until the spring migrations. "What is frightening 
you?"

Gini clutched Klizzie around the waist and hugged her tightly. 
"Do I...must I be mated?"

Ahh, so that was it. Gini was not so grownup after all.

"No, but I told you how pleasant it is. And you know how hard 
life can be for a woman without a mate."

"I know."

"But...?"

"I am scared."

Klizzie pulled back to look Gini in the eyes. The light from 
the fire showed the girl's face was swollen from crying and 
dried tears had left tracks on her cheeks. "Tell me what 
scares you." 

Gini frowned. Her eyes became more serious. "Jeha told me 
babies come from men. That they crawl through his be-zonz when 
he mates. Is that true?"

Klizzie could not stop her smile. "Yes, that is true."

"Then why do you pray to the Spirits for a baby?"

"Because the Spirits control all things. Even the crawling of 
small babies from men into women."

"These babies must be very, very small, right?" Worry peaked 
Gini's soft brows, which curved so exactly like Dzeh's. 

Klizzie loved this young sister of her mate. She hugged the 
girl and said, "Yes, they are very, very small."

"And they do not hurt when they are put in you?"

"No, they do not hurt."

"Then why...?" Gini blushed as pink as a stalk of fireweed.

"Why what?"

The girl lowered her voice to a whisper. "Why do women 
sometimes cry out when they lay with their mates?"

Klizzie smiled again and pinched Gini's blushing cheek. "It is 
not a cry of pain. It is a cry of passion."

Now Gini blushed even more. Her cheeks looked like two plump 
strawberries.

"Do you have more questions?" Klizzie asked.

Gini shook her head, then nodded.

"Is that a no or a yes?"

"A yes." Gini burrowed into Klizzie's embrace, hiding her face 
beneath the furs. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by the 
skins. "Does a man's be-zonz grow as big as a stallion's when 
he mates?"

This made Klizzie laugh out loud. "No, my Chick, not that big. 
It is no wonder you have had bees buzzing in your stomach if 
you are thinking such a thing. Rest assured, a man grows only 
big enough to fill a woman and no more. You have no reason to 
fear this."

"Klizzie, can we go home? I do not like it here."

"I thought you were looking forward to the Mastodon Feast and 
the games and music and dancing."

"I am. But...can I sleep in your bed with you tonight?"

"You are welcome to stay in my bed, at least until Dzeh 
returns. Then you will have to be a big girl and return to 
your own bed. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Gini kissed Klizzie on the cheek. "I love you, 
Klizzie."

"I love you, too, Little Chick. Now go to sleep. We have much 
to do tomorrow."

*   *   *

Mulder sat at the mouth of the cave, elbows propped on his 
knees, eyes aimed at the stars. It was a little after midnight 
and the sky was velvety black and cloudless. The Milky Way 
flowed overhead like a river of cut diamonds. The tilted moon 
inched closer to the western horizon and from somewhere in the 
valley below, a wolf howled. The sound raised goosebumps on 
his bare arms. Rubbing them away with his palms, he scanned 
the heavens for communication satellites and, finding none, 
wondered how he and Scully were ever going to get back home. 
When a comet suddenly plummeted earthward, he followed its 
fiery trail until it fizzled and vanished. Would wishing on a 
falling star help?  

God, he felt restless. Instead of alleviating his insomnia, 
making love with Scully had had the exact opposite effect, 
leaving him wide awake and apprehensive. They shouldn't have 
done it, not without checking for her chip first. But in the 
heat of the moment he hadn't thought. Foolish. If he got her 
pregnant-- 

"Mulder?" Scully's voice came from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder to look up at her. She hugged one 
of the sleeping skins around her naked shoulders. Concern 
creased her brow.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" he asked.

She sat down beside him. "No. I thought I heard wolves." 

He nodded. They listened to the crickets whine for a few 
minutes. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke, reminding 
Mulder of Memorial Day weekends at Quonochontaug when the 
foggy ocean breeze would blow in across the bay through the 
evergreens, making it chilly enough to light a fire in the 
fireplace. Sam would beg for s'mores and his mom indulged 
them, as long as he helped his sister toast the marshmallows. 

Mulder's eyes returned to the stars. 

"They're ancient, you know. The stars, I mean. Their light is 
billions of years old by the time we see it."

Scully shivered. Wrapping the fur more tightly around her 
shoulders, she asked, "What made you say that?"

"I don't know. Just thinking about time travel, I guess. Why?"

She bit her lip, shook her head.

"What's wrong?" His gut clenched at the thought of her earlier 
seizure.

"You said something very similar in my...vision."

So she was calling it a vision now, not a "perceptual 
disturbance." And the details evidently weren't as vague as 
she'd led him to believe.

"Did I?"

"Mmm." She busied herself readjusting the blanket. "I've been 
thinking about your Flux Space theory."

"What about it?"

"Suppose..." She stopped, cleared her throat, stared straight 
into the black night. "Suppose time isn't two-dimensional, the 
way you described it, but is...three-dimensional."

3-D? Like space? Where was she going with this? "Based on...?"

"It fits the current evidence."

He wasn't sure what evidence she was referring to, but guessed 
it had something to do with her "visions."

"You're saying time doesn't exist linearly?"

"I'm suggesting it might extend in more than two directions."

Forward, backward and... "Go on."

"Imagine time not as a line but as a sphere on which we can 
move forward, backward, sideward, in a line, an arch, a loop."

He pictured two ants crawling across a baseball, their paths 
meandering, occasionally intersecting. Then he pictured the 
baseball as a bowling ball with its three holes. One of his 
imaginary ants teetered on the edge of a hole and fell in. 
"Hm. It might be even more complicated than that."

"Right. We may be able to travel into the sphere, maybe pass 
all the way through it."

He nodded, thinking of the unfortunate ant.

"Mulder, it gets worse."

One ant is inside the ball, while the other is still crawling 
on the surface. "You and I aren't necessarily in the same time 
at the same place, so to speak."

"Exactly. If time is three-dimensional and we're moving around 
on and through it independently of one another, you might wake 
up tomorrow as a teenager, while I might be an old woman."

Jesus, no wonder she looked so worried. "Does this theory of 
yours have anything to do with the...uh...visions you had 
earlier?"

She took a deep breath. "In part. I saw some things that felt 
very real, although I know they haven't happened...yet."

"What things?"

"I was shot in the stomach."

This startled him. "By who?"

"Another FBI agent, as far as I could tell. I didn't recognize 
the man or the location."

"Couldn't it have just been a very, very realistic dream?"

"That sounds like something I would argue." She gave him a 
rueful smile. "There were other things, too, things that jibe 
with our experience here. I saw myself having my tattoo 
removed."

"You think that explains why it's fading now?" 

"It might." 

Was she moving forward into her future while he traveled 
backward into his past?

Then it struck him. If her future included events in the 20th 
Century that hadn't occurred yet, that must mean they make it 
back to their own time. And it was possible her visions held 
clues to their eventual return.    

"Scully, who is Arbutus Ray?"

"Mulder..."

"Who is she?"

Scully looked directly at him and frowned. "A women who worked 
as a nurse at the Dominic Savio Memorial Hospital in 1979."

"And...?"

"She claimed your sister died there."

Her words felt like a slap and he recoiled from them as if 
he'd actually been hit. "In '79? That's impossible. Sam would 
have been only fourteen years old. We've seen her as an 
adult." She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be. 

"We've seen her clone. And clones can be engineered years 
after someone's death."

"No. I can't-- Did you see her body? In your vision, did you 
actually see Sam dead?"

"No, I just felt it was true." 

"Felt it...?" Scully had never believed in premonitions 
before. Why now? "I-I can't accept that, Scully. You...you had 
a dream, a hallucination, not a prophecy."

"Mulder, we both know what's possible, what can be done when 
men are given the necessary science and lack of conscience. My 
cancer, Emily's conception. Is it so farfetched to imagine 
Sam's fate is part of the same agenda?"

He'd thought exactly that for quite some time, but never 
imagined Sam as dead. It hollowed him to think she might have 
died years ago, that he would never see her again, that he'd 
never be able to make up for--

He rose and stalked into the cave, only to walk right back out 
again when the air seemed too stuffy and the fire too hot. 
Scoured by doubt, his skin crawled with annoyance. He wanted 
to throw or kick something, to scream at the stars at the top 
of his lungs.

Scully remained where she was, unmoving, waiting out his 
disbelief.

"You have no proof," he argued, his voice thick with dread. 
Jesus, was it possible he'd spent his entire adult life 
chasing a ghost?

"I've said those words to you more times than I can count, 
Mulder, but I'm saying to you now that I believe what I saw 
was true. I believe it was our future."

He crouched beside her and tried his best to reign in his 
temper. It was because her words were so uncharacteristic that 
he knew he had to listen to them. If she was leaning toward a 
paranormal explanation for her experience, she must have 
satisfied her own heavy-handed skepticism with a convincing 
reason.

"Earlier today you dismissed these visions of yours. What 
changed your mind? What makes you so sure now?" he asked.

"This." She opened the animal skin that blanketed her 
shoulders, exposing her bare stomach. There above her navel 
was the unmistakable scar of a recent gunshot wound. "I found 
it a few minutes ago."   
 

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TEN

"Let's go inside, by the firelight," Mulder said, tugging 
Scully to her feet. He wanted a better look at her new scar.

Once inside, he added a stick of wood to the glowing coals. 
The fire crackled to life and brightened the cave with its 
flickering light. Scully let the fur blanket slip from her 
shoulders to the ground. Dressed only in black camisole and 
panties, she drew the camisole up to her breasts to expose her 
stomach. She faced the flames while Mulder knelt to examine 
the quarter-sized scar that marked her otherwise unblemished 
skin.

"Tell me about your vision," he murmured, running his fingers 
over the puckered knot a few inches from her navel.

She stood motionless, allowing him to examine her with his 
eyes and hands. "Most of it made no sense," she said.

"Tell me anyway."

"Images came and went. They followed no logical order...at 
least none that I could discern."

"But you sensed they were snapshots of your future?" He 
glanced up into her eyes. 

She looked frightened.

"More like video clips, but yes, I got the impression I was 
looking at the future." 

He turned her so that he could inspect her back. 

There was a cherry-red exit wound on her back, just above her 
faded tattoo. No mistaking it -- it was a bullet wound, only a 
week or two old.

She peered at him over her shoulder. "You were there."

"Well, that's some relief, at least." If her vision 
represented their future he was glad to know he was part of 
it. "It implies we get back home. You realize that, don't 
you?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I didn't find out how or when. Or if the 
future is immutable. Suppose the things I saw are only one 
possibility?"

"An infinite number of futures?"

"Built upon an infinite number of actions, here or possibly in 
the future."

"Our future selves saving our past selves' asses?" This was 
getting more convoluted by the minute. "Let's assume that what 
you saw was *the* future -- the one and only future. Do you 
remember anything that might help us get from here to there?" 
He rose to his feet.

She pulled her camisole down over her stomach and turned to 
face him. The firelight etched lines of worry into her shadowy 
expression. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I don't."

Cupping her cheek, he tried to smooth her frown with his 
thumb. Did she really not remember? It scared him to think she 
might not. He relied on her calm logic, and right now they 
needed her rationalism more than ever. They needed her to 
remember what she saw. 

"Think, Scully. Were there any references to Lisa Ianelli, 
time travel, Flux Space, tachyons, anything?" 

"Nothing like that. We were...driving in a car."

"To...?" 

"I don't know." Her voice quavered with uncertainty. "Across a 
desert." 

He wanted to help her remember. He *had* to help her. "Great 
Salt Lake, outside Hill Air Force Base?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure." 

He released her cheek and let his arm drop to his side. Damn 
it, this was frustrating. "What else?" he asked, trying to 
keep any hint of annoyance out of his voice. Scully's vision 
had clearly left her shaken and he didn't want her to clam up 
because of his insensitivity.

"We exchanged Christmas gifts."

Christmas gifts? "In the car?"

"No, later. Or maybe earlier. I don't know." She shook her 
head dismissively.

Don't give up, Scully. Not yet. "What about the bullet wound?"

"I remember being shot. I remember the pain. And I remember 
getting my tattoo removed, and learning about your sister."

His sister, dead for almost twenty years. Jesus, please don't 
let it be true. 

"Scully, is it possible this Arbutus Ray person was lying to 
you? Maybe she worked for Old Smokey."

"Maybe. All I can say is that I believed her."

"But she might not have been privy to the truth. Someone might 
have lied to her or...or..." He was grasping at straws, he 
knew. He couldn't bear the notion that his sister might be 
lost forever -- after all his searching, all his hoping. 

"Mulder, you believed her, too." She put a hand on his arm. 
Tears of sympathy glittered along her lower lashes as she 
looked up at him. Evidently she knew he would find her words 
difficult to accept. "You seemed...relieved."

Anger welled up in him at this revelation. "Relieved to learn 
my sister was dead? Does that sound like me? Does it make 
sense?" 

"Right now, nothing makes sense." She leaned toward him and 
rested her cheek gently against his chest.

His arms circled her as if by instinct. She felt small in his 
embrace, but not as vulnerable as he had supposed. She was 
telling him the truth the way she had seen it. He hated her 
words, but he appreciated her honesty, and her integrity 
purged him of his momentary anger. 

He placed a kiss on the crown of her head. Lingering there, he 
wondered what answers a second vision might provide.    

He also wondered if there was something here in this 
particular location that had triggered her foresight. Were 
they standing in or near a Flux Space portal? 

Scanning the cave, his eyes settled on the painted wall with 
its larger-than-life Serpent Holder. The alien-looking 
creature stared back at him with an unreadable expression. If 
the painting had any answers, it was keeping them secret. 

His gaze traveled down the wall to the tiny carved idol on the 
ground below the Serpent Holder's feet. Scully had been 
holding it when she collapsed. Had it caused her vision? Maybe 
it was a nexus of some sort, or at the very least, contained 
powerful Pleistocene magic. Staring at it, he felt certain of 
one thing: his paranormal radar was picking up another signal.  

*   *   *

Mulder tucked his shirt into his pants and buckled his belt. 
He'd hardly slept a wink all night, tossing and turning, 
worrying about Scully's visions and their uncertain future. It 
was only after they made love again around 4:00 a.m. that he 
was finally able to drift off. 

He nudged her sleeping form before collecting their travel 
packs and the waterbag. "Rise and shine."

She groaned and crawled out from under the fur blanket. His 
eyes skimmed her trim curves with appreciation. She wore only 
her underwear, and his pulse quickened at the sight. He let 
his brain replay their lovemaking: both rounds of it. Jesus, 
she made him feel eighteen again.

She sat and tilted her head left to right, snapping the bones 
in her neck.

"Come on, Scully. Let's go." He tugged the blanket out from 
under her, then rolled it into a tight cylindrical bundle, 
which he stuffed into one of the packs. 

She said nothing, but stood to get dressed. He let her be. She 
wasn't angry. This was just her usual morning reticence. He'd 
learned years ago to keep his comments to a minimum until she 
was ready for morning conversation. His Chatty Cathy act 
seemed to grate on her nerves at this early hour, especially 
here in the Ice Age where there were no Latte Grandes to take 
the edge off.

He rolled the second blanket while she slipped into her jeans 
and turtleneck. Getting lucky twice in one night had put him 
in good spirits this morning. He felt like humming a few bars 
of "Love Me Tender" while waltzing her around the cave, but 
knew better than to try it.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Mm," she grunted. Donning her jacket, she headed out of the 
cave.

Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved the tiny carved idol 
from where she'd dropped it last night. If it had sparked her 
"vision" -- which he wasn't entirely convinced was a vision, 
despite her new scar -- it might prove useful by helping them 
find a way home. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Wait for me." He hurried after her, weighted down by the 
packs and spears, but buoyed by a night of sweet love.

He quickly caught up with her and together they followed the 
path down the hill to the stream where they'd left the dead 
sloth the previous day.

As they approached the carcass, something about it seemed off 
to Mulder. It looked blacker than he remembered. And its fur 
appeared to be...moving.

"Uh, Scully? Do you see that?"

"I see it." She stopped, causing him to nearly run her over.

He set down his things and grabbed the binoculars from his 
jacket pocket.

"Shit," he said, looking through them, his good mood 
evaporating.

He passed them to her.

"Ants," she said without emotion. 

He took a step forward, but she placed a hand on his arm to 
stop him. 

"Don't, Mulder. There are species of ants that can take down 
and kill a large mammal, including a human."

Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of ants covered the 
sloth, animating its body in the creepiest way and obscuring 
the ground beneath it.

"That was our breakfast." He hated the petulant whine in his 
voice, but dammit, he'd risked his life to kill that sloth.

"Survival of the fittest, Mulder...or, in this case, the 
fastest."

This was infuriating. The meat was right there, not fifteen 
yards away.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

"You could try scaring them off with your gun," she suggested 
dryly, reminding him of yesterday's wolves and his wasted 
bullet. 

"Very funny." He paced, stopped, paced some more, then turned 
to squint at the insect-riddled corpse. "Maybe we could eat 
the ants, too. They're protein, aren't they?"

"I doubt the meat is safe to eat, with or without the ants. 
It's been sitting unrefrigerated all night." Turning around, 
she walked past him, heading upland along Klizzie's marked 
trail.

That was it? She was just going to walk away? He looked again 
at the ants. They'd already devoured most of the meat and were 
starting to dismantle the skeleton.

Fuck.

He reluctantly followed after Scully.

"We should have known better," she said when he caught up with 
her.

"How's that?"

"Ants, vultures, wolves -- something was bound to take that 
meat. We should have cut it up and cooked what we needed 
immediately. We didn't think ahead."

"So next time we'll know better."

She leveled her gaze at him. "We're working blindfolded here, 
Mulder. We may not survive a next time." 

*   *   *

Dzeh selected a shady spot away from the bustling activity of 
the camp where he could sit and work in quiet. His mouth felt 
drier than last season's pine nuts and his stomach flopped 
like a hooked fish. The late morning sun jabbed his eyes, 
making his head pound. 

Damn the Spirits, he regretted drinking so much wo-chi last 
night. 

The evening had been rowdy and pleasant. Forty or more men 
from Owl, Badger and Otter Clans had crowded the Prayer Lodge 
to share stories and jokes, pray to the Spirits, play gambling 
games and drink wo-chi. 

Lots of wo-chi. 

The potent liquid had been brewed specifically for the nightly 
revelries during the days-long Mastodon Feast. The drink was 
essential to the celebration; its fermented honey allowed the 
various Spirits to enter the men's bodies and minds, blessing 
them with visions and insight, as well as giving them a sense 
of contentment and camaraderie.

Unfortunately, the departing Spirits usually left storms in 
Dzeh's head the following day.

He tossed his tool kit to the ground beneath a broad butternut 
tree. Trying to minimize the thunder inside his skull, he 
eased himself slowly onto the grass. Thankfully there was no 
wind to rattle the leaves over his head and needle his 
oversensitive ears. As it was, a faint whiff of roasting meat 
from somebody's breakfast fire threatened to empty his 
stomach. Breathing through his mouth, he arranged himself 
cross-legged on the grass and slowly opened his tool kit.

The small leather pouch held a hammerstone, a few lumps of raw 
chert, several knapping tools made from bone, and three 
unfinished spear points. Dzeh withdrew his favorite knapper 
and one of the unfinished points. His head hurt too much to 
pound new points, so he left the hammer and unworked chert 
inside the kit.

Swatting away a pesky deerfly, he wondered why the boy Chal 
hadn't come by to see him earlier this morning as he was 
supposed to. Dzeh had told his father to send him after 
breakfast so he could meet him, ask a few questions. Dzeh 
wanted to gauge the boy's competency and his character before 
arranging a Joining with Gini. If this Badger Clan boy was to 
become Gini's mate someday, he would need to possess an 
honorable disposition and adequate survival skills. 

It was well known that the men of Badger Clan were skilled 
marksmen. They were shrewd traders, too, and their women were 
expert cooks and tanners. Klizzie's Badger Clan aunts had 
taught her how to work skins into supple hides -- the softest 
Dzeh had ever felt. 

Overall, the people of Badger Clan were principled and 
generous. Their ways were not too contrary to Owl Clan's. 
There were some, of course, like Klizzie's chindi cousin Klesh 
and her no-account brother Tse-e, who were contemptible men, 
but every clan had its share of rotten fish. To their credit, 
the Badger Shaman was a powerful medicine man; his clan seldom 
went hungry or became ill. 

Badger Clan would make an acceptable family for Gini...if the 
boy proved to be healthy and strong. And kind-hearted. Dzeh 
refused to Promise his little sister to the hearth of a mean-
spirited man. 

Thinking of these things, worrying about Gini's future, Dzeh 
began to meticulously chip flakes from his partially finished 
spear point. He used his bone knapper to shape the stone until 
it resembled a laurel leaf approximately the length of his 
middle finger. 

The familiar activity calmed his queasy stomach and helped 
quiet the drums in his head. 

It also brought him closer to the spirit of his father. 

Dzeh had learned to make spear points by watching his father 
and uncles. Knowing how to work the stone properly was a skill 
crucial to the Clan's survival. His father had taught him how 
to make raw chert more pliable by exposing it to intense heat, 
burying it in a shallow depression and then building a fire on 
top of it. Once the rock cooled, it could then be chipped into 
tools that would remain sharp even after repeated use on long 
hunting excursions.

Chert was not a common stone in Owl Clan's territory. There 
were no natural sources; the Clan had to trade for it. With 
only a few pieces left in his kit, Dzeh hoped Turtle Clan 
would be bringing a new supply with them to the Feast. He 
would trade several of Klizzie's well-tanned hides for each 
fist-sized chunk.

Dzeh considered himself a fairly shrewd trader, getting the 
better deal more often than not. He glanced at the unusual 
ornament fastened to his wrist. Muhl-dar's remarkable 
bracelet. 

Much to his delight, Dzeh had recently discovered the bracelet 
glowed in the dark like a lightning bug when he pushed one of 
the prongs on its side. The symbols on its smooth face changed 
moment by moment, too. The men of Eel Clan must be very clever 
to create such a mysterious ornament. An Eel Clan boy would 
make a worthy mate for Gini if their ways weren't quite so 
foreign. 

Dzeh wondered where his strange Trading Partner was right now. 
Was Muhl-dar following Klizzie's stone markers to Turkey Lake? 

Four days had come and gone since Owl Clan had arrived at 
Tabaha Lodge. Otter Clan showed up the following day. And last 
night a messenger from Turtle Clan had appeared, out of breath 
and full of exciting news. Turtle Clan was only a day's hike 
away. This news energized the entire camp. The Mastodon Feast 
would begin as soon as all four clans were settled in. 

In the meantime, there was much to do to get ready.

The women were hurrying today to set up additional shelters, 
collect more firewood, harvest fresh greens, roots, and 
berries. The older boys were fishing for bass, pickerel and 
bullheads in Turkey Lake, while the girls gathered snails 
along the shore and hunted for duck eggs in the reeds. Even 
the smallest children added to the stores by trapping turtles 
and frogs, or scooping fish eggs into gourds.

Berries and fish eggs were fine things to eat, but bigger game 
would be needed to feed the mouths of four hungry clans. The 
men planned to hunt mastodon at dusk tonight, the time of day 
when the animals were most likely to pass between First and 
Second Camel Mountain on their way to Turkey Lake for an 
evening drink. The narrow gorge between the hills was a 
perfect spot for an ambush, and not too far away to haul a 
butchered carcass back to camp. Yesterday's scouting party had 
reported finding fresh mastodon sign along the trail there. 
Last night, the men had prayed to the Mastodon Spirit for a 
successful hunt and offered copious amounts of wo-chi to all 
the Spirits.   

Dzeh wondered if the Spirits' heads ached as badly as his this 
morning.

Reasonably satisfied with the overall shape of his spear 
point, Dzeh began honing its edges razor sharp. Then, using a 
groove cutter, he forced away more pieces of stone to form 
flutes down the center on each side. These grooves would 
eventually cradle the spear's wooden shaft.

He was almost finished when the boy named Chal finally 
appeared. He came within a pace or two of Dzeh and then waited 
to be invited to sit. 

Who-Neh's son looked younger than Dzeh had expected and seemed 
somewhat undersized for a boy of twelve years. But he was 
tanned and muscled and, overall, appeared healthy. At least he 
bore no obvious defects. 

He was dressed in a Badger Clan breechclout and leggings. A 
new tattoo marked his reddened left shoulder with a spiky 
design, common among his kin. Two curving claws dangled from 
his pierced ears, indicating the boy had successfully killed 
his first bear. Not an easy thing to do, even for a grown man. 

This boy Chal showed potential, it seemed.

"You are late," Dzeh growled.

The boy bowed his head. "Sorry, Uncle. My father slept late 
this morning. I only just learned you wanted to see me."

Chal was not Dzeh's nephew, of course, but the boy used the 
formal title out of respect.

Dzeh remained silent, ignoring the apology, making Chal stand 
and wait a while longer. 

It was no surprise that Who-Neh had remained late in his 
sleeping skins this morning. The talkative man had been the 
last to bed. The entire camp heard him singing and laughing 
his way from the Prayer Lodge to his hearth where Ho-Ya 
greeted him with angry words. 

Dzeh shook his head. Although these were Klizzie's kin, they 
left much to be desired. Ho-Ya had less sense than a clubbed 
catfish and Who-Neh, while friendly, was the sort of man who 
would gamble his last good knife in a betting game. If their 
son turned out to be equally dim-witted, Dzeh would look 
elsewhere for Gini's future mate. There were other boys in 
Badger and Otter Clans, although admittedly most were older 
and ready for mates now. Dzeh was not willing to give Gini 
away to an older man; she was too young to share a sleeping 
skin just yet. If he couldn't find a suitable match for his 
sister this season, no matter, he could wait a year or two.

"Sit," he ordered Chal. "Show me how the men of Badger Clan 
make spear points." He tossed the boy a lump of raw chert and 
a hammerstone from his kit. The stones landed with a soft thud 
in the grass at young Chal's feet. 

The boy crouched to inspect the uncut stone. Nervously licking 
his lips, he picked up the hammer. His hands shook a little as 
he positioned the rock for the first blow.

"That chert is valuable," Dzeh reminded the boy just as he was 
about to take his first strike.

Chal nodded, serious and respectful. He repositioned the 
chert. Taking aim, he struck the rock. His angle was good, the 
impact well considered. A perfect flake broke loose from the 
chert. The boy swallowed hard, turned the stone and struck the 
back with equally fine results. 

Dzeh watched without comment while he hammered the chert into 
a well-shaped point. The boy had skill.

"You will join tonight's mastodon hunt," Dzeh said. "You will 
be my hunting partner."

Chal's eyes rounded. "B-but, Uncle, I have never hunted 
mastodons."

"Then you will learn how tonight." Dzeh nodded at the boy's 
new spear point. "Lash that to a stout shaft. Bring it with 
you."

The boy stared at him, dumbstruck.

Dzeh returned his tools to his kit and then rose to his feet, 
taking care to hide the discomfort in his head from the boy. 
Walking away, he called over his shoulder, "Don't worry, 
Nephew. It has been at least two years since I had a partner 
killed during a mastodon hunt." 

*   *   *

Three days had passed since Mulder and Scully's night in the 
cave. Three days of arduous hiking. Three days without a 
decent meal. Three days without sex. 

Fucking ants.

Fucking Ice Age.

Fucking uphill all the way to goddamn nowhere. 

The forest lay behind them. Ahead was another mountain, its 
summit worn smooth by eons of advancing and retreating 
glaciers. Miniature evergreens, dwarfed by constant wind and 
lack of soil, dotted the rocky landscape. The sky was clear, 
but a breeze was blowing, high-pitched and constant, sounding 
like whale song as it vibrated across the stone. Mulder's 
clothes flapped in the cross-draft. He squinted against the 
sting of his wind-whipped hair. His arms, weighted by both 
packs and the spears, felt ready to snap.   

He glanced back at Scully. She limped along several paces 
behind him, favoring her left ankle. 

Why had he insisted they go to Hill Air Force Base in the 
first place? He should have known better. These things never 
ended well. Had he *ever* trespassed on government property 
without regretting it? Ever? Even once? Why should this time 
be any different? 

He waited for Scully to catch up, one stiff step at a time. 
Honestly, the poor woman seemed doomed to follow him straight 
to Hell. What had she done to deserve this terrible fate? 

"You must have been an ax murderer in a former life, Scully," 
he said.

"That's funny, because I've been thinking about becoming one 
in this life."

Obviously she was still pissed.

He was feeling pretty damn pissy himself, but he decided it 
would be in his best interest to keep his attitude under 
control. "Good thing there are no axes here. Maybe you'll get 
lucky and we'll end up in the Bronze Age next time."

She limped past him, her expression ice cold as she trekked 
slowly, painfully uphill. "Don't think I won't stone you to 
death."

He trailed after her, keeping his distance. "How is it my 
fault you tripped and hurt your ankle?"

She turned to glare at him over her shoulder.

"Watch your step," he said, pointing to the uneven terrain 
ahead. His warning was meant to needle her more than help. 

"Cause and effect, Mulder," she said, returning her focus to 
her feet. "It was you, was it not, who chose to ignore FBI 
protocol and lead us on this unauthorized investigation into a 
classified U.S. military facility where you breached a clearly 
marked security fence to illegally trespass on government 
property, which caused us to wind up in a...a time warp or 
Flux Space or whatever, sending us 12,000 years into the past, 
completely unprepared, I might add, to this...this godforsaken 
place with stampeding mastodons and hungry saber-toothed 
tigers and giant killer sloths, where...where there are no 
bathtubs or coffee shops or taxi cabs or...or..." She paused 
to take a breath before ending with, "and then I hurt my 
ankle. That's how it's your fault."

"That...that's one way of looking at it." He nodded. "You 
sound upset."

She stopped walking and pivoted to face him. "I am upset, 
Mulder. I'm hungry, sweaty, and my goddamn ankle hurts."

"Want me to carry the waterbag?" He reached for the bag that 
hung from her left hand.

She shrugged him off. "I've got it."

"I don't mind. Really."

Her hair writhed in the wind as her stormy expression 
unexpectedly vanished when she looked into his eyes. Voice 
softening, she said, "I know, Mulder. It's just..." Her voice 
gave out and tears filled her eyes.

He set down the packs and spears and took her into his arms. 
She leaned heavily against him while he stroked her tangled 
hair. His heart ached, seeing her hurt, knowing he was the 
cause of it. "Do you want to rest for a minute?"

"No, we're almost to the top."

It was true. Another one of Klizzie's markers waited for them 
fifty yards ahead on the crest of the hill. 

"We can rest when we catch up with Klizzie and the others," 
she said, pulling away.

He took hold of her hand, unwilling to let her go just yet. 
"We have no idea when that'll be. You should sit for a few 
minutes. Check that ankle."

"If I take off my boot, I may not get it back on. It's the 
only thing keeping the swelling down."

"Then I'll carry you," he offered, opening his arms.

"No, thanks." She backed away and winced when she put weight 
on her injured leg.

"Come on, Scully. You can barely walk."

"I'm fine. You're already carrying everything else." She 
indicated the supplies.

He stooped to gather the packs in one hand and the spears in 
the other and then presented his back to her, bending at the 
knees, prepared to carry her piggyback. "Get on."

"No."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Just do it, Scully. 
Don't argue."

"I'm too heavy."

"Hardly. Just to the top of the hill."

"It's too far."

"No, it's not. Get on." He crouched a bit lower to entice her.

"Just to the marker?"

"I swear."

Still looking unconvinced, she took hold of his shoulders and 
climbed onto his stooped back. The spears and packs made 
holding her awkward, but she truly didn't weigh much. He was 
glad to do this for her. "Comfy?" he asked.

"Yes." She gasped when he straightened. "Don't drop me."

"I won't drop you." 

He took a tentative step, testing his balance. Once he was 
sure of his footing, he strode up the hill toward the marker.

Scully hung on as if for dear life, arms clutching his neck, 
thighs locked around his ribs. He liked the way her panting 
breath tickled the upper ridge of his left ear, and he 
couldn't help but notice the cushiony press of her breasts 
against his upper back.

"Doin' okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Hardly know you're there."

As light as she was, his thigh muscles were burning by the 
time he crested the top of the hill. His discomfort vanished, 
however, the moment he looked into the valley on the other 
side.

"My God." Scully's words puffed against his cheek.

Grassland covered a gentle downhill slope from where they 
stood to a vast blue lake at the bottom. The lake was shaped 
like an open hand and it sparkled in the bright afternoon sun. 
On its southwestern shore was a village of fifty or more domed 
shelters: tidy, peaceful, the grass already worn thin between 
the huts. Several cooking fires burned in the open spaces and 
Mulder could smell their smoke. He heard laughter, muted by 
distance; saw men, women and children, dozens of them, going 
about the business of life, cooking, washing, building more 
shelters, swimming in the lake.

He remained still, overwhelmed by the scene in front of him. 
He felt caught in a current of timelessness, like starlight 
that has traveled across the universe, only to arrive brand 
new in an already ancient place. Between heartbeats he felt as 
if he was living twenty thousand lifetimes. Space and time 
expanded beyond the scope of his vision, beyond his power of 
physical perception, beyond all human comprehension. 

It was with both regret and wonderment that he realized this 
infinite moment was only the tiniest fraction of a whole.

"We made it," Scully said, her voice thick with emotion. She 
slid from his back. 

He helped to steady her once her feet touched the ground, all 
the while staring with unblinking awe at the community 
below...at their salvation. 

*   *   *

Gini and Jeha waded into the lake, leaving behind the group of 
girls who were gathering snails along the pebbled beach. The 
two friends were after duck eggs, not snails. Each carried a 
basket they'd woven out of broad cattail leaves and lined with 
down. Gini had stuck a yellow bullhead-lily into hers for 
luck.

They hadn't gone far when she spotted a nest. She splashed 
through head-high reeds, frightening the mother duck off her 
perch. While the duck squawked at her from the rushes, Gini 
emptied the nest, carefully placing four ivory-colored eggs 
into her basket.

Jeha was more interested in talking about boys than in 
collecting eggs. Standing knee deep in weeds and water, she 
idly swung her empty basket. "Moasi kissed me last night," she 
said, her voice high-pitched with excitement. 

Cool mud oozed up between Gini's toes as she waded deeper. The 
sun beat down upon the crown of her head and heated her dark 
braids, while blossoming azaleas, waterlogged lilies and newly 
hatched pollywogs scented the air.

"What did it feel like?" she asked, not half as excited about 
boys or kisses as her older friend.

"Warm and...a little wet."

Gini crinkled her nose in disgust. She took a few more steps, 
plowing through buckbean and stargrass. A cluster of glossy 
water beetles skated out of her way. "It was wet?"

Jeha giggled and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "He put 
his tongue in my mouth."

"Yuck!" Gini's shout flushed out another duck. It flew up over 
the lake, scolding the girls as it went. Gini turned to stare 
at her friend. "Why did he do that?"

Jeha shrugged. "I liked it."

For Spirit's sake, Gini thought, Jeha was becoming more 
foolish with every passing day. Why would anyone want a boy's 
tongue in her mouth?

"Well, I am never going to let a boy do that to me," she said. 
"I would rather suck on a rotten egg." She spotted another 
nest hidden in the rushes a few paces away. It cradled five 
eggs. Curling her toes into the mud for firmer footing, she 
edged her way between the reeds to the nest.

"You will be singing a different song once you are Promised," 
Jeha predicted.

"I am not going to be Promised. Ever. Klizzie said I did not 
have to."

"Then why is your brother meeting with Chal this morning?"

"What?" Gini spun to face her friend, nearly dropping her 
basket of eggs. "Where did you hear that?"

"Ho-Ya told my mother at breakfast. Chal is with Dzeh right 
now. I saw them together myself before coming to fetch you."

"Nooo!" Gini wailed. "You must be mistaken."

"Gini, I saw them with my own eyes. Chal was sitting with Dzeh 
beneath the butternut tree at the edge of camp. They were 
making spear points or something."

Gini felt bees begin to buzz in her stomach again.

Jeha waded past her, removed the eggs from the nest and added 
them to her own basket. "I think Chal is handsome, although 
not as good-looking as Moasi."

Handsome? How could she think such a thing? Chal was a skinny, 
rude boy with hair like a porcupine. He wasn't the least bit 
handsome. Gini was about to say so when she heard a shout from 
one of the girls on the beach.

"Gini! Jeha! Come quick!"

"What do you suppose is the matter?" Jeha asked.

"Let's go see." Gini led the way, splashing toward shore.

When they reached the other girls, they found them gaping at 
Crouching Cat Mountain. "Look," one of the girls said, 
pointing a finger at the mountain's sloping meadow.

There, halfway down the hill, two hikers plodded steadily 
closer to camp. The man was dark-haired and tall. He carried 
two spears and a heavy pack. The woman was shorter, her head 
crowned with hair the color of fox fur. Both wore strange, 
foreign garments.

"Muhl-dar! Day-nuh!" Gini squealed. She dropped her basket and 
began to run to the newcomers, pushing her legs as fast as 
they would carry her.    

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar! Muhl-dar!" Gini's high-pitched shout carried 
halfway up the hill.

"That's Gini," Scully said, breathy with exertion and 
excitement.

Mulder shared her enthusiasm. They'd made it. They'd found the 
others. After more than two weeks of hiking and hunger, the 
end was in sight. He hadn't expected to feel such a rush of 
overwhelming relief. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he 
watched little Gini run pell-mell toward him, braids flopping, 
her white smile evident even at this distance. A knot of 
children raced along after her, equally exuberant.

When Gini reached Mulder, she hurled herself into his 
outstretched arms. 

"Muhl-dar! Muhl-dar!" she gasped, clinging to his neck with a 
fierce grip. 

He let his spears fall to the ground to lift her off her feet. 
She wrapped her thin legs around his waist and hugged him 
hard. Chattering non-stop, she gulped for air even as she 
spoke. He patted her braids and waited for her to talk herself 
out.

It was a long wait; she evidently had a lot to say.

"I think she missed you," Scully said. 

Mulder peered into the happy child's eyes and smiled. "I 
missed you, too." His gladness at seeing Gini was prompted by 
more than relief, he realized. This young girl had wheedled 
her way into his heart. In many ways she reminded him of Sam, 
and her greeting felt like a homecoming.      

The other children soon surrounded Mulder and Scully. Some 
hopped with excitement. Others hung back, not knowing what to 
make of these strangers. One girl gathered Mulder's fallen 
spears and volunteered to carry them back to the camp.

"Fine, fine," he told the child, guessing her intention. "Lead 
on." 

They started downhill together, high-spirited and noisy. One 
child ran ahead, presumably to notify the rest of the camp. 
Not that a messenger was necessary. The people in the village 
had already spotted the newcomers and were hiking out to greet 
them. Mulder spotted Klizzie among the crowd. She waved her 
arms and shrieked with delight when she recognized them. 

Mulder held onto Gini, letting her ride his hip as they walked 
down into the valley. She beamed with pride, giggling and 
yammering as she tugged at his short whiskers and kissed his 
cheeks and nose.

At the bottom of the hill Klizzie greeted Scully with a warm 
embrace, tears flooding her eyes. Mulder noticed Scully had 
tears in her eyes, too, and it put the lump back in his throat 
to see her so happy. The two women held each other for several 
long minutes while the crowd of curious onlookers grew.  

When Klizzie finally broke away, she turned to face Mulder. 

Mulder set Gini on the ground. He wanted to thank Klizzie 
properly for all the stone markers she'd left along the trail; 
he and Scully never would have made it without her help. 
Unable to express his gratitude in words due to the lack of 
common language, he leaned down to embrace her and accept her 
gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Klizzie," he whispered into her ear, hoping she 
would understand the depth of his appreciation from the 
heartfelt tone of his voice.

Over Klizzie's shoulder, Mulder saw Dzeh and a group of men 
approaching at a trot from the camp. They bristled with 
weapons and Mulder was unsure how to interpret their spears 
and knives. 

But he needn't have worried. Dzeh stepped forward to welcome 
him with a broad smile. He displayed his wristwatch and 
pointed with pride at the bear claw necklace around Mulder's 
neck.

Mulder caught himself reaching out to clasp the other man's 
hand -- a 20th Century habit, unrecognized here in the Ice 
Age. Apparently a whack on the back was the accepted form of 
greeting. Dzeh thumped Mulder repeatedly, jarring him with 
unexpected force, using every ounce of strength in his 
muscular arms.

In an effort to divert his enthusiasm, Mulder pointed to the 
spears and asked, "What's all this?"

Dzeh launched into a long explanation, not a word of which 
Mulder understood. Meanwhile, the women were circling around 
Scully. They clucked their tongues in a sympathetic manner as 
they pointed from her injured ankle to one of the village 
huts.   

The men's conversation became more animated. They closed in on 
Mulder, separating him from Scully as she was led away by the 
women.

"Scully?" he called to her, looking over the men's shoulders.

"I'm okay, Mulder," she yelled back. "I'll catch up with you 
later."

Gini was the only girl to remain behind with Mulder and the 
men.

"A-woh-tso." The men repeated the word several times while 
they thrust their spears at some unknown imaginary prey. They 
tugged Mulder's arms. Someone offered him a new spear.

"I'm not very good at charades, guys. Are you going hunting?" 

"A-woh-tso," Dzeh said again.

Mulder leaned down to whisper into Gini's ear, "What's a-woh-
tso?" 

She giggled and then held her fists at the sides of her mouth 
and pointed her stubby index fingers straight out. "A-woh-
tso," she repeated.  

Ahhh. A-woh-tso. Mastodon.

The men were going on a mastodon hunt. 

Dzeh clapped Mulder on the back and smiled. That's when it hit 
him. He was going on the mastodon hunt, too.

*   *   *

Twelve clansmen, armed with stout spears and stone knives, 
jogged silently through a forest of alder and waist-high 
buckthorn. They headed northeast along an almost imperceptible 
deer trail that circled Turkey Lake. Mulder ran with them, 
gripping a spear in his left hand, leaving his right free to 
draw his gun if need be. 

The hour was late, the sun low in the sky. Horizontal fingers 
of misty light pierced the forest, painting the leaves gold 
while camouflaging the men with leaf-shaped shadows. The scent 
of chokecherries and damp earth flooded Mulder's nostrils as 
he ran. He tried to guess how the men intended to capture and 
kill their prey -- a-woh-tso, mastodon. A surprise attack, 
most likely, concealing themselves in the half-light of dusk 
in order to ambush the unsuspecting animals.

It seemed impossible that a dozen men armed only with spears 
and stone knives could bring down a beast the size of a dump 
truck. But clearly they'd done it before, many times; their 
shelters, constructed of mastodon bone and skin, were proof of 
their skill and daring. 

The men's nakedness made them appear alarmingly vulnerable in 
this wild landscape. Bare-chested and barelegged, the hunters 
wore only loincloths. Dzeh had insisted Mulder change out of 
his jacket and jeans and dress in a loincloth, too, before 
leaving the camp. The stern clansman had plucked at Mulder's 
sweaty 20th Century clothes and held his nose. Mulder took the 
hint. The garments' strong odor would alert their prey and 
spoil the hunt. 

Dzeh had also argued against Mulder wearing his boots, 
pantomiming heavy footfalls, clapping his hands loudly with 
each exaggerated step. Mulder refused to leave them behind, 
however, noise be damned. His feet weren't callused enough to 
go barefoot, even after so many days of hiking.

Mulder quickly changed out of his smelly clothes. He was 
hungry -- hollow to the bone hungry -- and he knew Scully was, 
too. The sloth had been their last decent meal and that had 
been days ago. He was willing to do whatever it took to fill 
his and Scully's empty stomachs. He had no intention of 
freeloading; he would pull his weight, even if it meant coming 
face-to-face with a ferocious, long-toothed, eight-ton 
mastodon.

Finding Scully before he left, he handed off his dirty laundry 
and kissed her on the cheek. "Back in a jiff," he promised. 

"Be careful, Mulder." 

"Hey, it's me," he said, using his "What could go wrong?" tone 
of voice. He left her with Klizzie and the other women, and 
hurried off after the hunters who were already trotting single 
file toward the woods.

About a mile from camp, the trail opened into a clearing. The 
lead runner -- a muscular, older man with long, gray, 
corkscrewing hair -- slowed to a stop. He held up a hand that 
looked big enough to palm a basketball. The other men stopped, 
too, lifting their noses into the air, cocking their ears. 
Mulder also listened, trying to hear what they heard: bird 
calls, the scramble of small woodland creatures, the men's 
quiet breathing. 

They were standing in a corridor of felled trees. It reminded 
Mulder of the logging roads in Washington State's Olympic 
National Forest, only the trees here had been broken, not cut 
by chainsaws. The throughway emerged from a narrow gorge 
between two rocky hills to the east. It continued west, 
downhill to the lake about a hundred yards away. Mulder faced 
the setting sun and glimpsed the last rays of daylight 
reflecting off the water. He guessed route was a regularly 
traveled thoroughfare for the mastodons, a passage through the 
mountains to the lake. Evidently, the hunters expected to meet 
the animals during last call at the local watering hole.

That's when he felt it, an almost imperceptible trembling 
beneath his feet. The men grinned, nodded, and exchanged rapid 
hand signals.     

The older man with the basketball hands stooped to gather 
something from the ground. Mulder recognized this man; he'd 
seen him at the last camp, along with Dzeh and two or three of 
the other hunters. His name was Lan or Lon or Lin. Whichever, 
he was smearing his chest and arms with mud.

Once covered, he became almost invisible in the waning light. 

Dzeh and the others, including the nervous boy with a Mohawk 
haircut who had shadowed Dzeh the entire way from camp, moved 
forward to join Basketball Hands. They took turns scooping up 
handfuls of mud and rubbing it on themselves and each other, 
effectively camouflaging their bronze skin -- arms, legs, 
faces, torsos, front and back.

Dzeh beckoned Mulder with a wave and offered him a handful. 

Mulder moved closer and allowed the other man to coat his back 
and shoulders with the chilly goop.

Jesus, the stuff smelled terrible. It reeked of...

Shit. It was mastodon dung. The men weren't camouflaging their 
skin; they were disguising their odor. 

Dzeh daubed Mulder's face and hair and then pointed to the 
pile, indicating Mulder should dig in. 

Face wrinkled in disgust, Mulder knelt and plowed his fingers 
into the heap. He scooped up a generous portion. The men 
grinned as he held his breath and slathered his chest and 
thighs with it.

Lan/Lon/Lin used more hand signals to divide the men into two 
groups. A barrel-chested man with a spiky tattoo and a haircut 
similar to the boy's led one group across the corridor. They 
moved quickly, silently, while the second group, which 
included Mulder, remained on the near side, spreading out and 
taking positions behind trees and shrubs. 

Dzeh crouched beneath an evergreen, down-slope to Mulder's 
left. The boy hid in a patch of tall ferns upland to his 
right. Mulder squatted behind a toppled tree, which had a 
trunk as big around as a tanker truck.

Then the men waited. The sun sank below the horizon and the 
forest fell into shadow. Mosquitoes whined in Mulder's ears, 
but didn't bite, put off by the drying layer of dung on his 
skin. Somewhere behind them, an owl hooted from the upper 
branches of a distant tree.

Suddenly the mastodons were there. A large herd, moving single 
file through the corridor. Despite their size, they traveled 
in near-silence, the soft huff-puff of their feet on the trail 
the only sound they made as they glided toward the lake like 
ghostly battleships. Mulder had expected thunderous footsteps, 
snapping trees, crashing branches -- not this eerie quiet. He 
watched in wonder, crouched in his hiding place, as the first 
mastodon passed by, enormous and gray and nearly invisible in 
the twilight. Its ivory tusks glowed like twin specters, eight 
feet long and as thick as a man's arm. They pointed straight 
ahead, parallel to the ground, and appeared to float, 
unconnected to anything. The sight numbed Mulder's limbs, set 
his heart hammering. He clamped his jaws together to keep his 
teeth from chattering, giving away his position.

A second animal passed. Then a third. Mulder wondered when the 
men would attack, tried to guess their strategy while he 
silently cursed his ignorance of their language and their 
ways. Dzeh remained rooted to his spot to Mulder's left, 
hunkered down, eyes trained on his prey. Mulder could just 
make out Dzeh's hands positioning the shaft of his spear into 
a strange foot-long handle. Mulder had no idea what this tool 
was used for. He gripped his own spear more tightly and 
continued to wait.

At least a dozen mastodons plodded toward the lake. Several 
babies trotted by, too, just as silently as their mothers. 
More adults followed the youngsters. When the last animal had 
passed, the clansmen simultaneously rose from their positions. 
No one called out or gave any signal; the hunters knew from 
experience what to do, when to attack. A half step behind 
them, Mulder rose to his feet and sprinted after the others.

The men didn't speak or shout. They moved as stealthily as 
their quarry, forming a U-shaped line behind the herd, closing 
in as they drew nearer to the lake. They were twelve small men 
tiptoeing on the heels of hulking shadows and the mastodons 
seemed completely unaware of their presence. 

Mulder tried to anticipate what would happen next. Glancing 
left and right, he noticed all the men had attached the 
strange foot-long handles to the ends of their spears, just as 
Dzeh had. The handles folded back on the shafts, which were 
held shoulder high, parallel to the ground. 

Many of the mastodons were already in the lake when Mulder 
heard the first faint whistle of a spear sailing through the 
air. It was followed by the wet slap of its point penetrating 
a hide. The struck animal roared. The noise was horrible; a 
screech like train brakes, followed by the huff of panicked 
lungs.

The herd instantly became an earth-shaking stampede and the 
night exploded with sound...whooping shouts from the 
hunters...cries of alarm from the mastodons...noisy splashes 
of water as the animals plowed into the lake to escape the 
danger behind them. Several thundered into the woods, cracking 
into trees, splintering branches. 

The men ignored the runaways to pursue the one wounded animal. 
Four hunters let spears fly in quick succession, aiming at the 
beast's heart. Mulder could now see the advantage of the 
strange handles the men had attached to their spears. These 
devices added leverage and distance, hurtling the lances 200 
feet with impressive accuracy. Each weapon sank a foot or more 
into the mastodon's flesh, an impossible depth if thrown 
without the handle.

The men closed in on the injured mastodon. Two more spears 
found their mark. Still on its feet, the beast squealed each 
time it was hit. It tried to shake the spears loose, but they 
remained deeply imbedded in its side. Mulder was now close 
enough to see inky streams of blood leaking from its wounds. 
The animal tossed its head in anger and fear. It trumpeted 
again. Abandoned by the herd, it turned to defend itself.

Mulder had faced monsters before, but nothing chilled him like 
the fury he saw in this beast's bulging eyes. When the enraged 
mastodon prepared to charge, Mulder's senses left him. His 
arms hung like dead weights at his sides. His ears became deaf 
to the commotion around him. Time slowed to an immeasurable 
crawl and he felt as if he were watching events unfold through 
the wrong end of a telescope.

The mastodon lowered its head and laid back its ears. It pawed 
the ground and aimed its tusks upland toward the mountains.

Then it was galloping uphill. Nearly a dozen spears bristled 
like picadors' lances from its blood-streaked sides, jouncing 
with each tremendous stride. The hunters scrambled out of its 
path, their mouths opening as if to scream. Mulder heard none 
of their cries in his now silent, slow motion world. He turned 
to look uphill where he saw the boy with the Mohawk haircut 
standing in the middle of the path. The boy watched, frozen in 
place, as the mastodon came straight for him.

Mulder drew his gun. Relying on a decade of training and 
practice, he raised his arms, aimed his weapon, and 
waited...waited...waited for the charging mastodon to pass him 
broad side. He seemed to know instinctively that a shot to the 
animal's impenetrable skull would prove useless. He needed to 
make a well-placed shot to the heart or lungs. When the moment 
came and the mastodon passed within five feet of his 
outstretched arms, Mulder pumped the trigger and let every 
single bullet fly, hoping like hell to hit something vital. 
Each shot penetrated the animal's hide, smacking a puff of 
dust from its fur. The mastodon continued to rage forward 
toward the frightened boy. The boy closed his eyes. Mulder 
felt his stomach pitch. He still squeezed the trigger, deaf to 
the click of the gun's empty clip.

Please, please, please, he prayed...

Abruptly the mastodon faltered, stumbled, went down on its 
front knees. Its forward momentum carried it skidding uphill. 
Its gargantuan tusks dug into the ground like plow blades, 
furrowing the earth and sending debris flying into the air. 
Amid an explosion of dust and pine needles, the giant beast 
lurched to a stop right at the boy's feet.

The boy's lance dropped from his hand and he collapsed to his 
haunches.

Mulder had spent every round but managed to save the boy's 
life.

Mulder's hearing returned when the hunters surrounded him. 
They clapped him on the back and shoulders. Their laughter 
ricocheted off the trees as they whooped with relief. 
Impressed by Mulder's gun, they took turns touching it, 
pulling back with startled surprise when they felt the warmth 
of its barrel. "Pow, pow," they shouted again and again, 
mimicking Mulder's stiff-armed stance. He let them pass the 
gun around. Without bullets it was no longer a danger. One 
after the next, the men took a turn pointing it at the 
motionless mastodon. 

Dzeh seemed particularly pleased by the shooting. His eyes 
shone with pride as he strutted back and forth between Mulder 
and the boy. He nodded repeatedly at his wristwatch, reminding 
everyone of his partnership with Mulder.

The boy was beginning to regain his color. Two men helped him 
to his feet. They pounded his shoulders, too. Buoyed by their 
praise, the youngster retrieved his fallen spear. He walked on 
shaky legs around the corpse. "Ut-zah!" he yelled at it, and 
then thrust the spear into the animal's side.

"Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin!" the men replied. They repeated the phrase 
again and again. Dzeh encouraged Mulder to say the strange 
words, too.

With his tongue twisting around the unfamiliar language, 
Mulder tried his best to repeat, "Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin!"

This caused more laughter and more cheers.

Finally, the man with basketball hands cleared his throat, 
silencing the others. He gave a short speech. The men nodded, 
faces solemn but eyes lit with satisfaction. When the 
impromptu meeting was finished, a messenger was dispatched to 
the village to tell the clans the good news.      

Then the hunters fell upon th