Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights over the Magnificent 7 characters used in this story, which has been written for the joy of writing only (whether it be good writing or no) and for no other purpose (such as monetary gain). The Mag 7 characters/aspects of the story are owned by Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Group and MGM. The song is part of the soundtrack (end credits) for The Devil's Own. Don't know who wrote/performed it yet - will have to rent the video again.

Warning: Occasional strong language

This war is over I'm coming home

He could hear whispering. Sounded like he was at the end of a long tunnel or in a deep cave. The whispering echoed inside his head, sometimes loud enough he could almost discern the words other times a hushed litany cocooning him in its melodic tones. He tried to open his eyes but the effort was too much. Instead, he found himself falling into a void, a bottomless well of pain and confusion.

The next time he heard the whispers he found he could understand the words and he gradually became aware of more than one voice. He didn't try to open his eyes, just lay there, listening. Three voices, one a woman her voice soft yet firm as she spoke to the others and …. to him. The other two were children. He listened to their whispered games and low giggles as they played.

The woman's voice spoke again, "Come," she said, "open your eyes."

He resisted the urge to do as she asked – it was so peaceful where he was, and he knew that if he opened his eyes all that would change. He felt a cool cloth caress his face, gentle fingers comb his hair. The voice continued on, urging him to wake. The cloth was replaced by soft hands tracing the outline of his face. One finger tentatively touched his lips. The curious fingers began to weave a pattern around his eyes and he could hear a low humming. He opened his eyes.

The child that had been playing with his face jumped a little when the stranger's eyes suddenly opened, and he looked to his mother. The woman motioned for the child to move away while she brought the cloth back to his face. When he tried to speak she pressed her fingers to his lips then reached for a flask of water. She carefully helped him to drink.

"Where am I?" he asked in her own language. She smiled to herself. She had thought he'd understood her words back at the village and knew that Usen had guided him to her.

"We are in the hills south of my village," she replied in an even voice that gave no hint of the pain she felt at the murder of her family and friends.

He blinked and tried to move but a wave of agony washed over him sending him back into the dark well. The woman moved her bulky form away from the unconscious man and prepared some herbs to give him next time he awoke. Deep within her own body she felt a faint stirring and frowned in consternation. Her time was not yet due but her body did not lie. It would be soon, she could feel it. She quickly finished her preparations and went out to gather the herbs she would soon need for herself.

***

He slowly climbed out from the well of unconsciousness, straining to hear the familiar voices but hearing only faint groans of pain followed by a muffled scream of such intensity that his eyes flew open in alarm. He turned his head to see the faint outline of the woman's face in the flickering firelight as she squatted on her hands and knees, grimacing in an expression of total agony. Her body heaved. He tried to get up to help her but she hissed at him to stay away as, with one final massive push, the life within her slipped from its mother's body to land on the soft blankets she had placed beneath her.

The child lay where it landed. It did not cry, did not move. The mother swished it up into her arms and cleared its airways, but the body remained limp in her arms. She breathed gently into the tiny mouth, but no breath was returned. She held the baby by its feet, its arms dangling below its head, and smacked it on the bottom, but no cry was heard. Finally, she held it close in her arms and bent her head low.

As consciousness once again escaped him, he heard the woman's cry of grief and pain at yet another loss, and he felt guilty. <<All my fault,>> he thought as he slipped away.

"I'm sorry," the man whispered later. The woman turned her gaze to him; her eyes were dry, her face showed no emotion.

"My brother, his death was not your fault. His time will come again."

The other children each brought over a small gift for their dead brother – a beaded purse, a colored ribbon – and layed it upon the woven shroud. The mother then picked the bundle up and carried it to a nearby tree, placing it high in the branches. He heard her voice faintly from where he lay. When she returned, she sat by the fire and began to sing. Her low intonations filled the cave with their sadness.

***

The man continued to slip in and out of consciousness, occasionally lucid enough to talk to the woman or watch the small family. At one of these times, he asked the woman how he came to be with them. His last memory was of struggling to get as far away from the soldiers and fort as he could.

"I saw you fall. Usen sent you to us. I could not leave you, so we hid and waited. When the bluecoats left, we followed."

"Ya lucky they didn't catch ya. I ain't worth it."

The woman looked at him, puzzled. She could see more than physical pain in his face. She leant over him to wipe his hot skin with a cool cloth.

"We stayed well behind. The tracks were easy to follow" she told him.

He groaned with pain as he tried to shift his body slightly. "I hurt all over," he mumbled to himself.

The woman reached for a nearby flask and held it to his lips. "This will help." He sipped at it slowly, expecting it to taste awful and was surprised when he found the liquid quite pleasant. <<Nathan's always tasted real bad>>. He caught himself up then. He hadn't thought of his old friends in months. He felt suddenly guilty, and entirely too sick to deal with this new pain. He squeezed his eyes shut against sudden tears <<shit!>>

"You must face your fears, my brother," the woman whispered, her voice soft but firm. "But first, you must rest." She began a slow lullaby, the words stretching out to become soothing sounds that eased their way through the pain in his body, holding gently to the faint flickerings in his soul and bringing them forth anew. The woman wrapped her arms about her body, missing the comfort of her recent pregnancy and aching for the loss of her newborn babe. She watched the man has he slept, deep and dreamless, her song keeping him safe.

***

He awoke feeling slightly better and decided that this day he would get up. He looked around for the woman and her children, but they were not to be seen. For a moment, he felt his heart constrict at the thought that he was alone. He forced himself into a half-sitting position, leaning against the wall of the cave and gasping at the agony each movement caused him. Lifting the blanket that covered him he began to see how bad off he was. His right leg was one big bruise that was already starting to yellow. <<How long have I been out?>>. The bruising was worse in the upper thigh where it disappeared underneath a foul looking poultice. He gingerly lifted the edge up but dropped it when he heard a sound behind him. Automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn't there, he nearly passed out right then from the intense pain the sudden twisting caused his back.

The child that had been approaching the man to offer his help quickly jumped forward to prevent the man from hurting himself further, but his weight was too much and the child stumbled as the man became dead weight in his arms.

The man fought the pain and the blackness threatening to engulf him once more and struggled to return to full consciousness. Without a sound, the woman grasped his shoulders and eased him away from the child. Panic began to take over as he felt his hold on reality slip away and the darkness begin again. He struggled vainly against the grip that held him and clenched his teeth against the screams that were building in the back of his throat as image after image assaulted his tortured mind. A bloody knife. A smoking gun. The glint of light on the blade of a bayonet. A chair leg dripping with blood and gore.

The woman held firm against the man's weakening struggles, until with one strained cry, he fell back into the blessed relief of unconsciousness. She eased him down to the bedding and felt his face with the back of her hand. He was very hot; his constant fever increased by the added pain. She had the child cool him down with a damp cloth while she carefully rolled him onto one side to check the wound in his back. It was red, angry looking and now bleeding again where his actions had torn at the newly healing area. She quickly applied a new poultice and pressed firmly to stop the flow of blood, ignoring the groans emanating from the still form. When she was satisfied that the wound would once again begin to heal, she laid him back down and brought the blanket back up to cover him. She pulled a small bowl from amongst the belongings she had managed to save from the attack. She half filled it with smouldering embers before sprinkling a mixture of dried herb leaves and roots from her pouch over the top. Next, she pulled a long black feather from her cloak to waft the smoke from the burning herbs towards the man, whispering all the while and watching as his pain etched features relax into restful sleep.

****

A jolt brought the man back to confused wakefulness <<The wagon! I'm still in the wagon!>>. He groaned with disappointment at his failure to escape. The young child walking beside him immediately alerted his mother when the man began to struggle once again. She stopped wearily, pulled the harness straps from her aching shoulders and knelt beside him, waiting to see if he would wake up completely. The man's fever had not dropped, and the woman felt it was as much his inner torment as his wounds that he constantly battled.

"Got to get away, gotta go back. My fault. Stop! No!"

The woman could not understand his frantic words as she tapped him on the face, hoping to wake him from the nightmare.

"I'm sorry …. Chris!"

His eyes fluttered open as the last call escaped his lips, and he looked straight into the dark eyes of the woman.

"What?"

"You are safe, brother."

He dragged one trembling hand across his face, "I thought I was still …. "

"Shhh and drink," she told him, holding a flask of water to his lips

"Where are we?" He was still confused; last he remembered they'd been in a cave.

"That place was no longer safe; we are moving on to a better place." The woman explained.

"How?" He looked around, there were no horses. Looking back to the woman, he realized how tired she appeared.

"Help me up so I can walk," he insisted.

"You are not ready." She held him down. "You will make my job harder if you move around."

"I can walk."

The woman sighed, added some herbs to the water and bade him drink. Within minutes he was asleep again, and the weary travellers were able to continue their journey. The woman was in the lead, dragging the unconscious man on the travois. One child walked beside him, the other followed behind to cover their trail.

***

"What's yer name?" he asked the woman.

It had been two days since they'd arrived at their new hiding place. Two days, during which time, the man had fought against the fever that had controlled his pain-racked body.

"Nazen," she replied, not taking her eyes from her work. She was busy preparing for the coming winter months and, if her family was to survive at all, much had to be done.

"Thank you, Nazen."

She stopped her work and looked at him. Her expression was unreadable. He mentally squirmed at the intensity of her gaze.

"Why did you do it?" He couldn't understand why the woman had risked everything to save his sorry hide.

The woman turned back to her work. "It was the right thing to do."

"The right thing would have been to let me die like the murderin' bastard I am."

"Perhaps."

"So, why didn't you?"

"It is the custom of our people to have a duty towards those that we have accepted favors or gifts from. You did not kill me, or my children. Also, you attempted to prevent the murder of my people, and you sought to secure our safety although you were seriously wounded yourself."

The man stared at her, mouth slightly agape, "But …."

"Also," she continued, not allowing him to speak, "I prayed to Usen for strength and protection. He sent you. It is not my place to deny such a gift."

The man buried his face in his hands and massaged his temples with his fingers. <<If only things were that simple.>>

The woman put down her work and retrieved the water skins from the far side of the shelter. She knelt down beside him, offering it to him. He took it absently and leant back against the wall.

"What is your name?" she asked, her voice once again soft and caring. His gaze wandered out the door and to the children busily piling firewood in the small clearing outside. His voice, when it came, was full of the anguish and guilt that he felt. "I have no name. I don't exist."

***

The man continued to heal rapidly over the next few days, and he was soon able to get up and walk around though he tired quickly. He helped out, where he could, with some of the necessary chores and allowed the children to tell him of their daily exploits and show him their treasured finds. Each day though brought with it the continued burden that he now felt and an increasing undefined anxiousness. The woman watched and waited, not understanding the confused aura that seemed to surround him, but recognizing the signs of what needed to be done.

One morning, about a week later, the man woke up to find the woman gone.

***

Dawn was still hours away when Nazen rose from her sleeping place. Fully clothed she silently left the small shelter that would be her home throughout the long winter - her home, and the children's, but not the man's. He would be leaving soon, whether he knew it yet or not.

She slipped into the protective darkness of the trees and carefully made her way down and out of the foothills. They needed horses, and she knew just where to get them.

Sunrise found her crouched on the treeline, hidden by rocks and small bushes, watching the town before her wake up. A memory of her own village and how it must of looked just before it was razed to the ground unfurled in her mind. The desire for revenge licked hotly at her insides, but she quelled the fire before it took control. Her need for horses outweighed her need for revenge right now. So, she sat. And watched. And waited.

***

The man limped around the clearing outside the wickiup, looking for some sign of the woman's departure. <<Damn, she's good.>> With the boy's following close behind, he ventured a little further into the woods and managed to pick up a slight trail that appeared to head south, but the trail soon disappeared again. He looked vaguely in that direction before admitting to defeat, and aching muscles, then headed back up to the shelter. The children didn't seem too concerned, so he had to trust that she'd be back soon. Trust. It had been awhile since he'd trusted anybody, and though it made him a little uneasy, he trusted her.

Coming from the other direction as he was, he noticed something on the edge of the clearing that had been hidden from him before. A small pile of roughly hewn branches had been placed underneath a low-lying bush. Just beyond that he saw for the first time the start of a man-made clearing. <<Or woman-made,>> he thought, wondering what she was up to.

***

With the sun setting on the horizon, the woman finally withdrew from her hiding place and stretched her stiffened muscles. She'd spent most of the day cramped under the bushes, only occasionally leaving her position to relieve herself and to scout around the edges of the town.

With night quickly falling, she made her way closer to the town. Keeping to the shadowed alley-ways, she eventually reached the corral out back of the town's livery. Several horses were held within its fences, and she watched them for a moment before choosing the one she wanted. She climbed the railings and dropped to the ground on the other side, her moccasined feet making no sound. Slowly, she edged her way towards the horses, calling softly, invitingly to them. A few looked in her direction, but she kept her eyes on the chosen one, cooing gently to it. She reached out one hand to its neck and rested it softly on the quivering mane. She brought her other hand to its nostrils, allowing it to smell her scent. The horse sniffed at the cupped hand before it and, sensing no threat, nuzzled into it, searching for a treat. Nazen scratched its ears and spoke more firmly to it, then began to back away, one step at a time.

The horse followed, intrigued, and they were soon standing by the corral gate. She quickly unlatched it and opened it just enough to allow herself and the horse out before pulling it closed again. She froze as it creaked its way back to the latch. But no one appeared to hear the noise, and she was able to relax and lead the horse away. She picked up a coiled rope left lying on a bench and looped one end around the horses neck. With one hand clutching at the mane, she pulled herself onto the horses back and urged it away from the stables and into the night.

At the edge of town, she stopped again and jumped down from the horse. She looped the other end of the rope to a post at the end of one of the alleys and trotted back towards the main street where several horses were tied to the hitching rail outside the saloon.

The noise from inside the crowded bar spilled out into the street as she made her way towards the horses. One horse was on the edge of the shadows. She approached it in the same manner she had the first horse and within minutes was leading it away from the saloon. Another handful of minutes went by, and the woman was soon back riding the unsaddled horse and leading the other towards the foothills further south of the town. When they reached the rockier terrain, she changed direction and headed back towards the place in the hills where her children and the man waited.

****

It was almost dawn of the next day when the woman returned leading the tired horses. She had taken the most circuitous route she could to throw off any would-be followers. The young boys rushed out at the first sound of her return and eagerly took the reins from her weary hands. She was just as tired, hungry and foot-sore as the animals and she handed them over with pleasure. She'd turned towards the saddled horse and started unbuckling the straps when she heard a movement behind her.

"I'll do that," the man said. "You rest."

She let him take over and headed towards her sleeping place to do exactly that.

***

The children collected some long grass and leaves, and bunched them together. They began the task of brushing down one horse while the man took care of the other. He uncinched the straps and slowly pulled the saddle from its back. The still tender muscles and newly healed wounds protested against the effort but he ignored them and continued on.

When the woman stepped outside, some hours later, both horses were rested and stood quietly munching the grass on the far side of the clearing. The children had turned their attention to making traps and the man was sitting pale, exhausted and apparently asleep nearby.

Keeping one eye on the children, she walked over to the same pile of branches the man had found earlier and began to pull them from under the bush. The faint sound of her movements eventually trickled down into the exhausted man's consciousness. He forced his eyes to open and then to focus. The woman had her back to him.

"What are you doing?" His voice was scratchy and slightly slurred from tiredness. The woman dropped the branches and turned to look at him. He could feel her sharp inspection of his well being from where he sat and was not surprised when she stood and fetched him some water.

"Thank you Nazen," he said solemnly.

She waited for him to drink his fill.

"It is a custom of our people that when guidance or connection is needed from the spirit world, a journey is undertaken into the mountains. No food or water is taken, and no weapons. You are not yet strong enough to do this but your need is great."

"My need?" He was getting a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Anxiety started to grow in the pit of his stomach as the meaning of her words dawned on him.

She nodded. "Your spirit guides gather around you. It is time to answer their call."

He stood quickly, wincing at the pain it caused and growing angry at his own weaknesses. "No," was all he said as he limped away.

Nazen watched him leave – noticed the angry set to his shoulders. Fear and anger radiated off him in waves and she dropped her head in sympathy. Facing fear was no easy task, as she knew well. She took a deep breath, prayed for strength, and returned to her pile of branches.

Within a relatively short time she had erected a small hut. Smaller than the wickiup they all shared. Large enough for one man to enter and begin a journey - his search for himself.

***

"I can't do it! I won't do it!" He walked, almost blindly into the woods. "I've gotten this far without anyone's help." <<For what?>> A little voice inside his head asked. <<Where have you gotten too?>> He pushed his own traitorous thoughts aside. <<Shit! Shit! Shit!>> A narrow branch whipped up to tangle in his clothes. "Goddamit!" He ripped it from the tree and threw it to the ground, his temper bubbling to the surface before he could control it. He kicked at the offensive branch, immediately regretting it as his back went into instant spasm. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, he swayed sharply before sinking to his knees. He forced himself to breathe slowly. <<Relax. Control it.>> As the cramping pain receded he reached for the tree he'd just attacked and used it for support to pull himself to his feet.

"That hurt," he mumbled dryly to himself, wiping his eyes. He stood still a little longer, breathing deeply, waiting for the spasms to subside completely before moving on. Looking around to get his bearings, he noticed for the first time the strange quietness and stillness around him. His gaze flicked from tree to tree <<where are the birds?>> and landed on a slim gap in the dense undergrowth. The sun shone invitingly through the break in the trees and he found himself moving toward it.

The gap turned out to be a small clearing and he felt a twinge in his gut as he entered – not of anxiety this time, more like recognition. A sense of peacefulness washed over him and he welcomed it, his anger dissipating as he stepped into the clearing. He heard a bird twittering close by then another and another.

He didn't know why but right here, in this small clearing, he felt safer than he had his entire life. He sat down in the soft grass – listening to the bird calls and the trees rustling in the breeze. He lifted his face to the sky and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. Sighing in appreciation, he laid down and, letting go of his worries, he slept.

***

He returned at dusk and sat by the fire in silence. The woman passed him his meal but kept her eyes averted. The children also kept their heads down, eyes firmly fixed on their own meals. The man looked at each of them in turn before letting his eyes wander to the new structure at the edge of the clearing. He stared at it until he felt the woman nudge his hands, urging him to eat.

After the meal, Nazen brought over some water and a bowl. She sprinkled something into the water and dipped one hand in to stir it around. The smell of the wilderness invaded his senses. He closed his eyes and breathed it in. When she was ready she nodded to the boys who knelt in front of the still silent man and began to remove his clothes. His eyes snapped open and he began to protest. Putting her wet fingers to his mouth, the woman stopped the words before the silence could be broken. <<Trust me,>> her eyes asked him. He relaxed at once and remained still under their ministrations.

When he was naked to his waist, the children shifted their activity to his boots and pulled them off swiftly. The woman dipped a soft chamois into the scented water and gently began to wipe his face clean. He closed his eyes again as the fragrance of the water filled his senses once more offering him the promise of the wild – clarity of vision and purpose, the freedom of his soul.

The chamois traced its way along his cheek-bones and over his eyes before moving across his brow and down to caress his jaw. His ears tingled as the soft leather massaged his lobes and he breathed in deeply when it moved to press against his nose, back out across his cheeks then softly, tenderly to his lips.

The chamois moved away and he heard it dip into the water. His eyes opened to mere slits as the refreshing water dripped into his hair and ran down his neck. More water flowed onto his head to be replaced by strong fingers running along his scalp, pulling gently on his hair and rubbing into his skull.

Water splashed as the chamois was dipped back into the bowl. He held his breath waiting to feel where it would land and releasing it in gratification when the wet cloth was slowly dragged along his shoulders. The cloth was worked into his shoulders and neck – up and down, round and around. It made its way down his back – lightly brushing the tender areas but still causing him to stiffen at even that slight touch. He relaxed again as the soft chamois moved away and concentrated on his spine. His whole body yearned for that touch and welcomed the feel of thumbs pressing in and around each vertebrae as they travelled all the way back up to his skull. Fingers pressed in to the base of his skull forcing him to straighten his neck and slouched back. They progressed to his shoulders kneading their way down each arm. He felt the woman move around to sit in front of him and then the kneading began again as each hand was taken up and his fingers stretched, and rubbed, and pulled. His hands were gently placed on his knees, his face delicately stroked, and then the contact was broken. The hands moved away to be replaced by water dribbling and then flowing onto his head and down his back, face and chest.

He felt rather than heard the woman move away, the space between them widen. He wanted to tell her to come back but the words remained unspoken, his lips unmoving. He was held in place by the sensations her touch had aroused deep within him. Frozen in time as something else, buried deep inside, slowly began to stir, to continue the awakening that began when he first heard the woman's voice.

Nazen returned flanked by the children. Each carried a small bowl of different colored pigments. The boys had spent the afternoon crushing and pounding various leaves and roots; grinding a mixture of clay and dirt until the right colors were achieved. A deep rusty red symbolised the blood of the warrior, of sacrifice, dark green for life and new beginnings and black for knowledge, wisdom and respect.

The man opened his eyes at the cold, wet, slightly rough touch that began to trace a pattern on his chest. Shivers ran up and down his skin as the cold pigments were applied in intricate detail all over his upper body, face and arms.

He was still in a semi-trance state when he felt the woman pulling at his arms to stand. He complied awkwardly, his legs stiff from sitting so long. The children grabbed him round the waist as he swayed, holding him firmly till he regained his balance. When he could stand unaided the children dropped their hands and stepped back to allow their mother to finish the ritual. She deftly undid his damp trousers and let them drop to the ground then quickly tied a loin cloth around his hips. She tugged on one arm and he stepped out of his trousers and closer to the fire, his gaze quickly caught by the flickering flames. She reached down to the edge of the fire, took a handful of ash and started a new design on his legs. The ash was warm on his skin, but not unpleasantly so and he soon found himself experiencing a whole set of new sensations as she worked her way around and down his legs.

When she was finished she left him standing staring into the fire. The two boys watched in silence as their mother filled the now empty bowl with embers and then sprinkled them with the same substance she'd added to the water. She took the bowl to the structure she had built and placed it inside by one wall. She then returned to the man and carefully led him away from the fire and to the hut. She hooked the skins that covered the doorway open and guided him inside. As soon as he entered he could smell the wilderness again and an image of the sunny clearing filled his mind. He sat in the middle of the small space and watched the woman finish the preparations. She moved the bowl so it sat just in front of him, wafted the smoke so it curled about his head and filled the room with its scent, then quietly withdrew. As she brought the skins down she glanced at his face and was held by the profound cast of his glittering blue eyes. She looked away again to break the connection and dropped the skins. Gesturing to the children to come close she sat by the doorway and started clapping her hands in a slow beat. The boys picked up the beat, their small hands clapping it out in perfect synchronisation.

****

The man's gaze did not falter when the skins dropped blocking his view of the woman and the outside world. His world now was this space in which he sat enveloped by the swirling smoke, his heightened senses listening, feeling everything going on around him. When the clapping started he closed his eyes.

The woman's voice came so softly at first he didn't recognize it as being separate from the images that were slowly unfolding in his mind's eye. The melody edged its way into the crevices of his being swelling them with its warm resonance. The rhythm grew more complicated as it surrounded him with sound and brought him ever closer towards his purpose.

He felt as if his body was slowly dissolving into nothingness, melting away until all that was left was a glimmering light flashing through the mists. <<Mists?>> He looked around and found he was surrounded by a thick fog, silver light glinting here and there, then shimmering like lightening blanketing a stormy sky.

Suddenly the mists parted and a dim figure walked towards him. He recognized the worn coat and sweat-stained hat pulled low in an instant. The figure looked up, one hand pushing the hat back and away from his face. Blue eyes sparkled with a silver gleam and long brown hair winged lightly in the growing breeze. With an almost imperceptible dip of the head the figure nodded to him then looked away and beyond him. Another figure was coming forward, but this one ignored his presence completely as he strode directly to the man in the buffalo coat.

The two men clasped hands and appeared to speak to each other, both smiling at the end of the exchange. The man watching suddenly felt that knowing what the two men said was the most important thing in the world. He strained to hear their words but the breeze was getting stronger, transforming into a whirling force that roared past his ears drowning out all other sounds. He continued to watch, helplessly, as the men turned to him their expressions faintly apologetic. The wind reached them causing their coats to flap about them. The first figure put a hand on his friend's arm and cocked his head away. The other nodded to him, his lips moving in answer. As they turned, the second figure looked back, directly towards him as he remained motionless, the mists once again rising. His lips moved again and one hand beckoned, reaching out to him before turning and rejoining the first figure as he walked away.

Unable to move, trapped within the light, the man felt an all-encompassing grief as he watched the figure that was himself, fade into the mists, his best friend – his brother – walking beside him. He watched until he could no longer see the black coat that flapped about the man's legs. He watched until his eyes ached and burned from the strain.

Then, as the winds blew the churning mists away and roared through and around him, he abruptly felt himself falling, as if forever, to land with a sickening wrench back in his own body inside the small hut. He stared at the cold bowl before him. His body felt like a lead weight anchoring him to the earth. The image of the two men walking away ripped through him as, once again, he saw the moving lips of Chris Larabee calling him, beseeching him to come home.

His howl of anguish started low in his throat, there was no controlling it. He lifted his head and sent his cry into the night. He couldn't stop it. He didn't want to. He needed this release, to scream and yell his pain, his guilt - to let it go. His voice grew hoarse, his breathing ragged until finally he was reduced to a quiet sobbing, his face buried in his hands.

The woman shushed the concerned children back to their beds before lifting back the skins and entering the hut. She pushed aside the bowl and moved closer to the anguished man. Wrapping her arms around him she held him tightly, as she would one of her children, until he rested his head on her shoulder in simple acceptance of the comfort she offered. The sobbing came to a shuddering halt and his breathing slowly evened out. He brought his arms up then to embrace the woman and they laid down together on the bare earth. He felt safe in her arms, like he had in the sunny clearing. His eyes sought hers and locked onto the faint gleam he saw in the darkness.

His lips parted, "Thank you Nazen." His whispered words quickly disappeared in the stillness. She brushed his face with her hand, placed one finger over his lips then leant forward to close his tired eyes with a kiss. They lay entwined until the early morning light filtered through the rough walls of the shelter. Nazen opened her eyes to gaze into the man's face, now completely at ease as he slept on. She carefully extricated herself from his embrace and slipped out to begin the preparations for a new day.

***

Two days later the man stood by his saddled horse. The woman had provided him with all he would need for the next stage of his journey. Most of it made with her own hands. The rest, like the horse and saddle, procured by her at some risk to her own life. The saddle had even come with a rifle and bedroll. She'd even mended his old coat and made sure the precious contents of its deep pockets had not been damaged. He'd checked them himself just that morning.

He hung his head low and fidgeted with the reins held loosely in his hands. He owed the woman everything and he was unwilling, just yet, to say goodbye.

"What will you do?" he asked her as she checked his provisions yet again.

"We will winter here and move further into the mountains with the spring to rejoin my people."

"I should stay. Come with you." He persisted in the argument he'd been steadily losing since his experiences in the little hut.

She sighed inwardly at his stubbornness. "You have your own journey to make, your own home to go to. It is time to go our separate ways."

He knew that, he really did, but knowing it didn't make it any easier.

The boys came up to him, their hands hidden behind their backs. He reached out to rustle their hair and squatted down in front of them, a ready smile on his face.

The eldest boy brought his hands out. They held a colorfully painted leather pouch. The pattern was a mini-reproduction of some of the designs his mother had painted on the man's body. The man glanced away for a moment, his eyes suddenly hot, before extending his hand to accept the gift offered him. It was the younger boy's turn to offer a gift and he held his cupped hands out to the man. He, in turn, cupped his hands under the boy's and clasped them in his strong grip. The boy smiled and opened his hands. Nestled in his palms were two highly polished black stones. The boy dropped them into his friend's hand, a bright smile lighting his face.

The man stared at the stones in astonishment before pushing them back to the boy. "These are too valuable. You will need …."

The boy shook his head and closed the man's hand around the stones. "For you," he said shyly. He stepped closer then and threw his arms around the man's neck before running back to his mother's side. The older boy followed his brother's actions and embraced the man as well. The man returned the embrace fondly. Standing, and lifting the boy with him, he half-twirled him in the air before setting him back down on the ground. The boy giggled with delight and wrapped his arms around the man's waist in a final gesture of goodbye then he too returned to his mother's side.

The man turned to the horse, put one foot in the stirrup and, with some effort, pulled himself into the saddle. He tugged on the reins till the horse faced the family, nodded to them then nudged the horse with his knees to start moving. They'd only gone a few feet when the man suddenly turned the horse back around and went back to where the woman stood. He leant over in the saddle and pulled the woman to him in a final embrace. His lips brushed her ear and he whispered two words for only her to hear. She nodded to him and breathed her goodbye to him in return.

He let her go and whirled the horse back around, kicking it into a slow trot away from the clearing and the wickiup.

Away from the woman and her children.

Away from his past, and into his future.

***

High above the small clearing, the man stopped the horse and looked back down the mountain. He could barely see their hiding place and could only faintly detect the smoke coming from their fire. He opened his hand and looked once again at the small black stones. Rubbing them together in his palm they grew warm at his touch. They were valuable beyond measure, even more so to him as a tangible memory of his time with the woman and her children. They would bring him wisdom and, with any luck, some serenity. He smiled to himself - he could sure do with some of that.

He closed his hand tightly again squeezing the stones so hard his knuckles whitened, forcing the living energy he could feel in them to seep through his skin, connecting his soul – making it whole – with the black Tears of the Apache forever. His fingers sprung open as his hand suddenly felt hot. The stones glistened in the sunlight, their blackness bringing back the memory of a black coat flapping in the wind. He dropped the stones into the small pouch now hanging from his neck and tucked it under his shirt.

"C'mon fella," he murmured to the horse. "Let's go home."

THE END

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