Chapter 34: Coyote Dancing

 ..::Eagle spoke: Long ago, your kind and mine, created this world in accordance with the Mother's dream. It was created upon a not quite yet completely recovered physical expression of herself. Dimensions, and the filters between dimension, had not yet achieved their final steps for the balancing was not yet completed...Many times the openings between the worlds were allowed to be kept open.
   For the most part those of your race were  impatient and wanted to quickly emerge from their hovels beneath the surface of the newly forming earth. This new Fourth World, it was decided, was to be a place of free will. This condition was established in order that your kind might develop to its fullest potential without outside influence.  There had been much changing of your species, which had expressed in many forms.  This was due to work upon your embodiment by those who came from beyond the Sun::..

Robert Ghost Wolf
Winds of Change

.................

"Then for a season they wandered together in the glades of Lothlorien, until it was time for him to depart.  And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn Arathorn's son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphredil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.
  "And Arwen said: 'Dark is the Shadow and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.'
  "But Aragorn answered 'Alas! I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me...the Shadow I utterly reject. But neither, lady, is the Twilight for me; for I a mortal, and if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce.'
  "And she stood then as still as a white tree, looking into the West, and at last she said: 'I will cleave to you, Dunadan, and turn from the Twilight. Yet there lies the land of my people and the long home of all my kin."

J.R.R. Tolkien
APPENDICES - The Lord of the Rings

                                                                                 

..............

Compline was now ended, and the monks all stood and came to mingle with the visiting sisters. The lovely Lady of the Tattoos, as Daryl had dubbed her, smiled gently at the priest, Father Michael.
  'My apologies for our lateness, bon Pere,' she began, 'but we were interrupted by two errant visitors...' She moved aside, and the other sisters parted as well, to allow the two visitors to emerge from the crowd.

Father Michael's hands opened before him in a welcoming gesture. 'Brother Wolf Star! Such a stranger you have been! Welcome back, my son.'
   Wolf Star allowed the bon pere to embrace him and kiss him on both cheeks, ala Francais. 'And who braved this long journey with you?'

Llew had attempted to comb his hair over his ears as much as possible, but wee tips still emerged. Wolf Star took his arm. 'Allow me to introduce a visitor from the Otherworld, near where my sister and I were found. He is, in fact, the grandson of a great king in their world.'

'Llew Llaw Gyffes, if it please Your Grace.' And young Llew did his very best to make a deep and most humble bow.

'Ah. I see.' Father Michael did indeed. 'Well. All travelers are welcome. Even Wolf Star and Sister Cecilia were Strangers from Afar at one time.'

'Indeed,' Cecilia smiled. 'Upon meeting Llew, he did refer to me as "Lady Cyfnither" in his tongue, or Milady Cousin.'

Daryl was watching the proceedings with great interest. Apparently, Pere Michael was well acquainted with guests from Other Worlds. And other Times, perhaps?
    His gaze returned to Sister Cecilia. And remained there. The patron saint of music.  Wolf Star's younger sister, obviously.
   And...a Sister. Alas.
                                                                           

........

'And just what did you do that for?'

Shannon was, Emlyn knew, quite put-out about her nascent romantic flirtation with Llew being nipped in the proverbial bud. But it had been for her own good. And Llew's as well.

Em appeared more sangfroid that she was. 'Why came you here, Shannon? I would hope that you don't travel thus for no great reason?'

'As do I,' Athena put in. 'My poor horse is getting a henchman's workout of late.'

The three had gathered at the gatehouse after the men had left. Emlyn figured that anything she and Shannon would discuss would lie safe with Athena, who also offered sage advice on occasion.

Just now, she offered tea in lieu of advice. Let these two have it out first, she reasoned, setting the tea tray down before the fire.

Shannon grabbed a mugful and waved a dismissive hand. 'Indeed I am here with...news. And, thank you Athena.'
Her eyes went to Emlyn as though locking on target.
She briefly sketched a glance at Athena, then back at Em, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

'Let's have it then. Anything you say to me, Athena will keep to herself.' Emlyn added honey and lemon to her steaming mug. 'And, I've found her to be of great help in most matters.'

'Very well.' Shannon sat forward. 'You're not going to believe this! As you know, I've been speaking with Allyn about...things.' Again with the leaping eyebrows. Em waved her on. 'All right; well, much I've learned. For one thing, Allyn's name is actually Alain, he is of French descent.'

'This is going somewhere?' Em couldn't help but ask.

'Mais oui.' Shannon took a sip of tea, miffed but still game. 'He thought it would seem more 'Keltic', for the band's sake.' She looked to Athena. 'The Blackpool Bards, you see.'

'Shannon! The point, if there is one?!' Em really needed some alone time. Soon.

'Yes. Well,' Shannon continued, 'It seems, that there is, or was, a certain legend hereabouts...that is, from Massachusetts up into Quebec, and beyond, including Nova Scotia.' She paused and sipped. 'No one is truly certain exactly where, but! The legend is, that there exists a cache of buried Templar treasure  somewhere in the area. A treasure brought with them, after they were branded heretic and made outlaw, here to the New World.'

                                                                         

'Oh, Shannon, cherie, that is old news! Everyone has heard that tale!' Emlyn sat back, disappointed. 'All that Alex and Jeanne spoke of was Sir Henry Sinclair's discovery of the New World in the 12th century, long before Columbus.'

'The Chapel at Roslyn, in Scotland, is a holding of the Sinclairs, or St. Clair's.' Athena added, her voice sweet and low, meant to be soothing, 'And, it is full of Templar symbols. Scotland was one of the safer places to which they could escape, along with Portugal and the New World.'

'Yes!' Shannon nodded slowly. 'But that's not all. There is also, in old French and Brittany legends, a tale which describes the treasure; including not only jeweled swords and the like, but detailed geneologies of the Merovingians, and!' Shannon held up two fingers (ala Jean Baptiste)'-- The Holy Grail, as well!'

'This too, Alex had intimated.' Emlyn was becoming rather weary of this same old dance.

Shannon smiled then. She wasn't quite finished. She stood and went to the fireplace, putting a hand upon the heavy wooden mantle, and turned to face them.

'So you sent Llew off with Wolf Star to a monastery, you said. To save him from this Jezebel?' Shannon wasn't about to give it up easily.

Emlyn sighed, throwing her head back against the sofa.'You do not want to get involved with the Twyleth Teg. I can well understand the attraction of young Llew...but he is not a singular entity. Along with the son, you will always have the father.' Her head came forward as she stared hard at Shannon. 'Believe me, THAT, you do not want.'

'Yes, all right, it's really nothing, to me...' Shannon ran her fingers lightly along the mantle. 'However, you might be interested to know...in these old Quebec legends, (Alain's family is from Mont Real), that particular treasure, was rumoured to be secreted away in a certain well-hidden -- monastery!' Her eyebrows engaged in heroic acrobatics, '...In a great forest, somewhere in this general area!'

Emlyn looked at Athena then. They both seemed to agree that this, indeed, was news.
  'Had you ever heard of this?' Em asked Athena, who shook her head slowly.
  'I haven't.' She poured more tea. 'Nor had I any inkling that there was a monastery in the bois. In fact, I did not even know that Wolf Star had been raised by monks. The wolves, I knew about.'

Athena stood and began to gather the empty mugs upon the tray. 'However, when Wolf Star told me about being nurtured by a she-wolf, oh, yes!' She felt their unbelieving gaze upon her, 'He did indeed. Anyway, he did say that their den had been situated far back in a cave somewhere. Possibly the monastery is nearby.'
She took the tray to the kitchen.

All sat silent for a time, pondering this tale, this new assault on reason.

Athena returned. 'He also said that he'd spoken to an old medicine man who had told him that he was likely related to the First People, who had emerged from the Twilight World of the under-earth and were half human beings, and half Elder Race; those who had came from the skies to earth, after their world had been destroyed in antiquity.'

'Interesting...' Emlyn mused. 'Tales of the Twyleth Teg, the Fair Folk, are also related to this, that their kind had 'fallen' from Elsewhere and were trapped between worlds here.' She frowned in thought.
'Also, one hears tales in history of the Americas about blond or red-haired natives who were of great stature, leaving skeletons 9 feet tall and more. The Indian tribes here then avoided them and some made war against them.'

                                                                        

Shannon returned to her seat and regarded the others.
'This is especially intriguing news, with the men off to a monastery, sequestered far away in the great northwoods.'

'Indeed.' Em leaned her head upon her hand, thinking. It had seemed the perfect idea, to send wee Llew off to visit the monks with Wolf Star, surely one couldn't get up to much mischief in a monastery. But now...   'Now, I wonder...' Emlyn pondered, '...exactly what they are up to there.'

...........

Daryl slept hard that night, and dreamed deep.
  He dreamt of running fleet and strong on four legs, paws barely touching the earth, and as he ran, he knew he was not alone, another ran beside him, his mate, as swift as he, their breaths making puffs in the scintillating night air.

This was freedom. This was how he could become his true self, he now knew. He became a part of it all, under the diamond sky; Sister Moon shining her milky light above them was all they needed, their preternatural senses a-spark with subtle nuance all about them, speaking to them of forest secrets.

His mate nipped at him, a love bite about the ruff around his strong neck, and he growled in answer, nosing her off her feet and they rolled and gamboled in the soft ferns and grasses; he played gently and let her dominate him, he rolled over, belly up as he pawed at her. Then he was up and over her, jaws between her neck and shoulders, as he lay hard upon her, and they lay together then, sides heaving as they drank in the night and knew that they were safe here, in their own territory, as they were meant to be.
  As he was meant to be.

                                                                  

........

Bells. Again.
  Suddenly Daryl was hearing bells. Why?
  He opened his eyes. The bells! He frowned. Who let Quasimodo loose?

Daryl groaned, seeing the morning light barely breaking through the wee window set in the stone walls. Such a fabulous dream he'd had...something very wild and free. He breathed deeply, expecting to smell  rain-fresh fields, but no, just the scent of cold stone. Yet, he had to admit there was also a not unwelcome whiff of yeasty brewing, as well as baking bread...

He arose slowly. Diosa, but he was stiff and sore!
Every part of his body ached or was scratched up by thorns and branches, even an ankle was wrapped up around some bruising. His last dose of laudanum must have finally worn off...he'd gotten through yesterday fairly well, but now...now, was a different story.
  And yet -- last night, he knew he had run like the wind.

That thought faded fast however, as Daryl sat up groaning. He wondered where his clothes, and coat were. And where the little brown bottle was? He half-shook his head; no, now was a good time to just tough it out, get it out of his system.
  Any movement was 10 kinds of hell, though.

He looked about him. Maybe Brother Sebastian had more willow bark tea at least. Or perhaps grew poppies in a greenhouse?

--'Yee-ikes!' Daryl started, as a large black missle landed beside him. Purring. And kneading the blankets.
  'Melchizedek.' The cat raised his grinning green eyes to Daryl's.
   He gingerly put out a hand and stroked the soft ebony fur, sending the purr into a deeper octave.

'Beware of making friends with Melchizedek.' Brother Sebastian appeared, no doubt summoned by Daryl's yelp. 'You may wind up finding him on your doorstep one day. How are you this morning?'

                                                                                  

'Eh, some better, some worse. Head doesn't hurt as much, but the rest of me seems to have been beaten with an ugly stick.' Diosa be thanked there were no mirrors here. 'Is there any of that willow bark left?'

Sebastian smiled. 'There is. Join me in the lab?'

Daryl slipped into his robe and cowl, sandals, and slowly, creakily limped into the outer room. It appeared to be something of a laboratory, galley and herbal drying room; plants hung from rafters above while Daryl identified a couple of small copper stills amongst the rambling assortment of chemist paraphernalia.

He took a seat out of the way whilst Sebastian boiled water for tea. The monk then came over and seated himself before Daryl, taking hold of his bruised and bandaged ankle, hefting it onto his knees.
  He gently felt about the ankle, noticing the wincing Daryl couldn't help. 'Still quite sore?' Daryl nodded.
'It should stay wrapped for a while, a week at least.' He nodded to a corner where various sticks were propped. 'Should you have need, there are canes available.'

Daryl hoped it wouldn't come to that. 'I'll be all right.' He paused. 'I dreamed of running, last night. Running fast, on four legs.'

Brother Sebastian stood, taking up the boiling kettle and pouring hot water into a large mug. 'Indeed?' He asked, setting a clay disc atop the mug, to keep in the warmth.
   'Yes. It was quite a shock to awaken to find myself with only one and a half good legs.'
   Sebastian smiled briefly, handing Daryl the tea.
  'I met Wolf Star only recently, through a mutual friend,' Daryl continued. 'It seems he is well-acquainted with the brothers here. And the sisters.' Daryl attempted a small sip.

Brother Sebastian sighed, and resumed his seat by Daryl. 'Yes. He and Sister Cecilia were found by us.
As small children, many years ago now. I was not here then, but all know the story. Wolf Star went his own way in the world, but Cecilia stayed, and became a Sister, in our sister community, at the nunnery of St.Agnes, nearby.'

Daryl sipped his tea, running his hands over the smooth stones in the wall. 'They're all so smooth. River rocks?'

'That's correct.' Brother Sebastian nodded. 'This place was built with stones from Wolf Creek, which is more of a river, now. I am guessing you came up the waterway from the south, which runs into Wolf Creek. Had you approached from the north, you wouldn't have gotten so...torn up.'

Daryl smiled ruefully. 'I was trying to outrun a bear.'

'Ha!' Sebastian slapped his thighs as he stood. 'Well! That explains it! It's a good thing you got away, that's the main thing.'

'I'm off to my chores.' He regarded Daryl closely. 'Come on into the kitchen for something to eat when you're ready. You've missed the morning meal, but there's always bread, cheese and eggs. St.Agnes boasts some of the most delicious sheep cheeses, and they keep hens as well. Our habits have been woven from their wool. We, in turn, keep an apiary, and supply the honey and mead. And beer of course, we grow our own hops and barley. We keep the Lord's creatures, and they keep us, cultivate the land and share its bounty.'

                                                                          

'It sounds like heaven on earth...' Daryl's gaze was far away. He broke from his reverie and looked up at Brother Sebastian. 'I enjoyed Compline last evening.
The ceremony, the chanting. And the sisters joining in were a delight.'

'Aye, they are indeed.' A real smile from Sebastian this time. 'We are practising together for celebration on All Saints Day soon. We are always happy to have you join us. The sisters will be there with us again later today.'

'I shall be there.' Daryl couldn't wait.

................

Daryl knew he hadn't been able to get much information from Brother Sebastian just by dropping loaded hints.
He'd inquired about the kitchen, but the monks working there had informed him that Wolf Star was staying with his sister, Sister Cecilia, at St.Agnes's.

Daryl took his apple, cheese and bread along with a water bag, outside with him.

He wandered from the kitchen into a walled herb garden, close by the vegetable patch. Good idea, he thought, to plant the herbs and vegetables close to the kitchen. He noticed that the large rock wall he'd encountered on the fateful stormy night of his arrival, stretched all about the monastery, and St. Agnes's as well, he imagined. Also necessary for keeping out deer and other marauders. Like bear.
And wolf.

Daryl limped around, attempting to get a look at St. Agnes's. It must be within seeing distance, he reasoned, as he alternately bit into apple, cheese and rye roll. It was good cheese. There must be sheep about somewhere...

St.Agnes, he knew, was patroness of young girls, victims of rape, virgins, and even of the Girl Scouts.
She was famous for her purity and choosing a life of dedication to le bon Dieu, refusing to marry.

                                                                     

No wonder Daryl was infatuated. Forbidden fruit, the tasting of which never did turn out well. Daryl told himself he would merely worship from afar.
  But, he didn't believe himself, knowing his track record.

...........

Somehow, Daryl had managed to fall asleep again late that afternoon. He'd returned to the small bed in the infirmary, after limping about the grounds to no avail; too many tall trees about where the fields hadn't been cleared for cultivation. He'd try to circumnavigate the place again later; but putting too much stress on his ankle was causing it to throb painfully.

To his chagrin, it was twilight when he awoke. Bells again...then the sound of chant caught his ear. Softly it stole through the walled corridors, calling him.

He was missing it! Up he rose and smoothed his habit as best he could, slipped sandals on, and limped hurriedly to chapel...

..“Let my prayer rise like incense before you, O Lord! The lifting up of my hands like an evening offering!”
The monks chanted, as the priest swung the incense in censer before them.

Daryl took a seat in the rear, near to where the sisters soon would be, he'd hoped. He recognised that it wasn't as late as he'd thought, only Vespers now, not Compline yet. The darkness without heralded another storm. Still, he had hopes.

Once more, with bowed head, he drifted off into a meditative state, entranced by the drone of Latin, like the drone of bees the monks kept...recalling his dream of the night before, running free and wild under the silvered moon, and felt himself falling into a deep reverie...

And, again, just as before, Daryl came to himself upon hearing the lilt of the nun's sweet singing:


Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;

Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love

Then was I born of a virgin pure,
Of her I took fleshly substance
Thus was I knit to man's nature
To call my true love to my dance.

Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love...

........                                                                       

Oh, sublime sweetness! Daryl's eyes became misty. His gaze remained riveted upon Sister Cecilia in the front row. His throat was tight as he became transported by the old sweet hymn...Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day.

He swallowed and attempted to sing along with the monks as they traded verses with the sisters, and then all joined together under Brother Louis' direction.

Such a hymn they'd chosen! Daryl was astonished by the power of its simplicity. Brother Louis knew what he was doing, it seemed; he did not turn the lovely old hymn into a jig by speeding it up, but allowed it to flow softly, and by stretching out the chorus of, 'Oh, my love, my lovvve...' it became an entreaty of the Lover for the Beloved. Plaintive and longing. It was utterly sublime. Rumi would have loved it, Daryl thought.

He sighed then, Daryl did, his heart full. However, he soon felt the weight of a hard gaze upon him. He noticed Wolf Star, staring at him, frowning. He knew the man had been watching him. Daryl had wished to speak with him earlier, to meet Llew then, and tell them how he'd found this place by accident.

What must he be thinking, Wolf Star, brother of the sweet Cecilia? Had she, the wolf, become now the Lamb?
And what thought he of Daryl, then? That Daryl had wolfish designs upon her, a pure and dedicated soul, under the protection of St.Agnes, defender of virgins?

Daryl had once again woven quite a tangled knot about himself. He wondered if even Holy Mother Mary could unravel this one...
                                                                         

................
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!

Robert Shaw Chorale

Tomorrow Will Be My Dancing Day

Chapter 33: Dona Nobis Pacem

 'It's a pretty village, isn't it?' said Paul.
'What's it called again?'

'Three Pines,' Gamache replied.

'Because of them?' He pointed to the 3 tall pine trees at the end of the village green.

'Yes. It's an old code. 3 pine trees planted together means safety. It was used as a signal centuries ago. It marked a sanctuary.'

Louise Penny
The Hangman

 ...................

"We do not want to merely see Beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words --
to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves."

Lewis saw this unquenchable longing as a sure sign that no part of the created world, and thus no aspect of our experience, is capable of fulfilling humankind. We are dominated by a homelessness, and yet by a keen sense of what "home" means.

Colin Duriez
Tolkien and C.S. Lewis - The Gift of Friendship

..........

The Miracle of the Wolf

..::According to all the sources, including the earliest source, "Legenda de vita et obitu sancti Guilielmi Confessoris et heremitae", all of which are close to Catholicism, Guilielmi performed many miracles. The best-known miracle was and still is the "Miracle of the Wolf" (1591). Because this, he is often depicted in company with a "domesticated" wolf, even in the monastery of Montevergine::..

........................

 ..::If only you knew how powerful you truly were. If only you knew from whence you came and that the wisdom is there for the asking. You are without limitation. You are beyond where fear can even conceive to follow. Fear is the necromancer that is within each of us, the part of us that doubts the very existence of the Great Spirit force. The Ghost Dance is the song of the Wind, its call shall be heard across the land.  Every tree, every bird that flies, and every scent that fills the air will speak its message.  It is time for the Children of the Sun to Arise::..

Robert Ghost Wolf - Winds of Change
                                                                     

..........

Daryl awoke. He knew not where.

His eyes glanced about him, but moving his head was still a challenge. It ached. Along with everything else.
   He saw nothing more than walls of stone on one side of him, and another wall of wood on the other. Light edged in softly from beyond that wall. A flickering light of fire or candle.

It was cool within these walls, but under blankets and sheepskin it was warm enough. Daryl closed his eyes with relief, drinking in the warmth, and pulled covers closer about him. Such a mercy to be warm at last!

As he lay, trying not to think about anything much, he realised he heard something far off in the distance, yet seeming to come from within these walls...a sound of music.

Song, or chant it was. The beauty of it, the gentle cadence upon his weary nerves soothed him. So softly sung, it seemed to disappear at times, and then return, like waves upon a shore.

Am I dead and hearing choirs of the Angeles? Daryl sighed softly. He hoped so. He was so tired, and hurt. He would lie here, forever, if only he could.
He knew a great thirst though, and endeavored to lift himself up in search of water.

'Ah, you are awake.' A voice from the outer room found him. The voice was followed by the cowl'd and robed figure he'd known from the gate. Death himself.
Death smiled genially.

'I think so,' Daryl croaked, as he tried to sit up, groaning. 'I rather wish I wasn't, though...' He gasped as Death reached under his arms and pulled him gamely into a sitting position.
   Water was poured into an earthenware mug and offered him. 'Can you grasp this?' Death inquired cordially.

Daryl did, and drank thirstily. 'Ah...thank you.' He attempted a focused eye upon his attendant. 'I...am not dead?'

'No,' Death answered, shaking his head slowly with a small smile.

'Then who are you? What is this place?' Daryl put a cool hand to his head, closed his eyes and lay back against the stone wall. He tried a deep breath but soon broke into a coughing fit.

The voice had retreated to the outer room. Daryl heard the sound of water pouring and then smelled a not unwelcome scent of warm herbs.
  'Here, drink this.' Death offered a cup. 'It is willow bark and camomile, a bit of licorice root, for that cough. And honey.'

Daryl drank gratefully. Indeed the hot herbal drink seemed to seep into his starved cells so that he drank it all down with gusto.

Death took a seat beside him.
  'I am Brother Sebastian.' (Ah, not Death then. Daryl was relieved and only slightly disappointed.)'You are in the monastery of St.William of Montevergine.'

'The Wolf Saint?' Daryl asked.
'You know of him?' Sebastian was pleased.
'Only the...legend.' Daryl was most puzzled. 'We are   not in Italy?'
'Alas, no. It would be much warmer, indeed.' Brother Sebastian was nothing if not pithy. 'You are still in Massachusetts, although rather far north. We are not far from New Hampshire. St.William of the North, one might say.'

How the...heck did I get this far north? Daryl's mind reeled with this enigmatic information.

'It is time for some garden work. Many herbs are raised here that are used in our medicines. I will check on you later.' Brother Sebastian stood. 'Ring if you need anything.' He nodded to the bedside table where a brass bell reposed.
  Daryl eyed it with vague horror. Bells right now would be quite beyond his aching head.
  'I am just fine here. Thank you, Brother Sebastian.'

Daryl listened to the footfalls of the gentle brother echo softly down the hallway, and sighed. His brain refused to question or even focus on anything. All anxiety and fevered haste seemed to have been beaten out of him.

Later. Later he could think. Just now, he would not question whatever fates had brought him here. He only knew that here, perhaps, he could rest and heal.
-- Imagine that.
   Daryl did. And slept.
                                                                             

..............  


'Someone is coming from the Estate.' Athena had a quick eye. She called to the others who all turned their gaze past the fields toward the Mausoleum to view a woman striding hard their way.

Fair of face and form she was, with long blond hair blowing like ripened wheat in the autumn winds.   'Diosa!' Em exclaimed. 'Sure if it isn't Shannon!' What the devil could this mean?

Em began walking to meet her, Llew following in her trail.
  'So! You found your mobile unit then? Or came you by broomstick?' A more inconvenient time wee Shannon couldn't have picked if she tried.

'Where'n the divvil have you been?!' Shannon stood at attention, hands on hips when they'd come close enough to harangue. She then took notice of Llew -- and notice again, her face a mask of shock and awe.
  'And just whoo might this be?' Or, perhaps what, she wondered.

'Shannon,' Emlyn answered, trying to remain calm, collected, and politely on top of it all, 'I would like you to meet Llew Llaw Gyffes, son of Gwydion, son of Math ap Mathonwy, Chief Bard, Druid and King of Wales...and myself. Llew, this is my dear friend Shannon Fitzgerald.'

Llew made a leg and a proper bow, sweeping an arm before him. 'Milady Fitzgerald...'

Shannon's eyes went wide as saucers as they  blinked repeatedly and glommed onto Llew, especially about the ears. 'I...' She stared unbelieving at Em.
  'I, am pleased to make your acquaintance...Llew Llaw Gyffes.' She managed a small curtsy only slightly wavering. 'Please call me Shannon.' Her eyes went back to Em, accusingly.

'And I am Llew, if it please milady.' Llew smiled and held out an arm. 'Might I escort thee?'

Shannon's alarm melted to butter as she unctuously took Llew's arm and began to sway her hips as they, (with Em trailing behind, rolling her eyes), made their way back to where Athena and Wolf Star were waiting with their raptors.

Emlyn could see what was coming, as she gazed narrowly at the chummy couple before her, seeing the Courtship of Gywdion and Emlyn being brazenly repeated in the tilt of the young folks heads together and in such charming words from wee Llew's clever tongue that he surely got from his wicked father...the girlish giggles coming from dear friend Shannon quite turned her stomach.
  Em knew something had to be done. And fast.

                                                              

.............

One fine late autumn day, after a night of storms, an odd sight was seen, or might have been seen, by anyone about to view it. However, there were only birds and chipmunks, fox and deer, creatures that crept and swam and flew about their business.

A large white owl was one of these. He flew above the strange pair who were mounted together upon a star horse, borrowed for the journey. What he saw were his friend, the native man with long black and grey braids, who sat before a younger male with hair like sunset and ears like very few others. Native, he wasn't.
   The owl noticed that the young one seemed to be there and then not; to phase out of time and space and back again. But only the owl could see this, with his nocturnal, amber and otherworldly sight.

'This is exciting for me,' said Llew, who gazed about and upward, watching the owl's flight as it paced them. 'I have never spent much time with the Druids, although I have been curious about their teachings. There exists a sort of college of Bardic knowledge which teaches all manner of mysteries...the language of trees and of the stars, of music and geometry, and the healing arts...I have learned much from my father, but it would be fine to learn from many scholars from other isles.'

Wolf Star handed the water sack around to Llew.
'Drink. You need to stay hydrated, and to eat more while you are in this world. It will help to keep your spirit from flying away home.'

Llew drank from the sack but made a face. It was water, but not as clear and clean as he'd been used to. This liquid seemed heavy and full of silt to him. But he knew he must comply if he wished to stay grounded.

'Do you stay in touch with these monks very often, Wolf Star?' Llew handed the water over.

'Not very.' Wolf Star hitched up the sack and handed Llew some dried fruit leather, snacking on a piece himself.  'They do live far from Athena's neck of the woods. But you will still stay safe there; it is within the boundaries of the firmament that Daryl has placed over us.'

'This Dary-el must be a very great magician.' Llew took tiny bites of the apricot leather. 'Is he Elohim, I wonder? I've noticed their kind all seem to have names ending with an El; Micha-el, Rapha-el...'

Wolf Star smiled. How interesting, to be from another world. As he, himself was. 'No, Daryl is human, a man like any other. The only difference is that he has refused to believe it.'

'Oh.' Llew chewed on that as well, shifting about. 'I think I am becoming heavier here already. My rump feels as though I've been sitting on rocks and not the soft fur of a horse. No offense to thee...' He smoothed and patted the horse's starry rear.

 'We are soon there. The monasteries lie just over that next ridge.' Wolf Star  pointed ahead to an outcropping of large boulders atop a tree covered hill.

'There are two different monasteries then?' Llew leaned dangerously sideways in effort to achieve a better view in anticipation. To him, it looked like hours away yet.
  Wolf Star nodded. 'You will see.'

                                                                         

............

Daryl slept long and hard. He had been dreaming of a baker kneading bread; hands busily kneading, kneading, molding the loaf and kneading again...
 -- 'Ow!' Daryl awoke.

He awoke to the sound of purring.
A fine large black cat with slitted eyes of green sat upon his belly, kneading it with furry paw and claw.
   'Well, hello!' Daryl looked down at his bed mate
who surely was the one who'd drawn blood from belly. 'And well pleased you are at that.' Daryl frowned, smiling.

                                                                                    

'Ach, I see you've met Melchizedek!' Brother Sebastian appeared at his bed side, lifting the giant cat from Daryl, who breathed much easier now.

'Basta, you great beast! The man doesn't need more wounds from you.' The monk let the cat slip like streaming velvet from his hands to the floor where the cat trotted off on errands of his own. Probably seeking more blood, thought Daryl.

'Melchizedek is a mouse's worst nightmare. I hope he wasn't yours as well. You're looking much better.'  Brother Sebastian took Daryl's pulse.'How are you feeling?'

'I think I'll live. Hadn't been so sure earlier.' Daryl coughed. 'I could eat something, I think.' He looked about for his clothes.

Sebastian handed Daryl a cowl'd robe, much like his own. 'Your clothes, what's left of them, are being cleaned. This should fit you meanwhile, and there are sandals.'

When in Rome, Daryl half-smiled, thinking that little saying quite dead on, as he eased gingerly into the robe. Not scratchy as he'd thought, it was actually quite soft and also warmer than it looked, though a union suit underneath wouldn't go amiss.
These brothers are a tough lot and used to the northeastern chill, as Californicated Daryl no longer was.

'After dinner, you are welcome to come share Compline with us.'

We'll see, thought Daryl, food and drink being uppermost in his immediate plans. However...as he followed along the stone hallway behind Brother Sebastian, it came to him how serendipidous it was; this place of refuge he'd just happened upon in the middle of nowhere. Hidden away in the deep forest, no one knowing he was here.
  Not such a bad setting for a man who did not wish to be found.

................

'As it is the fourth day of October, the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi, today's reading will honor our humble brother Francesco, who, although he was the founder of the Franciscan order, refused to be ordained a priest, and remained a deacon though out his remarkable life.'

Daryl was deep in his stew, which was delicious. A fine thick brown stew, laden with garden vegetables and a bit of meat, which he guessed was rabbit, as it reminded him of his own lapin stew he'd made at Athena's...so long ago now. Crusty dark bread with rosemary accompanied, freshly baked, and was also nothing less than divine, as was fitting.

He found he also rather enjoyed being read to during the meal. It gave one something to hear other than the chewing of a couple of dozen assorted monks arranged about him upon long benches on either side of the great dark oaken table before them.

'We all know the story...' continued the orating brother, who lifted an arm to the right of him, drawing attention to the painting on the wall, Daryl now noticed, of St.Francis of Gubbio, bending over Brother Wolf, and making the sign of the cross over him, '...of how Brother Francis convinced the townspeople to feed the wolf, so that he would leave their livestock alone. And so the creature did.
   'How many men have been made to feel they must become wolves to survive? To take what they need by theft or force? If only we were truly our brothers' keepers, and took care of one another, no one need go hungry or want for shelter.'

                                                                                   

Daryl noted then, a few of the monks shifted curious eyes his way. Hm. Did he resemble such a man, a ravenous wolf beneath his lambs-wool habit?

'And here, our own St.William,' the orator lifted his left arm, to the other painting which faced St. Francis. 'Again, with his own humbled wolf, who surely had attacked William's poor donkey, only out of hunger. "Beasts" we name them, but it is only men who would kill not out of necessity for survival, but due to their own failings as men.
  'Our gentle beasts: the donkey, the horse, the dog, sheep and goat, all live to simply get along in the world, and are pleased to serve mankind, if treated gently and with respect due to a fellow creature of le bon Dieu...'

Daryl was impressed. He'd never heard more gentle words spoken from a pulpit, certainly not in the hellfire-and-brimstone preaching he'd suffered through in whatever Protestant church he'd been dragged to as a child.

That church would never have hung portraits of saints with wolves over their dining hall... The orating brother's slight accent he now recognised, with that "Le Bon Dieu". Well, we are close to the French Canadian Great White North here. A bit too close, he worried. But, still...it was safer here than any where within a hundred miles, not to mention kilometers.

A couple of young men, novices, Daryl presumed, came with trays and removed the empty bowls, leaving fresh pitchers of water along the long table.

'As it is the feast day of Brother Francis, we will have our petite celebration, non?' The orating monk smiled, looking Daryl thought, rather like his own imagined version of Friar Tuck, hands clasped above his rather well-padded middle, and eyes crinkled to slits over his smile. 'Brother Bernardo tells me that the new barrels of beer are ready to be sampled.'

                                                                           

The young lads returned then, laden with trays of even larger pitchers, (of the promised new beer Daryl hoped), as well as plates of nuts, cheeses and apples.
  'Let us give thanks unto le bon Dieu, Brother Bernado and all the brewer confreres who have worked so diligently upon the perfecting of this year's harvest.'

All bowed their shorn pates, fringed with what hair they had, and the orator began a prayer of thanksgiving in dulcet Latin tones, as Daryl, though wolf he may be within, bowed his heretical head and joined the brothers in humble gratitude.

After all the mugs were filled with with the dark, rather thick beer, sediment swirling to the bottom,  the brothers cracked nuts and offered cheese around the well-worn table, polished to a shine over all the deep cuts and scratches, scarred by countless hours of wear and tear by legions of hungry monks.

Then, to Darly's surprise, the orator, a brother Louis, he found, raised his mug in a toast, and then began to sing. En Francais, and Latin. Louis' clear tenor rang out, joined here and there by other Franco-American brothers in various voices. Those who kneweth not the linguistics, either hummed along or contented themselves in sampling the excellent, and no doubt home-made cheeses, and of course, more beer.

                                                                              

The feast was indeed a holy haven of happy  humble men in habits, until the bell tower began to chime the seven o'clock hour. Monks then quickly and quietly finished off their cups and set all leftovers upon trays, which were whisked off by the novices and all began to file into the chapel.

'Compline, mon cher invalide...' Brother Louis was at Daryl's side, taking his arm. 'You will digest your dinner and bien biere much better when you sit with us together under the benevolent gaze of le bon Dieu, Maker of all things, including our bon hommes here, and your own good self, non?'

Daryl found he could not argue, not in the steel grip of Brother Louis, as he was hustled off to chapel. Weren't the 'bon hommes' or 'good men' how the old Cathars referred to themselves? Curious...
 
In his wildest dreams, Daryl had never imagined, when he'd left Athena in the forest, that he would wind up in a monk's habit, in a monastery hidden in a wilderness, drinking home-brewed beer and praying to 'le bon Dieu', surrounded by men who had renounced the world about them.
   In his present circumstances, he actually wondered if that was not such a bad way to spend his time...for a while.

........

The chapel was lit by candlelight, as was most of the monastery, Daryl was discovering. It also added needed heat as well, in this mostly stone edifice. Their gentle light was rather welcome to his battered brain and easy on the eyes for one who had, perhaps, seen altogether too much of late.

Brother Louis disengaged Daryl and proceeded to the right of the pulpit. He also acted as the musical director, Daryl had learned. He was hoping to hear something like the chants and hymns he'd caught upon waking that morning.

From the rear of the minster, the priest entered bearing a hyssop wand with which he sprinkled the monks, and Daryl, with holy water. Daryl couldn't help feeling a bit of excitement, rather like how one feels in anticipation of a ballet or opera.
 -- Introit...

Drama and mystery. As a ceremonial magician, Daryl knew these intentions well. It was a sort of mystery school, was it not? Just because it wasn't entirely a mystery, and open to those who would so choose it, did not alter the intent; to present and engender a meditative and altered state of consciousness. Especially in ye olde Latin Mass.

                                                                             

'...Aspergus me...' chanted the priest, sprinkling all as he proceeded to the altar.

'Domine hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me...' the monks chanted in response, in unison, the antiphon in the old Latin way which delighted Daryl, pagan though he be.

He knew a bit of this chant, from knowledge gleaned far back in the attics of his memory, secreted in those ancient Greek and Latin texts wherein he'd also studied the Kaballah alongside the Alexandrian Mysteries of Egypt.

'Thou shalt sprinkle me Lord, with hyssop, and I shall be cleansed; thou shalt wash me and I shall be made whiter than snow.'

Daryl closed his eyes, drinking in the waves of sound, murmuring along when memory sparked, and he soon found himself in a meditative state...

He awoke to a sudden rising of voices lifting together about him: 'Kyrie eleison...Christe eleison...Kyrie eleison...'

The priest lifted his hands. 'Gloria in excelsis Deo.' He then sat. Brother Louis then stood and held up his arms, nodding; and a great culmination of voices rose together and Daryl was taken by surprise when he heard feminine sounds of alto and soprano as well!

He turned his head to the rear of the church and saw a dozen or so nuns, all gathered together there amongst the candles, incense and monks, and singing along in their high, clear voices.

'Ex in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. Laudamus te, Benedicimus te...'

Daryl was quite transported. He was, in fact, becoming rather fond of this place. (And glad he hadn't skipped Compline, as he'd been considering.)
From whence had these sisters appeared?
   Mysterious ways, indeed...

As he studied the nuns grouped at the rear of the nave, he couldn't help but notice one who stood out among the others...owing to the facial tattoos upon her lovely brown skin. She reminded him of something, or rather, someone -- Wolf Star.
                                                                                         

............

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
Ghost Dance
Robbie Robertson Red Road Ensemble

Chapter 32: The Wolf, The Bear and The Soft Machine

William of Montevergine (1085 - 1142) was a hermit, who, after miraculously curing a blind man, fled the crowds flocking to him by moving to the summit of a desolate mountain. After gathering a number of disciples around him, William founded the Benedictine Monastery of Montevergine.

William is portrayed in art with a wolf by his side. Legend has it that while he was in the mountains, a wolf mauled his donkey, which was his only means of transport.  William solved the crisis by making the wolf his new beast of burden.

Michael Foley
Drinking With the Saints
A Sinner's Guide to a Holy Happy Hour

                                                                      

..........

I, Ghost Wolf, am merely the messenger. I am the Wolf. It takes a Wolf Teacher to bring the message through in this most decadent of times. This is the Coyote Moon, and the trickster is everywhere.  Because one has dark skin, or light skin, or wears an Eagle Feather or a Swan Feather...it is all a matter of heart. Where is your heart? To know freedom is to allow freedom, to know the feeling of choice is to allow choice.  It takes the courage of a Wolf to stand before the world and say, "Come to the Dance. I have heard the call and it is time for this Dance."

Robert Ghost Wolf
Winds of Change

                                                                         

                                                      
.......

Daryl needed to find a hotel, quick.

He'd managed to get through the night, he and Em together on Athena's folding sofa, in chaste companionship, both too weary for anything but a goodnight kiss and sleep, (neither had expected anything more) but he was now anxious for a room of one's own; away from eyes and ears of others where he could, at long last, mercifully fall apart.

He and Athena had ridden in together on her great blue-grey star horse, of the celestial star-dappled coat, Templar-style: two on one mount. The day was fog-enveloped and seemed to muffle their movement along the trail, the fog seeping in on them, leaving them mushroom-slick with dewy chill.

She had left him at the coach-stop, wished him luck and gave him a kiss and a bag of pumpkin muffins, cheese and apples. And a thermos of hot tea, bless her. This he would have to keep to himself, a thermos being a rare sight in this timespace and no doubt an oddity of some speculation.
  Daryl had noticed, however, that a great grey wolf had been shadowing them from the woods, all the ride there. But he'd kept his suspicions to himself as well.

The coach had deposited him near Lawrence, not far from Salem. Here was good a place as any, and he decided to settle upon a rooming house, nothing fancy, but clean. He'd insisted upon a ground floor room, in case leaving quickly by window became necessary...

Leaving instruction with his Quaker landlady not to be disturbed, citing exhaustion from travel, he paid for a week in advance, just to seal the deal at it were, and, finally, at long last, Daryl fell upon the bed in blissful, if stiff and sore, peace and quiet.
  Alone at last. But still twitchy.

He eventually roused himself and poured some still-warm tea into the mug top, and then extracted a small brown bottle from his coat pocket. He knew he had to be alone to recover from what hell lay before him, whatever that may be.

He hadn't been too sure about what St.John had been drugging him with, possibly chloroform, judging from the chronic headache he'd had for days, as well as laudanum, but he'd had to ration what he had left so as to keep up the appearance of normalcy around others.

He wanted nothing more now than to rid himself of the drugs in his system, and that would take some time and doing. Slowly, rationing less and less day by day.

Sighing, he drank a wee bit, then corked the bottle, swallowing some tea. He knew his clothes were hanging off him now, after his long journeys and little food. Later. He could eat later.
 
After thrashing about the too small bed a while, Daryl gave it up. His mind raced, while his body ached with weariness. Typical; he knew how to torture Brother Ass as St.Francis so aptly named one's relationship to one's physical body. Daryl could think of some more apt descriptions.

Besides his fears of running into St.John and his merry minions, uppermost in his raging thoughts was the tale Em had related to him the evening before as they were settling down for the night; apparently her...eh, half-fey offspring, Llew, was coming to stay at Daryl's forsworn estate a while, to escape his predestiny.
  So she said. So was she told. By Gwydion, the lad's fey father.

'"Tis a puzzlement,"' Daryl muttered to himself, as if he were the King of Siam. Well, the kid was welcome to it. If he could stand it there.

Oh, Daryl had read the Mabinogion. He knew of Llew's tale of woe once he falls in love with Bloudeuwedd.

A bit like Daryl's own tragedy, after he was consumed by the fires of ecstasy in excelsius of Anara; she of the flame-red hair and ice-cold heart, leaving him abandoned to the petite and now seemingly pale and utterly mundane and therefore, completely useless 'charms' of the all-too-depressingly human female companions here; left, like him, alone upon this ever-spinning planet of still-evolving dizzy apes. (Or mermaids, if Tales of Emlyn could be believed).

'Aaaagh!' Daryl sat up, causing his head to nearly explode with the pain. He rested a cold hand upon his forehead and breathed as gently as possible. Each exhale caused more pain in head. This new lesson in mortality was becoming more trouble than it was worth.

Not for the last time, he found himself wishing that Anara had simply blasted him into the netherworld, already. 

                                                                  

Daryl gave up on sleep. He rebooted himself, (put on boots), and grabbed his coat. Off into the great beyond, past Mrs. Hornblower's Rooming House, he ventured.
(Or so Daryl had named her. He figured she'd been a sea captain's wife, from the brass telescope, barometer,  sea scapes, and other nautical paraphernalia about the house as well. Also, she sported a fine pair of kipper lips, which Daryl was sure the captain had appreciated.)

Daryl sighed, staring out the window at the grey day with fishy musings. Perhaps some lobster stew would not go amiss. Good food, if he could keep it down, and perhaps a thick dark beer, if he could find it, might see him on his way off to Dreamland. Tonight. Hopefully. At some point.
  If all goes well.

..............

Emlyn was off, duty bound, through the crunch and swish of fall leaves, heading back to The Mausoleum. Truly, that was the only name for it.

Everyone had exited from Athena's when she'd awakened. She'd found the teakettle still hot upon the cookstove, as well as fruit, muffins and a note from Daryl:
     Off adventuring. I plan to head west soon. It was      good to see you again. Take care, querida.
     Love, D.

Hmm...

Emlyn knew from experience that Daryl loved her best from afar. And she, him? Quite possibly.
 
Although not looking forward to entering the...big house, as Wolf Star called it, she knew that she must. She wondered when, and how and where, exactly, she might find Llew...?

'The only way out is through,' she murmured to herself. Was that not Robert Frost? She was becoming rather absent-minded of late. This reminded her of Daryl; mon poor cherie...he had become so thin and haggard, his eyes looked haunted and had great dark rings about them.

Damn that St.John! What was going on with him, and with Alex and Jeanne's machinations? 'One bloody crisis at a time, girl,' she reminded herself.
  And, no time like the present. May as well tackle all that cold marble now and get it over with.

.......
 
Nearly noon and the sun was making inroads on the fog. Emlyn steeled herself and entered through the front door, still mindful of the Rule: time walkers always abide by rules of propriety and good manners. In other words, knock first, or enter by the doorway. Do not surprise people by popping in on them unawares. Unless that was one's intention.

Hm. Not quite as freezing in here as she'd expected. Well, back to the library and make sure Llew would be comfortable there. Perhaps bring an extra pillow and comforter...
  This she did, and opened the library doors. She found, then, that she was not alone.
 
A man unknown to her, with longish auburn hair, popped his head over the railing of the loft above.
  'Oh. Hello.' He said.

                                                                             

'Hello?' Emlyn was nonplussed to say the least. Well, needn't wonder any longer when she'd run into Llew. Still holding the bedclothes to her, she walked slowly to the spiral staircase.

She stopped at the bottom and gazed up at the...man standing there. Somehow she'd expected a lad, still. Someone not quite so tall, so...grown up.

'Here, allow me...' Llew descended the stairs, light steps of his half-fey feet making no noise and relieved Em of her burden. He ventured a small smile then. 'We...have met before, you know.'

'Yes.' Emlyn barely recalled how Gwydion and Llew had tricked her into giving him arms and a naming.
Not something she'd wanted to remember. She coughed slightly, trying not to choke. 'You, have changed much, since then.'

A half-smile from Llew, as he turned and climbed up. She followed, slowly. Reaching the loft above, they faced one another. 'You still look just the same,' he told her, his grey-blue-green-hazel eyes seeming to change color when she tried to focus on him.

This made her rather dizzy and self-conscious in the small space. 'I brought you more bedding. It does become rather chill in this old place. And winter is coming.'

'Thank you.' He nodded a brief sort of bow to her, taking the blankets. 'I really don't feel the cold as do you. But I'm not as unfeeling as my father.'

Now there was a loaded statement, thought Em.

'I shall probably need them though, when winter comes, through the long nights.' Llew allowed.

Em was feeling dizzy again. 'I must, really...excuse me...' She swallowed her anxiety and tried not to shake as she sat upon the bed.

'Are you chilled now?' Llew was indeed, not as unfeeling as his father, she saw. He sat beside her, taking her hands and blew his warm faery breath upon them, smelling slightly of cinnamon.

Suddenly, warm wet tears began to flow unbidden down Em's cold cheeks.
  'Oh, Llew. I'm so sorry,' she sputtered, hands groping about her pocket for a handkerchief. 'I so worried about you and wanted to, to be a part of your life, all this long while...'

Llew looked upon her as though she were the child and he the parent. He took a hanky from his sleeve, bearing the scent of rosemary, and dabbed her eyes.
   'It's true, I'm quite grown now. But, you know, time isn't the same in the Otherworld. There is no time there. You, that is, human kind, brought time Here with you.'

Emlyn dried her eyes with the scented kerchief and suddenly this truth hit hard and was revealed to her like an epiphany.

.........

Daryl was just finishing his lobster bisque and crisp sourdough roll, watching the busy street outside the cafe window as he polished off a fine bock beer, with sediment of brewing still visible in the bottom. He sighed. He was feeling more human than he'd felt in days, (weeks? He wasn't sure).

Gods what a long, strange ride this has been, he bethought to himself. Watching the good folk of Lawrence go about their business along the street made him feel somehow part of the human family again, no longer captive of some madman's plot, a pawn and nothing more.

His shoulders relaxed from the tight bunch-up round his neck and his fingers unclenched. His stomach relaxed somewhat from the knot it had been in ever since this insanity had begun. He began to take slow deep breaths.
He shut his eyes a moment. Could he really allow himself to relax now? How he hoped so...

His eyes opened.  He found himself studying a couple of men seated at a table in a tavern across the street. They seemed to be dressed like seafaring men visiting the town; pea coats, toques, bearded. Their eyes were on the table before them. What could they...then, Daryl noticed what drew their attention: chess pieces, upon the board.
   Suddenly, as if feeling his eyes upon them, they both looked up and locked stares with Daryl.

Daryl's stomach reknotted itself and his fists clenched tight. This match was not yet over. He recognised these men from the Russian steamer.

Quickly leaving enough to cover meal and tip, Daryl simply up and barged through the kitchen behind the counter, ignoring the protests of the waitstaff and cooks and out the back door he flew as if the hounds of hell were after him...
  As, perhaps they were.

                                                              

...............

'And, this Wolf Star, you say? He is an actual Red Indian?' Llew walked backward through the autumn leaves, hands in pockets like any lad, addressing Emlyn who followed him down the trail to the gatehouse. After having given him the tour of the, mausoleum, she bethought it behooved her to introduce ah, Llew, to Athena and Wolf Star, his nearest and only neighbors.

'He is that,' and more, thought Em. Although just exactly what, was sommat beyond her presently. She'd enough to deal with in the tall, gangly personage of this auburn-haired half-faery "child".
 
 He'd accepted a parka of Daryl's and fit his fay feet into some boots, but insisted he needed nothing more. He wasn't used to such cumbersome accoutrements as warm clothes, boots and such. He'd acquiesed merely to please Em. Having someone about to 'mother' him was a novelty of sorts, which he enjoyed. For now.

'In fact...' Em's gaze narrowed beyond Llew. 'If I'm not very much mistaken, this may be Athena and Wolf Star now.'

Llew whirled about-face.
For, indeed, heading their way appeared two figures, each holding something aloft. Upon closer study, one could confirm the presence of large birds perched upon the figure's forearms.

'Halloo! We were just coming to meet you.' Emlyn's gaze was locked onto the kestral gripping Athena's arm and the snowy owl which Wolf Star held, its yellow eyes studying her in turn.

After introductions were made, Wolf Star nodded to Athena and she hefted her kestrel skyward. She flew straight and high into the upper reaches and then soared aloft, wings stilled, catching the wind.

Wolf Star stood with his owl, stroking it's winter colored breast with a feather. He noticed Llew's eyes glued to himself and the bird.
  'I use the feather to touch him, so that the special dander and oils on his feathers remains pristine. Otherwise, his flight would suffer.'

'He is magnificient!' Llew was clearly enjoying this visit to his Otherworld, which was our own.

'Would you care to hold him?' Wolf Star proffered his bird.
  Llew's eyes went wide, as he held out his arm, which Wolf Star draped with a swatch of leather from his pouch. He then deposited the great white bird upon Llew.
   'Oh! He is heavier than I'd thought.' Llew was enthralled. The bird seemed placid enough, and even closed his eyes, after ruffling his feathers a bit.
   'He was up all night,' Wolf Star murmured.

'Birds have hollow bones. This aids their flight,' Athena turned round watching her kestral swoop and soar, whose attention was now trained on the ground, eyeing a field mouse, perhaps.

Wolf Star held out his arm and Llew returned his owl.
  'Are you truly a Red Indian?' The faery lad inquired with ingenuous glee.
  'Oh, Llew!' Em was feeling her first pangs of offspring-based embarrassment.

   Wolf Star smiled a strange half smile. 'Quite possibly,' he answered. He murmured a word to the owl, which spread its wide wings and took flight.

Llew was oblivious to the social mores of humans. He grinned wide as his eyes scanned the skies, watching enrapt the birds in flight.
   Then he turned back to Wolf Star. 'Where were you born then? Were you raised in an Indian Camp?'

Emlyn managed a strangled moan, putting a hand on Llew's arm and shaking her head. 'We don't -- you can't just --' she softly sputtered.
  But Wolf Star answered gamely enough, 'I don't recall where I was born, or how I came to this earth. In part, I was raised by wolves. And monks.'

This seemed to be news to all.
  'Monks.' Llew frowned in thought. 'Like the Orders of Druids.'
  'Exactly,' smiled Wolf Star.

Oh, bless his little heathen heart, thought Em, smiling. How else would a Welsh faery think of monks?

  'And wolves? Truly? Real wolves!?' Llew had found a new obsession in Wolf Star.

'Real wolves.' Wolf Star smiled wide, and his canine teeth seemed long and white indeed. Llew studied him closely with cheerful intensity.
  'And the monks?'

A high pitched whistle from Wolf Star cut through the atmosphere, and both birds checked their flight and began to circle slowly back down.
  'They are not far from here, actually. About twenty miles or so, as the owl flies.'

'You live a very interesting life, sir.' Llew decided.
'Yes.' Wolf Star, a being of few words. And a secret   sackfull of phenomenal and extraordinary experience, it seemed. 

                                                                   

........

On the run, again.

Daryl was furious at himself. Why, o why, had he forgotten who he was? Such a temptation, to fall into the trap of thinking oneself like any other man on the street. A man who could eat bread and drink beer without worry over Russian thugs, the holy graals of madmen and the machinations of incendiary miscreants.

'"...That I'd wings of a dove, I might fly away and be at rest."' Daryl puffed to himself, as he flew as best he could upon booted feet, far, farther into the woods, leading away from the gatehouse and estate, which lay
in the opposite direction. The last thing he wanted was to drag his dangers back to Emlyn and Athena.

He'd little idea of this part of the forest. Although he had journeyed about his lands and estate, there were fields afar in Massachusettes indeed, in these days of times past. Thick were the woods about him, having known little of hatchet and machete.

He'd fled along narrow deer trails for some hours now, as best he could manage, after a quick stop at the boarding house and tossing essentials into his duffle, which he wore as a makeshift backpack, sliding a shoulder into each handle.
  '"And miles to go before I sleep"...' he grumbled to himself.

Autumn it was, and getting colder, Daryl noticed, when he'd slowed a bit. With an eye on the wan sun which hid behind foggy clouds, he also noted that the days were also becoming shorter. He guessed he had about 3 or 4 more hours left of daylight.

Still, he felt more secure here surrounded by thick forest than he would have had he attempted travel by any means about the crowded world of men. He'd slept rough before, it wasn't anything he feared unduly. A campfire and his warm coat, he'd survive.
   But, he knew now, his back might not. His back would make him miserable for days thereafter.

Can't think about that now, he told himself. If he wasn't on the lam from desperados, he'd have enjoyed this walk in the woods...autumn was on the run though, and the forest floor thick with leaves. Some red maple still flew their proud colors while ahead he could hear hollow knocking of a woodpecker on a barren tree.

He slowed his pace and tried to think positively. It wasn't impossible that he might come upon a trapper's cabin or such. Oh, for a fine wood fire...

Daryl suddenly stopped short. What was that? He thought he'd heard something akin to a growling sort of snuffle just now.
  Oh, gods -- to hell and gone with all nature and her blasted creatures! His bucolic notions of flora and fauna fled from him in a blink.

Where there may be trappers, there may be fur to trap. Fur on hoof and paw and claw. And fang...
  Just stay here, silent, unmoving; that's your best bet, he told himself.

The low growl sounded again, closer. Daryl swiveled his head as silently as possible, narrowing his gaze to see...oh, glory, there he is: a brown bear nosing along another trail and coming ever closer...

The hell with it -- Daryl took to his heels like a scalded cat and barreled through the woods heedless of any direction except AWAY!

                                                                  

 .............

Dark now. And Daryl was tired and miserable and lost in the woods. He had also lost the bear, but the woods were thick and he couldn't see much before him. He knew he needed to make camp soon. But all he seemed able to do was slog up and down deep gullies thick with brush.

'Hounded by thugs, threatened by bear, lost, hungry and eaten by bugs, ripped by thorns...what else could go wrong...' He groused. As he tripped and slid down a steep ravine which ended at a small creek. He sat a moment, cursing his lot, ('I had to ask.').

He took a moment to fill his water sack and drank thirstily. 'Well, surely things can't get worse.'
   It started to rain just as Daryl began to slog along the creek.

Figuring that the stream should come out...somewhere, perhaps near a larger body of water with a clearing thereabouts, Daryl could at least follow the waterway in the dark.

He felt himself becoming numb. His body ached so much he couldn't feel it anymore. His feet were wet through. And cold. His head hung down like an old drafthorse at the end of his road, and occasionally a small sound like a wheezy moan escaped him. He'd also developed a stitch in one side.

He dared not take any more 'medicine' fearing he was so exhausted he would simply fall over and sleep himself into a stupor and die of exposure. He had to keep moving, blood pumping...

A low rumble of thunder sounded above, not far. He'd hoped the rain would slacken, not get worse. He kept going, each breath a wheeze.

Rolling thunder followed him, and suddenly a flash of lightning split the night sky outlining the trees and bracken close round him, but also...what looked like his hoped-for clearing up ahead.

And, what seemed to be a structure of some sort beyond? It looked to be rather massive though. Surely not. What great edifice would be built out here in the midst of nowhere?

Whatever it was, Daryl picked up his pace, heading for the building and wheezing like a bellows now. He was close upon it when another lightning flash lit the scene before him.

-- It was a castle.

                                                                 

Or thus it seemed. Staring at it like a yokel, Daryl held his aching side and wheezed rhythmically in disbelief. He felt like he was in one of those old black and white horror films Athena loved so well, with thunderstorms and angry villagers attacking the haunted castle, the villainous monster raving within...

Daryl was beyond caring. He cast his gaze over the structure of stone, put a hand upon the side of it and followed what proved to be a long wall around the taller buildings within. Eventually he reached the gates, a pair of large wooden doors, locked naturally, so Daryl began to pound upon them, silently begging for someone to hear and open...

He kept pounding on and on, and after some minutes his knocks grew weaker. 'Please, please...' he gasped to himself, clawing at the door handle as his knees started to buckle.

To his dull amazement, the door suddenly opened. A tall dark figure, pale of feature and covered in a black cowl and robe stood before him. It looked to Daryl then like Death personified. All it needed was a scythe.
  ...Death played chess, wasn't it? Or Battleship?      Daryl's mind was fast melting in the rain.

'I...sanctuary...' was all Daryl could manage as he began to crumple, but was caught in the strong arms of Death and hauled silently inside the gates.

                                                                        

............

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Robbie Robertson - Broken Arrow