Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 
Rating: NC-17 (Violence, Language, Graphic Sexual Content)

CHAPTER TEN (10/22)

"Let's go inside, by the firelight," Mulder said, tugging 
Scully to her feet. He wanted a better look at her new scar.

Once inside, he added a stick of wood to the glowing coals. 
The fire crackled to life and brightened the cave with its 
flickering light. Scully let the fur blanket slip from her 
shoulders to the ground. Dressed only in black camisole and 
panties, she drew the camisole up to her breasts to expose her 
stomach. She faced the flames while Mulder knelt to examine 
the quarter-sized scar that marked her otherwise unblemished 
skin.

"Tell me about your vision," he murmured, running his fingers 
over the puckered knot a few inches from her navel.

She stood motionless, allowing him to examine her with his 
eyes and hands. "Most of it made no sense," she said.

"Tell me anyway."

"Images came and went. They followed no logical order...at 
least none that I could discern."

"But you sensed they were snapshots of your future?" He 
glanced up into her eyes. 

She looked frightened.

"More like video clips, but yes, I got the impression I was 
looking at the future." 

He turned her so that he could inspect her back. 

There was a cherry-red exit wound on her back, just above her 
faded tattoo. No mistaking it -- it was a bullet wound, only a 
week or two old.

She peered at him over her shoulder. "You were there."

"Well, that's some relief, at least." If her vision 
represented their future he was glad to know he was part of 
it. "It implies we get back home. You realize that, don't 
you?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I didn't find out how or when. Or if the 
future is immutable. Suppose the things I saw are only one 
possibility?"

"An infinite number of futures?"

"Built upon an infinite number of actions, here or possibly in 
the future."

"Our future selves saving our past selves' asses?" This was 
getting more convoluted by the minute. "Let's assume that what 
you saw was *the* future -- the one and only future. Do you 
remember anything that might help us get from here to there?" 
He rose to his feet.

She pulled her camisole down over her stomach and turned to 
face him. The firelight etched lines of worry into her shadowy 
expression. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I don't."

Cupping her cheek, he tried to smooth her frown with his 
thumb. Did she really not remember? It scared him to think she 
might not. He relied on her calm logic, and right now they 
needed her rationalism more than ever. They needed her to 
remember what she saw. 

"Think, Scully. Were there any references to Lisa Ianelli, 
time travel, Flux Space, tachyons, anything?" 

"Nothing like that. We were...driving in a car."

"To...?" 

"I don't know." Her voice quavered with uncertainty. "Across a 
desert." 

He wanted to help her remember. He *had* to help her. "Great 
Salt Lake, outside Hill Air Force Base?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure." 

He released her cheek and let his arm drop to his side. Damn 
it, this was frustrating. "What else?" he asked, trying to 
keep any hint of annoyance out of his voice. Scully's vision 
had clearly left her shaken and he didn't want her to clam up 
because of his insensitivity.

"We exchanged Christmas gifts."

Christmas gifts? "In the car?"

"No, later. Or maybe earlier. I don't know." She shook her 
head dismissively.

Don't give up, Scully. Not yet. "What about the bullet wound?"

"I remember being shot. I remember the pain. And I remember 
getting my tattoo removed, and learning about your sister."

His sister, dead for almost twenty years. Jesus, please don't 
let it be true. 

"Scully, is it possible this Arbutus Ray person was lying to 
you? Maybe she worked for Old Smokey."

"Maybe. All I can say is that I believed her."

"But she might not have been privy to the truth. Someone might 
have lied to her or...or..." He was grasping at straws, he 
knew. He couldn't bear the notion that his sister might be 
lost forever -- after all his searching, all his hoping. 

"Mulder, you believed her, too." She put a hand on his arm. 
Tears of sympathy glittered along her lower lashes as she 
looked up at him. Evidently she knew he would find her words 
difficult to accept. "You seemed...relieved."

Anger welled up in him at this revelation. "Relieved to learn 
my sister was dead? Does that sound like me? Does it make 
sense?" 

"Right now, nothing makes sense." She leaned toward him and 
rested her cheek gently against his chest.

His arms circled her as if by instinct. She felt small in his 
embrace, but not as vulnerable as he had supposed. She was 
telling him the truth the way she had seen it. He hated her 
words, but he appreciated her honesty, and her integrity 
purged him of his momentary anger. 

He placed a kiss on the crown of her head. Lingering there, he 
wondered what answers a second vision might provide.    

He also wondered if there was something here in this 
particular location that had triggered her foresight. Were 
they standing in or near a Flux Space portal? 

Scanning the cave, his eyes settled on the painted wall with 
its larger-than-life Serpent Holder. The alien-looking 
creature stared back at him with an unreadable expression. If 
the painting had any answers, it was keeping them secret. 

His gaze traveled down the wall to the tiny carved idol on the 
ground below the Serpent Holder's feet. Scully had been 
holding it when she collapsed. Had it caused her vision? Maybe 
it was a nexus of some sort, or at the very least, contained 
powerful Pleistocene magic. Staring at it, he felt certain of 
one thing: his paranormal radar was picking up another signal.  

*   *   *

Mulder tucked his shirt into his pants and buckled his belt. 
He'd hardly slept a wink all night, tossing and turning, 
worrying about Scully's visions and their uncertain future. It 
was only after they made love again around 4:00 a.m. that he 
was finally able to drift off. 

He nudged her sleeping form before collecting their travel 
packs and the waterbag. "Rise and shine."

She groaned and crawled out from under the fur blanket. His 
eyes skimmed her trim curves with appreciation. She wore only 
her underwear, and his pulse quickened at the sight. He let 
his brain replay their lovemaking: both rounds of it. Jesus, 
she made him feel eighteen again.

She sat and tilted her head left to right, snapping the bones 
in her neck.

"Come on, Scully. Let's go." He tugged the blanket out from 
under her, then rolled it into a tight cylindrical bundle, 
which he stuffed into one of the packs. 

She said nothing, but stood to get dressed. He let her be. She 
wasn't angry. This was just her usual morning reticence. He'd 
learned years ago to keep his comments to a minimum until she 
was ready for morning conversation. His Chatty Cathy act 
seemed to grate on her nerves at this early hour, especially 
here in the Ice Age where there were no Latte Grandes to take 
the edge off.

He rolled the second blanket while she slipped into her jeans 
and turtleneck. Getting lucky twice in one night had put him 
in good spirits this morning. He felt like humming a few bars 
of "Love Me Tender" while waltzing her around the cave, but 
knew better than to try it.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Mm," she grunted. Donning her jacket, she headed out of the 
cave.

Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved the tiny carved idol 
from where she'd dropped it last night. If it had sparked her 
"vision" -- which he wasn't entirely convinced was a vision, 
despite her new scar -- it might prove useful by helping them 
find a way home. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Wait for me." He hurried after her, weighted down by the 
packs and spears, but buoyed by a night of sweet love.

He quickly caught up with her and together they followed the 
path down the hill to the stream where they'd left the dead 
sloth the previous day.

As they approached the carcass, something about it seemed off 
to Mulder. It looked blacker than he remembered. And its fur 
appeared to be...moving.

"Uh, Scully? Do you see that?"

"I see it." She stopped, causing him to nearly run her over.

He set down his things and grabbed the binoculars from his 
jacket pocket.

"Shit," he said, looking through them, his good mood 
evaporating.

He passed them to her.

"Ants," she said without emotion. 

He took a step forward, but she placed a hand on his arm to 
stop him. 

"Don't, Mulder. There are species of ants that can take down 
and kill a large mammal, including a human."

Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of ants covered the 
sloth, animating its body in the creepiest way and obscuring 
the ground beneath it.

"That was our breakfast." He hated the petulant whine in his 
voice, but dammit, he'd risked his life to kill that sloth.

"Survival of the fittest, Mulder...or, in this case, the 
fastest."

This was infuriating. The meat was right there, not fifteen 
yards away.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

"You could try scaring them off with your gun," she suggested 
dryly, reminding him of yesterday's wolves and his wasted 
bullet. 

"Very funny." He paced, stopped, paced some more, then turned 
to squint at the insect-riddled corpse. "Maybe we could eat 
the ants, too. They're protein, aren't they?"

"I doubt the meat is safe to eat, with or without the ants. 
It's been sitting unrefrigerated all night." Turning around, 
she walked past him, heading upland along Klizzie's marked 
trail.

That was it? She was just going to walk away? He looked again 
at the ants. They'd already devoured most of the meat and were 
starting to dismantle the skeleton.

Fuck.

He reluctantly followed after Scully.

"We should have known better," she said when he caught up with 
her.

"How's that?"

"Ants, vultures, wolves -- something was bound to take that 
meat. We should have cut it up and cooked what we needed 
immediately. We didn't think ahead."

"So next time we'll know better."

She leveled her gaze at him. "We're working blindfolded here, 
Mulder. We may not survive a next time." 

*   *   *

Dzeh selected a shady spot away from the bustling activity of 
the camp where he could sit and work in quiet. His mouth felt 
drier than last season's pine nuts and his stomach flopped 
like a hooked fish. The late morning sun jabbed his eyes, 
making his head pound. 

Damn the Spirits, he regretted drinking so much wo-chi last 
night. 

The evening had been rowdy and pleasant. Forty or more men 
from Owl, Badger and Otter Clans had crowded the Prayer Lodge 
to share stories and jokes, pray to the Spirits, play gambling 
games and drink wo-chi. 

Lots of wo-chi. 

The potent liquid had been brewed specifically for the nightly 
revelries during the days-long Mastodon Feast. The drink was 
essential to the celebration; its fermented honey allowed the 
various Spirits to enter the men's bodies and minds, blessing 
them with visions and insight, as well as giving them a sense 
of contentment and camaraderie.

Unfortunately, the departing Spirits usually left storms in 
Dzeh's head the following day.

He tossed his tool kit to the ground beneath a broad butternut 
tree. Trying to minimize the thunder inside his skull, he 
eased himself slowly onto the grass. Thankfully there was no 
wind to rattle the leaves over his head and needle his 
oversensitive ears. As it was, a faint whiff of roasting meat 
from somebody's breakfast fire threatened to empty his 
stomach. Breathing through his mouth, he arranged himself 
cross-legged on the grass and slowly opened his tool kit.

The small leather pouch held a hammerstone, a few lumps of raw 
chert, several knapping tools made from bone, and three 
unfinished spear points. Dzeh withdrew his favorite knapper 
and one of the unfinished points. His head hurt too much to 
pound new points, so he left the hammer and unworked chert 
inside the kit.

Swatting away a pesky deerfly, he wondered why the boy Chal 
hadn't come by to see him earlier this morning as he was 
supposed to. Dzeh had told his father to send him after 
breakfast so he could meet him, ask a few questions. Dzeh 
wanted to gauge the boy's competency and his character before 
arranging a Joining with Gini. If this Badger Clan boy was to 
become Gini's mate someday, he would need to possess an 
honorable disposition and adequate survival skills. 

It was well known that the men of Badger Clan were skilled 
marksmen. They were shrewd traders, too, and their women were 
expert cooks and tanners. Klizzie's Badger Clan aunts had 
taught her how to work skins into supple hides -- the softest 
Dzeh had ever felt. 

Overall, the people of Badger Clan were principled and 
generous. Their ways were not too contrary to Owl Clan's. 
There were some, of course, like Klizzie's chindi cousin Klesh 
and her no-account brother Tse-e, who were contemptible men, 
but every clan had its share of rotten fish. To their credit, 
the Badger Shaman was a powerful medicine man; his clan seldom 
went hungry or became ill. 

Badger Clan would make an acceptable family for Gini...if the 
boy proved to be healthy and strong. And kind-hearted. Dzeh 
refused to Promise his little sister to the hearth of a mean-
spirited man. 

Thinking of these things, worrying about Gini's future, Dzeh 
began to meticulously chip flakes from his partially finished 
spear point. He used his bone knapper to shape the stone until 
it resembled a laurel leaf approximately the length of his 
middle finger. 

The familiar activity calmed his queasy stomach and helped 
quiet the drums in his head. 

It also brought him closer to the spirit of his father. 

Dzeh had learned to make spear points by watching his father 
and uncles. Knowing how to work the stone properly was a skill 
crucial to the Clan's survival. His father had taught him how 
to make raw chert more pliable by exposing it to intense heat, 
burying it in a shallow depression and then building a fire on 
top of it. Once the rock cooled, it could then be chipped into 
tools that would remain sharp even after repeated use on long 
hunting excursions.

Chert was not a common stone in Owl Clan's territory. There 
were no natural sources; the Clan had to trade for it. With 
only a few pieces left in his kit, Dzeh hoped Turtle Clan 
would be bringing a new supply with them to the Feast. He 
would trade several of Klizzie's well-tanned hides for each 
fist-sized chunk.

Dzeh considered himself a fairly shrewd trader, getting the 
better deal more often than not. He glanced at the unusual 
ornament fastened to his wrist. Muhl-dar's remarkable 
bracelet. 

Much to his delight, Dzeh had recently discovered the bracelet 
glowed in the dark like a lightning bug when he pushed one of 
the prongs on its side. The symbols on its smooth face changed 
moment by moment, too. The men of Eel Clan must be very clever 
to create such a mysterious ornament. An Eel Clan boy would 
make a worthy mate for Gini if their ways weren't quite so 
foreign. 

Dzeh wondered where his strange Trading Partner was right now. 
Was Muhl-dar following Klizzie's stone markers to Turkey Lake? 

Four days had come and gone since Owl Clan had arrived at 
Tabaha Lodge. Otter Clan showed up the following day. And last 
night a messenger from Turtle Clan had appeared, out of breath 
and full of exciting news. Turtle Clan was only a day's hike 
away. This news energized the entire camp. The Mastodon Feast 
would begin as soon as all four clans were settled in. 

In the meantime, there was much to do to get ready.

The women were hurrying today to set up additional shelters, 
collect more firewood, harvest fresh greens, roots, and 
berries. The older boys were fishing for bass, pickerel and 
bullheads in Turkey Lake, while the girls gathered snails 
along the shore and hunted for duck eggs in the reeds. Even 
the smallest children added to the stores by trapping turtles 
and frogs, or scooping fish eggs into gourds.

Berries and fish eggs were fine things to eat, but bigger game 
would be needed to feed the mouths of four hungry clans. The 
men planned to hunt mastodon at dusk tonight, the time of day 
when the animals were most likely to pass between First and 
Second Camel Mountain on their way to Turkey Lake for an 
evening drink. The narrow gorge between the hills was a 
perfect spot for an ambush, and not too far away to haul a 
butchered carcass back to camp. Yesterday's scouting party had 
reported finding fresh mastodon sign along the trail there. 
Last night, the men had prayed to the Mastodon Spirit for a 
successful hunt and offered copious amounts of wo-chi to all 
the Spirits.   

Dzeh wondered if the Spirits' heads ached as badly as his this 
morning.

Reasonably satisfied with the overall shape of his spear 
point, Dzeh began honing its edges razor sharp. Then, using a 
groove cutter, he forced away more pieces of stone to form 
flutes down the center on each side. These grooves would 
eventually cradle the spear's wooden shaft.

He was almost finished when the boy named Chal finally 
appeared. He came within a pace or two of Dzeh and then waited 
to be invited to sit. 

Who-Neh's son looked younger than Dzeh had expected and seemed 
somewhat undersized for a boy of twelve years. But he was 
tanned and muscled and, overall, appeared healthy. At least he 
bore no obvious defects. 

He was dressed in a Badger Clan breechclout and leggings. A 
new tattoo marked his reddened left shoulder with a spiky 
design, common among his kin. Two curving claws dangled from 
his pierced ears, indicating the boy had successfully killed 
his first bear. Not an easy thing to do, even for a grown man. 

This boy Chal showed potential, it seemed.

"You are late," Dzeh growled.

The boy bowed his head. "Sorry, Uncle. My father slept late 
this morning. I only just learned you wanted to see me."

Chal was not Dzeh's nephew, of course, but the boy used the 
formal title out of respect.

Dzeh remained silent, ignoring the apology, making Chal stand 
and wait a while longer. 

It was no surprise that Who-Neh had remained late in his 
sleeping skins this morning. The talkative man had been the 
last to bed. The entire camp heard him singing and laughing 
his way from the Prayer Lodge to his hearth where Ho-Ya 
greeted him with angry words. 

Dzeh shook his head. Although these were Klizzie's kin, they 
left much to be desired. Ho-Ya had less sense than a clubbed 
catfish and Who-Neh, while friendly, was the sort of man who 
would gamble his last good knife in a betting game. If their 
son turned out to be equally dim-witted, Dzeh would look 
elsewhere for Gini's future mate. There were other boys in 
Badger and Otter Clans, although admittedly most were older 
and ready for mates now. Dzeh was not willing to give Gini 
away to an older man; she was too young to share a sleeping 
skin just yet. If he couldn't find a suitable match for his 
sister this season, no matter, he could wait a year or two.

"Sit," he ordered Chal. "Show me how the men of Badger Clan 
make spear points." He tossed the boy a lump of raw chert and 
a hammerstone from his kit. The stones landed with a soft thud 
in the grass at young Chal's feet. 

The boy crouched to inspect the uncut stone. Nervously licking 
his lips, he picked up the hammer. His hands shook a little as 
he positioned the rock for the first blow.

"That chert is valuable," Dzeh reminded the boy just as he was 
about to take his first strike.

Chal nodded, serious and respectful. He repositioned the 
chert. Taking aim, he struck the rock. His angle was good, the 
impact well considered. A perfect flake broke loose from the 
chert. The boy swallowed hard, turned the stone and struck the 
back with equally fine results. 

Dzeh watched without comment while he hammered the chert into 
a well-shaped point. The boy had skill.

"You will join tonight's mastodon hunt," Dzeh said. "You will 
be my hunting partner."

Chal's eyes rounded. "B-but, Uncle, I have never hunted 
mastodons."

"Then you will learn how tonight." Dzeh nodded at the boy's 
new spear point. "Lash that to a stout shaft. Bring it with 
you."

The boy stared at him, dumbstruck.

Dzeh returned his tools to his kit and then rose to his feet, 
taking care to hide the discomfort in his head from the boy. 
Walking away, he called over his shoulder, "Don't worry, 
Nephew. It has been at least two years since I had a partner 
killed during a mastodon hunt." 

*   *   *

Three days had passed since Mulder and Scully's night in the 
cave. Three days of arduous hiking. Three days without a 
decent meal. Three days without sex. 

Fucking ants.

Fucking Ice Age.

Fucking uphill all the way to goddamn nowhere. 

The forest lay behind them. Ahead was another mountain, its 
summit worn smooth by eons of advancing and retreating 
glaciers. Miniature evergreens, dwarfed by constant wind and 
lack of soil, dotted the rocky landscape. The sky was clear, 
but a breeze was blowing, high-pitched and constant, sounding 
like whale song as it vibrated across the stone. Mulder's 
clothes flapped in the cross-draft. He squinted against the 
sting of his wind-whipped hair. His arms, weighted by both 
packs and the spears, felt ready to snap.   

He glanced back at Scully. She limped along several paces 
behind him, favoring her left ankle. 

Why had he insisted they go to Hill Air Force Base in the 
first place? He should have known better. These things never 
ended well. Had he *ever* trespassed on government property 
without regretting it? Ever? Even once? Why should this time 
be any different? 

He waited for Scully to catch up, one stiff step at a time. 
Honestly, the poor woman seemed doomed to follow him straight 
to Hell. What had she done to deserve this terrible fate? 

"You must have been an ax murderer in a former life, Scully," 
he said.

"That's funny, because I've been thinking about becoming one 
in this life."

Obviously she was still pissed.

He was feeling pretty damn pissy himself, but he decided it 
would be in his best interest to keep his attitude under 
control. "Good thing there are no axes here. Maybe you'll get 
lucky and we'll end up in the Bronze Age next time."

She limped past him, her expression ice cold as she trekked 
slowly, painfully uphill. "Don't think I won't stone you to 
death."

He trailed after her, keeping his distance. "How is it my 
fault you tripped and hurt your ankle?"

She turned to glare at him over her shoulder.

"Watch your step," he said, pointing to the uneven terrain 
ahead. His warning was meant to needle her more than help. 

"Cause and effect, Mulder," she said, returning her focus to 
her feet. "It was you, was it not, who chose to ignore FBI 
protocol and lead us on this unauthorized investigation into a 
classified U.S. military facility where you breached a clearly 
marked security fence to illegally trespass on government 
property, which caused us to wind up in a...a time warp or 
Flux Space or whatever, sending us 12,000 years into the past, 
completely unprepared, I might add, to this...this godforsaken 
place with stampeding mastodons and hungry saber-toothed 
tigers and giant killer sloths, where...where there are no 
bathtubs or coffee shops or taxi cabs or...or..." She paused 
to take a breath before ending with, "and then I hurt my 
ankle. That's how it's your fault."

"That...that's one way of looking at it." He nodded. "You 
sound upset."

She stopped walking and pivoted to face him. "I am upset, 
Mulder. I'm hungry, sweaty, and my goddamn ankle hurts."

"Want me to carry the waterbag?" He reached for the bag that 
hung from her left hand.

She shrugged him off. "I've got it."

"I don't mind. Really."

Her hair writhed in the wind as her stormy expression 
unexpectedly vanished when she looked into his eyes. Voice 
softening, she said, "I know, Mulder. It's just..." Her voice 
gave out and tears filled her eyes.

He set down the packs and spears and took her into his arms. 
She leaned heavily against him while he stroked her tangled 
hair. His heart ached, seeing her hurt, knowing he was the 
cause of it. "Do you want to rest for a minute?"

"No, we're almost to the top."

It was true. Another one of Klizzie's markers waited for them 
fifty yards ahead on the crest of the hill. 

"We can rest when we catch up with Klizzie and the others," 
she said, pulling away.

He took hold of her hand, unwilling to let her go just yet. 
"We have no idea when that'll be. You should sit for a few 
minutes. Check that ankle."

"If I take off my boot, I may not get it back on. It's the 
only thing keeping the swelling down."

"Then I'll carry you," he offered, opening his arms.

"No, thanks." She backed away and winced when she put weight 
on her injured leg.

"Come on, Scully. You can barely walk."

"I'm fine. You're already carrying everything else." She 
indicated the supplies.

He stooped to gather the packs in one hand and the spears in 
the other and then presented his back to her, bending at the 
knees, prepared to carry her piggyback. "Get on."

"No."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Just do it, Scully. 
Don't argue."

"I'm too heavy."

"Hardly. Just to the top of the hill."

"It's too far."

"No, it's not. Get on." He crouched a bit lower to entice her.

"Just to the marker?"

"I swear."

Still looking unconvinced, she took hold of his shoulders and 
climbed onto his stooped back. The spears and packs made 
holding her awkward, but she truly didn't weigh much. He was 
glad to do this for her. "Comfy?" he asked.

"Yes." She gasped when he straightened. "Don't drop me."

"I won't drop you." 

He took a tentative step, testing his balance. Once he was 
sure of his footing, he strode up the hill toward the marker.

Scully hung on as if for dear life, arms clutching his neck, 
thighs locked around his ribs. He liked the way her panting 
breath tickled the upper ridge of his left ear, and he 
couldn't help but notice the cushiony press of her breasts 
against his upper back.

"Doin' okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Hardly know you're there."

As light as she was, his thigh muscles were burning by the 
time he crested the top of the hill. His discomfort vanished, 
however, the moment he looked into the valley on the other 
side.

"My God." Scully's words puffed against his cheek.

Grassland covered a gentle downhill slope from where they 
stood to a vast blue lake at the bottom. The lake was shaped 
like an open hand and it sparkled in the bright afternoon sun. 
On its southwestern shore was a village of fifty or more domed 
shelters: tidy, peaceful, the grass already worn thin between 
the huts. Several cooking fires burned in the open spaces and 
Mulder could smell their smoke. He heard laughter, muted by 
distance; saw men, women and children, dozens of them, going 
about the business of life, cooking, washing, building more 
shelters, swimming in the lake.

He remained still, overwhelmed by the scene in front of him. 
He felt caught in a current of timelessness, like starlight 
that has traveled across the universe, only to arrive brand 
new in an already ancient place. Between heartbeats he felt as 
if he was living twenty thousand lifetimes. Space and time 
expanded beyond the scope of his vision, beyond his power of 
physical perception, beyond all human comprehension. 

It was with both regret and wonderment that he realized this 
infinite moment was only the tiniest fraction of a whole.

"We made it," Scully said, her voice thick with emotion. She 
slid from his back. 

He helped to steady her once her feet touched the ground, all 
the while staring with unblinking awe at the community 
below...at their salvation. 

*   *   *

Gini and Jeha waded into the lake, leaving behind the group of 
girls who were gathering snails along the pebbled beach. The 
two friends were after duck eggs, not snails. Each carried a 
basket they'd woven out of broad cattail leaves and lined with 
down. Gini had stuck a yellow bullhead-lily into hers for 
luck.

They hadn't gone far when she spotted a nest. She splashed 
through head-high reeds, frightening the mother duck off her 
perch. While the duck squawked at her from the rushes, Gini 
emptied the nest, carefully placing four ivory-colored eggs 
into her basket.

Jeha was more interested in talking about boys than in 
collecting eggs. Standing knee deep in weeds and water, she 
idly swung her empty basket. "Moasi kissed me last night," she 
said, her voice high-pitched with excitement. 

Cool mud oozed up between Gini's toes as she waded deeper. The 
sun beat down upon the crown of her head and heated her dark 
braids, while blossoming azaleas, waterlogged lilies and newly 
hatched pollywogs scented the air.

"What did it feel like?" she asked, not half as excited about 
boys or kisses as her older friend.

"Warm and...a little wet."

Gini crinkled her nose in disgust. She took a few more steps, 
plowing through buckbean and stargrass. A cluster of glossy 
water beetles skated out of her way. "It was wet?"

Jeha giggled and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "He put 
his tongue in my mouth."

"Yuck!" Gini's shout flushed out another duck. It flew up over 
the lake, scolding the girls as it went. Gini turned to stare 
at her friend. "Why did he do that?"

Jeha shrugged. "I liked it."

For Spirit's sake, Gini thought, Jeha was becoming more 
foolish with every passing day. Why would anyone want a boy's 
tongue in her mouth?

"Well, I am never going to let a boy do that to me," she said. 
"I would rather suck on a rotten egg." She spotted another 
nest hidden in the rushes a few paces away. It cradled five 
eggs. Curling her toes into the mud for firmer footing, she 
edged her way between the reeds to the nest.

"You will be singing a different song once you are Promised," 
Jeha predicted.

"I am not going to be Promised. Ever. Klizzie said I did not 
have to."

"Then why is your brother meeting with Chal this morning?"

"What?" Gini spun to face her friend, nearly dropping her 
basket of eggs. "Where did you hear that?"

"Ho-Ya told my mother at breakfast. Chal is with Dzeh right 
now. I saw them together myself before coming to fetch you."

"Nooo!" Gini wailed. "You must be mistaken."

"Gini, I saw them with my own eyes. Chal was sitting with Dzeh 
beneath the butternut tree at the edge of camp. They were 
making spear points or something."

Gini felt bees begin to buzz in her stomach again.

Jeha waded past her, removed the eggs from the nest and added 
them to her own basket. "I think Chal is handsome, although 
not as good-looking as Moasi."

Handsome? How could she think such a thing? Chal was a skinny, 
rude boy with hair like a porcupine. He wasn't the least bit 
handsome. Gini was about to say so when she heard a shout from 
one of the girls on the beach.

"Gini! Jeha! Come quick!"

"What do you suppose is the matter?" Jeha asked.

"Let's go see." Gini led the way, splashing toward shore.

When they reached the other girls, they found them gaping at 
Crouching Cat Mountain. "Look," one of the girls said, 
pointing a finger at the mountain's sloping meadow.

There, halfway down the hill, two hikers plodded steadily 
closer to camp. The man was dark-haired and tall. He carried 
two spears and a heavy pack. The woman was shorter, her head 
crowned with hair the color of fox fur. Both wore strange, 
foreign garments.

"Muhl-dar! Day-nuh!" Gini squealed. She dropped her basket and 
began to run to the newcomers, pushing her legs as fast as 
they would carry her.    

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar! Muhl-dar!" Gini's high-pitched shout carried 
halfway up the hill.

"That's Gini," Scully said, breathy with exertion and 
excitement.

Mulder shared her enthusiasm. They'd made it. They'd found the 
others. After more than two weeks of hiking and hunger, the 
end was in sight. He hadn't expected to feel such a rush of 
overwhelming relief. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he 
watched little Gini run pell-mell toward him, braids flopping, 
her white smile evident even at this distance. A knot of 
children raced along after her, equally exuberant.

When Gini reached Mulder, she hurled herself into his 
outstretched arms. 

"Muhl-dar! Muhl-dar!" she gasped, clinging to his neck with a 
fierce grip. 

He let his spears fall to the ground to lift her off her feet. 
She wrapped her thin legs around his waist and hugged him 
hard. Chattering non-stop, she gulped for air even as she 
spoke. He patted her braids and waited for her to talk herself 
out.

It was a long wait; she evidently had a lot to say.

"I think she missed you," Scully said. 

Mulder peered into the happy child's eyes and smiled. "I 
missed you, too." His gladness at seeing Gini was prompted by 
more than relief, he realized. This young girl had wheedled 
her way into his heart. In many ways she reminded him of Sam, 
and her greeting felt like a homecoming.      

The other children soon surrounded Mulder and Scully. Some 
hopped with excitement. Others hung back, not knowing what to 
make of these strangers. One girl gathered Mulder's fallen 
spears and volunteered to carry them back to the camp.

"Fine, fine," he told the child, guessing her intention. "Lead 
on." 

They started downhill together, high-spirited and noisy. One 
child ran ahead, presumably to notify the rest of the camp. 
Not that a messenger was necessary. The people in the village 
had already spotted the newcomers and were hiking out to greet 
them. Mulder spotted Klizzie among the crowd. She waved her 
arms and shrieked with delight when she recognized them. 

Mulder held onto Gini, letting her ride his hip as they walked 
down into the valley. She beamed with pride, giggling and 
yammering as she tugged at his short whiskers and kissed his 
cheeks and nose.

At the bottom of the hill Klizzie greeted Scully with a warm 
embrace, tears flooding her eyes. Mulder noticed Scully had 
tears in her eyes, too, and it put the lump back in his throat 
to see her so happy. The two women held each other for several 
long minutes while the crowd of curious onlookers grew.  

When Klizzie finally broke away, she turned to face Mulder. 

Mulder set Gini on the ground. He wanted to thank Klizzie 
properly for all the stone markers she'd left along the trail; 
he and Scully never would have made it without her help. 
Unable to express his gratitude in words due to the lack of 
common language, he leaned down to embrace her and accept her 
gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Klizzie," he whispered into her ear, hoping she 
would understand the depth of his appreciation from the 
heartfelt tone of his voice.

Over Klizzie's shoulder, Mulder saw Dzeh and a group of men 
approaching at a trot from the camp. They bristled with 
weapons and Mulder was unsure how to interpret their spears 
and knives. 

But he needn't have worried. Dzeh stepped forward to welcome 
him with a broad smile. He displayed his wristwatch and 
pointed with pride at the bear claw necklace around Mulder's 
neck.

Mulder caught himself reaching out to clasp the other man's 
hand -- a 20th Century habit, unrecognized here in the Ice 
Age. Apparently a whack on the back was the accepted form of 
greeting. Dzeh thumped Mulder repeatedly, jarring him with 
unexpected force, using every ounce of strength in his 
muscular arms.

In an effort to divert his enthusiasm, Mulder pointed to the 
spears and asked, "What's all this?"

Dzeh launched into a long explanation, not a word of which 
Mulder understood. Meanwhile, the women were circling around 
Scully. They clucked their tongues in a sympathetic manner as 
they pointed from her injured ankle to one of the village 
huts.   

The men's conversation became more animated. They closed in on 
Mulder, separating him from Scully as she was led away by the 
women.

"Scully?" he called to her, looking over the men's shoulders.

"I'm okay, Mulder," she yelled back. "I'll catch up with you 
later."

Gini was the only girl to remain behind with Mulder and the 
men.

"A-woh-tso." The men repeated the word several times while 
they thrust their spears at some unknown imaginary prey. They 
tugged Mulder's arms. Someone offered him a new spear.

"I'm not very good at charades, guys. Are you going hunting?" 

"A-woh-tso," Dzeh said again.

Mulder leaned down to whisper into Gini's ear, "What's a-woh-
tso?" 

She giggled and then held her fists at the sides of her mouth 
and pointed her stubby index fingers straight out. "A-woh-
tso," she repeated.  

Ahhh. A-woh-tso. Mastodon.

The men were going on a mastodon hunt. 

Dzeh clapped Mulder on the back and smiled. That's when it hit 
him. He was going on the mastodon hunt, too.

*   *   *

Twelve clansmen, armed with stout spears and stone knives, 
jogged silently through a forest of alder and waist-high 
buckthorn. They headed northeast along an almost imperceptible 
deer trail that circled Turkey Lake. Mulder ran with them, 
gripping a spear in his left hand, leaving his right free to 
draw his gun if need be. 

The hour was late, the sun low in the sky. Horizontal fingers 
of misty light pierced the forest, painting the leaves gold 
while camouflaging the men with leaf-shaped shadows. The scent 
of chokecherries and damp earth flooded Mulder's nostrils as 
he ran. He tried to guess how the men intended to capture and 
kill their prey -- a-woh-tso, mastodon. A surprise attack, 
most likely, concealing themselves in the half-light of dusk 
in order to ambush the unsuspecting animals.

It seemed impossible that a dozen men armed only with spears 
and stone knives could bring down a beast the size of a 
dump truck. But clearly they'd done it before, many times; their 
shelters, constructed of mastodon bone and skin, were proof of 
their skill and daring. 

The men's nakedness made them appear alarmingly vulnerable in 
this wild landscape. Bare-chested and barelegged, the hunters 
wore only loincloths. Dzeh had insisted Mulder change out of 
his jacket and jeans and dress in a loincloth, too, before 
leaving the camp. The stern clansman had plucked at Mulder's 
sweaty 20th Century clothes and held his nose. Mulder took the 
hint. The garments' strong odor would alert their prey and 
spoil the hunt. 

Dzeh had also argued against Mulder wearing his boots, 
pantomiming heavy footfalls, clapping his hands loudly with 
each exaggerated step. Mulder refused to leave them behind, 
however, noise be damned. His feet weren't callused enough to 
go barefoot, even after so many days of hiking.

Mulder quickly changed out of his smelly clothes. He was
hungry -- hollow to the bone hungry -- and he knew Scully was,
too. The sloth had been their last decent meal and that had
been days ago. He was willing to do whatever it took to fill
his and Scully's empty stomachs. He had no intention of 
freeloading; he would pull his weight, even if it meant coming 
face-to-face with a ferocious, long-toothed, eight-ton mastodon.

Finding Scully before he left, he handed off his dirty laundry 
and kissed her on the cheek. "Back in a jiff," he promised. 

"Be careful, Mulder." 

"Hey, it's me," he said, using his "What could go wrong?" tone 
of voice. He left her with Klizzie and the other women, and 
hurried off after the hunters who were already trotting single 
file toward the woods.

About a mile from camp, the trail opened into a clearing. The 
lead runner -- a muscular, older man with long, gray, 
corkscrewing hair -- slowed to a stop. He held up a hand that 
looked big enough to palm a basketball. The other men stopped, 
too, lifting their noses into the air, cocking their ears. 
Mulder also listened, trying to hear what they heard: bird 
calls, the scramble of small woodland creatures, the men's 
quiet breathing. 

They were standing in a corridor of felled trees. It reminded 
Mulder of the logging roads in Washington State's Olympic 
National Forest, only the trees here had been broken, not cut 
by chainsaws. The throughway emerged from a narrow gorge 
between two rocky hills to the east. It continued west, 
downhill to the lake about a hundred yards away. Mulder faced 
the setting sun and glimpsed the last rays of daylight 
reflecting off the water. He guessed the route was a regularly 
traveled thoroughfare for the mastodons, a passage through the 
mountains to the lake. Evidently, the hunters expected to meet 
the animals during last call at the local watering hole.

That's when he felt it, an almost imperceptible trembling 
beneath his feet. The men grinned, nodded, and exchanged rapid 
hand signals.     

The older man with the basketball hands stooped to gather 
something from the ground. Mulder recognized this man; he'd 
seen him at the last camp, along with Dzeh and two or three of 
the other hunters. His name was Lan or Lon or Lin. Whichever, 
he was smearing his chest and arms with mud.

Once covered, he became almost invisible in the waning light. 

Dzeh and the others, including the nervous boy with a Mohawk 
haircut who had shadowed Dzeh the entire way from camp, moved 
forward to join Basketball Hands. They took turns scooping up 
handfuls of mud and rubbing it on themselves and each other, 
effectively camouflaging their bronze skin -- arms, legs, 
faces, torsos, front and back.

Dzeh beckoned Mulder with a wave and offered him a handful. 

Mulder moved closer and allowed the other man to coat his back
and shoulders with the chilly goop.

Jesus, the stuff smelled terrible. It reeked of...

Shit. It was mastodon dung. The men weren't camouflaging their 
skin; they were disguising their odor. 

Dzeh daubed Mulder's face and hair and then pointed to the 
pile, indicating Mulder should dig in. 

Face wrinkled in disgust, Mulder knelt and plowed his fingers 
into the heap. He scooped up a generous portion. The men 
grinned as he held his breath and slathered his chest and 
thighs with it.

Lan/Lon/Lin used more hand signals to divide the men into two 
groups. A barrel-chested man with a spiky tattoo and a haircut 
similar to the boy's led one group across the corridor. They 
moved quickly, silently, while the second group, which 
included Mulder, remained on the near side, spreading out and 
taking positions behind trees and shrubs. 

Dzeh crouched beneath an evergreen, down-slope to Mulder's 
left. The boy hid in a patch of tall ferns upland to his 
right. Mulder squatted behind a toppled tree, which had a 
trunk as big around as a tanker truck.

Then the men waited. The sun sank below the horizon and the 
forest fell into shadow. Mosquitoes whined in Mulder's ears, 
but didn't bite, put off by the drying layer of dung on his 
skin. Somewhere behind them, an owl hooted from the upper 
branches of a distant tree.

Suddenly the mastodons were there. A large herd, moving single 
file through the corridor. Despite their size, they traveled 
in near-silence, the soft huff-puff of their feet on the trail 
the only sound they made as they glided toward the lake like 
ghostly battleships. Mulder had expected thunderous footsteps, 
snapping trees, crashing branches -- not this eerie quiet. He 
watched in wonder, crouched in his hiding place, as the first 
mastodon passed by, enormous and gray and nearly invisible in 
the twilight. Its ivory tusks glowed like twin specters, eight 
feet long and as thick as a man's arm. They pointed straight 
ahead, parallel to the ground, and appeared to float, 
unconnected to anything. The sight numbed Mulder's limbs, set 
his heart hammering. He clamped his jaws together to keep his 
teeth from chattering, giving away his position.

A second animal passed. Then a third. Mulder wondered when the 
men would attack, tried to guess their strategy while he 
silently cursed his ignorance of their language and their 
ways. Dzeh remained rooted to his spot to Mulder's left, 
hunkered down, eyes trained on his prey. Mulder could just 
make out Dzeh's hands positioning the shaft of his spear into 
a strange foot-long handle. Mulder had no idea what this tool 
was used for. He gripped his own spear more tightly and 
continued to wait.

At least a dozen mastodons plodded toward the lake. Several 
babies trotted by, too, just as silently as their mothers. 
More adults followed the youngsters. When the last animal had 
passed, the clansmen simultaneously rose from their positions. 
No one called out or gave any signal; the hunters knew from 
experience what to do, when to attack. A half step behind 
them, Mulder rose to his feet and sprinted after the others.

The men didn't speak or shout. They moved as stealthily as 
their quarry, forming a U-shaped line behind the herd, closing 
in as they drew nearer to the lake. They were twelve small men 
tiptoeing on the heels of hulking shadows and the mastodons 
seemed completely unaware of their presence. 

Mulder tried to anticipate what would happen next. Glancing 
left and right, he noticed all the men had attached the 
strange foot-long handles to the ends of their spears, just as 
Dzeh had. The handles folded back on the shafts, which were 
held shoulder high, parallel to the ground. 

Many of the mastodons were already in the lake when Mulder 
heard the first faint whistle of a spear sailing through the 
air. It was followed by the wet slap of its point penetrating 
a hide. The struck animal roared. The noise was horrible; a 
screech like train brakes, followed by the huff of panicked 
lungs.

The herd instantly became an earth-shaking stampede and the 
night exploded with sound...whooping shouts from the 
hunters...cries of alarm from the mastodons...noisy splashes 
of water as the animals plowed into the lake to escape the 
danger behind them. Several thundered into the woods, cracking 
into trees, splintering branches. 

The men ignored the runaways to pursue the one wounded animal. 
Four hunters let spears fly in quick succession, aiming at the 
beast's heart. Mulder could now see the advantage of the 
strange handles the men had attached to their spears. These 
devices added leverage and distance, hurtling the lances 200 
feet with impressive accuracy. Each weapon sank a foot or more 
into the mastodon's flesh, an impossible depth if thrown 
without the handle.

The men closed in on the injured mastodon. Two more spears 
found their mark. Still on its feet, the beast squealed each 
time it was hit. It tried to shake the spears loose, but they 
remained deeply imbedded in its side. Mulder was now close 
enough to see inky streams of blood leaking from its wounds. 
The animal tossed its head in anger and fear. It trumpeted 
again. Abandoned by the herd, it turned to defend itself.

Mulder had faced monsters before, but nothing chilled him like 
the fury he saw in this beast's bulging eyes. When the enraged 
mastodon prepared to charge, Mulder's senses left him. His 
arms hung like dead weights at his sides. His ears became deaf 
to the commotion around him. Time slowed to an immeasurable 
crawl and he felt as if he were watching events unfold through 
the wrong end of a telescope.

The mastodon lowered its head and laid back its ears. It pawed 
the ground and aimed its tusks upland toward the mountains.

Then it was galloping uphill. Nearly a dozen spears bristled 
like picadors' lances from its blood-streaked sides, jouncing 
with each tremendous stride. The hunters scrambled out of its 
path, their mouths opening as if to scream. Mulder heard none 
of their cries in his now silent, slow motion world. He turned 
to look uphill where he saw the boy with the Mohawk haircut 
standing in the middle of the path. The boy watched, frozen in 
place, as the mastodon came straight for him.

Mulder drew his gun. Relying on a decade of training and 
practice, he raised his arms, aimed his weapon, and 
waited...waited...waited for the charging mastodon to pass him 
broad side. He seemed to know instinctively that a shot to the 
animal's impenetrable skull would prove useless. He needed to 
make a well-placed shot to the heart or lungs. When the moment 
came and the mastodon passed within five feet of his 
outstretched arms, Mulder pumped the trigger and let every 
single bullet fly, hoping like hell to hit something vital. 
Each shot penetrated the animal's hide, smacking a puff of 
dust from its fur. The mastodon continued to rage forward 
toward the frightened boy. The boy closed his eyes. Mulder 
felt his stomach pitch. He still squeezed the trigger, deaf to 
the click of the gun's empty clip.

Please, please, please, he prayed...

Abruptly the mastodon faltered, stumbled, went down on its 
front knees. Its forward momentum carried it skidding uphill. 
Its gargantuan tusks dug into the ground like plow blades, 
furrowing the earth and sending debris flying into the air. 
Amid an explosion of dust and pine needles, the giant beast 
lurched to a stop right at the boy's feet.

The boy's lance dropped from his hand and he collapsed to his 
haunches.

Mulder had spent every round but managed to save the boy's 
life.

Mulder's hearing returned when the hunters surrounded him. 
They clapped him on the back and shoulders. Their laughter 
ricocheted off the trees as they whooped with relief. 
Impressed by Mulder's gun, they took turns touching it, 
pulling back with startled surprise when they felt the warmth 
of its barrel. "Pow, pow," they shouted again and again, 
mimicking Mulder's stiff-armed stance. He let them pass the 
gun around. Without bullets it was no longer a danger. One 
after the next, the men took a turn pointing it at the 
motionless mastodon. 

Dzeh seemed particularly pleased by the shooting. His eyes 
shone with pride as he strutted back and forth between Mulder 
and the boy. He nodded repeatedly at his wristwatch, reminding 
everyone of his partnership with Mulder.

The boy was beginning to regain his color. Two men helped him 
to his feet. They pounded his shoulders, too. Buoyed by their 
praise, the youngster retrieved his fallen spear. He walked on 
shaky legs around the corpse. "Ut-zah!" he yelled at it, and 
then thrust the spear into the animal's side.

"Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin!" the men replied. They repeated the phrase 
again and again. Dzeh encouraged Mulder to say the strange 
words, too.

With his tongue twisting around the unfamiliar language, 
Mulder tried his best to repeat, "Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin!"

This caused more laughter and more cheers.

Finally, the man with basketball hands cleared his throat, 
silencing the others. He gave a short speech. The men nodded, 
faces solemn but eyes lit with satisfaction. When the 
impromptu meeting was finished, a messenger was dispatched to 
the village to tell the clans the good news.      

Then the hunters fell upon the carcass and, using their spears 
as carving knives, they began to butcher the meat.

Mulder watched in awe as the men sliced open the mastodon with 
quick precision. It reminded him of Scully with scalpel in 
hand, poised over a body on her autopsy table. Like her, the 
men seemed to follow a predetermined approach. In only 
minutes, they had peeled back the skin to serve as a tarp, 
keeping the meat clean as they piled it in chunks.

Spirits ran high as they gutted the carcass. Several men 
climbed completely inside it to carve out the organs, while 
others worked to remove large sections of fat. The men in the 
belly yelled up to those outside to be careful whenever a 
spear gouged too deeply and poked straight through, 
threatening their safety. The smell was godawful, but Mulder 
lent a hand. He borrowed Dzeh's knife because he wasn't able 
to get the hang of cutting with his spear the way the other 
men did.

Mulder admired the skill of these men, their bravery and their 
commitment to their families. He felt honored to be included 
in their close-knit group. As a man who usually eschewed 
teamwork -- at least off the ball court -- he found himself 
shedding his customary independence. For perhaps the first 
time in his life, Fox Mulder felt as if he fit in. Up to his 
elbows in blood and entrails, he realized with pleasant 
surprise that he felt genuinely happy.   

*   *   *

Klizzie combed and braided Day-nuh's hair into cornrows while 
the injured woman sipped a bowl of medicinal tea concocted by 
the Shaman to alleviate the pain in her swollen ankle.

"You are lucky it was only a sprain," Klizzie said as she 
began a new braid. She was also lucky the Shaman knew how to 
make strong tea.

Day-nuh sat perfectly still, propped on furs, naked beneath a 
wolf-skin blanket, while Klizzie knelt behind her and worked 
on her hair. The tea was obviously beginning to take effect; 
Day-nuh's head lolled sleepily and she hummed in a quiet, 
tuneless way. She was freshly shampooed and bathed, and she'd 
eaten, too, thanks to Klizzie, who had prepared a hearty meal 
before taking her to the lake to wash. While Day-nuh bathed, 
Klizzie returned to camp to arrange a shelter for her. Of 
course, tonight, Dzeh, not Muhl-dar, would share this hearth 
with the fox-haired woman. As was customary, the Trading 
Partners would seal their partnership by exchanging mates. 
Klizzie planned to take her own bath as soon as she finished 
getting Day-nuh ready. She wanted to be clean and presentable 
when Dzeh's new partner came to her bed. It was important that 
she impress and please Muhl-dar, to help build a lasting bond 
between the men.

After tonight, the four of them would be like kin. Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh would be accepted and welcomed as permanent 
members of Owl Clan.

"Klizzie...?" Day-nuh murmured, and then her question wandered 
off like a lost calf.

"What is it, Sister?" Klizzie asked, using the honorary title 
prematurely. She didn't think it would do any harm; after all, 
she and Day-nuh would be true sisters in the eyes of the Clan 
after tonight. 

Patiently waiting for the fox-haired woman to say more, 
Klizzie tied off the braid she was working on with a row of 
beads: one of white bone, two blue stones and then a bangle of 
mother-of-pearl. The pearl sparkled whenever Day-nuh laughed, 
which was more frequently now that she was on her second bowl 
of tea. 

Klizzie eased the near-empty bowl from her limp hand and set 
it aside. "I think you have had enough," she whispered.

She continued to plait Day-nuh's pretty, red hair, weaving in 
additional beads, along with strands of fresh sweetgrass. Dzeh 
would be pleased to see her decorated in the Owl Clan fashion. 
It would make her appear less strange. It would also make him 
proud that his mate loved him enough to help prepare her for 
this night.

Klizzie's heart filled with happiness at the thought of 
pleasing Dzeh. He was an honorable man and a fine mate. 
Generous, patient and tender. He listened when she gave voice 
to the ideas that were inside her. He provided her with a 
loving home. Some women were not so lucky.

"There, that is done," she announced, finished with the 
braids. "Now I will oil your skin so you will feel soft and 
smell sweet." 

Day-nuh nodded in sleepy agreement before closing her eyes. 

Klizzie put away her extra beads, tucking them into the soft, 
fringed pouch she used for storing them. Then she stirred the 
fire in the small hearth beside the sleeping skins, adding 
another stick of wood. The hut was pleasantly warm. It wasn't 
a large hut, like the ones used by families with many children 
and cousins and aunts and uncles, but it was tall enough for a 
woman to stand up in. And it had plenty of room for sleeping 
skins and storage, too. 

Earlier she had brought Day-nuh and Muhl-dar's packs here and 
set them to one side. She also added some additional items she 
thought they could use, such as fresh drinking water, a change 
of clothes, and more soap root. To be honest, she hoped the 
soap would encourage them to bathe more often. She wondered if 
it was the custom of Eel Clan to wait so long between 
washings.

Well, at least she had gotten Day-nuh clean for tonight's 
exchange. And if the men were successful on their hunt, then 
they would bathe later, too, to wash off the blood and dung. 
She had no worry that Muhl-dar would come to her bed smelling 
bad. 

Klizzie gathered the perfumed oil and held it briefly beneath 
Day-nuh's nose.

The sleepy woman barely opened her eyes.

"Mmm," she hummed. "S'good."

Klizzie chuckled, glad to see she was feeling comfortable. Her 
swollen ankle looked painful. After her bath, Klizzie had 
wrapped it with the softest strip of deerskin she could find. 
Then she propped the injured leg on a pile of folded furs to 
help prevent more swelling and bruising.

"You will like this," Klizzie promised. She rubbed a bit of 
the oil between her palms, then positioned herself behind Day-
nuh and began massaging her bare shoulders.

"Mmmmm. That's nice." Day-nuh's chin dropped to her chest. 

Klizzie massaged her ivory white skin, working down her arms 
to her hands. She rubbed her elbows, her wrists, and each 
finger, then moved on to her chest, where she used circular 
strokes to smooth oil onto her breasts and belly. Pausing to 
inspect the fearsome scar at her navel, she wondered what 
could have caused such a wound.

Day-nuh giggled when she tried to oil her ribs. 

"You are ticklish?" Klizzie asked as she repositioned herself 
to rub the other woman's legs. She lifted the blanket off. 
"You have very pretty feet," she said, when she began to 
stroke Day-nuh's toes. "They are so soft!"

Her own feet were thickly callused from going barefoot. Day-
nuh's feet felt as if she walked on clouds all day.

Klizzie avoided the injured ankle, kneading the stiff muscles 
of her calves and thighs instead, astonished by the number of 
tan speckles that dotted her pale skin. They were more 
numerous than stars in the sky.

"We are done, Sister," she said at last, and set aside the 
oil. She gently patted the woman's cheek to wake her.

Day-nuh seemed to rouse a little. "Klizzie..." She took her 
hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."

"Tahnk-ew." Klizzie remembered hearing this word before, back 
at Toh-ta Lodge. She didn't know what it meant, but Day-nuh 
seemed sincere and appreciative. "Oh, I almost forgot," she 
said, remembering the necklace she had brought for Day-nuh to 
wear tonight. She scrounged through her pack and pulled out a 
beautiful carved amulet that hung from a soft deer-hide cord. 
"This will bring happiness and luck," she said, slipping the 
necklace over the other woman's head.

Day-nuh fingered the carving -- a small red fox.

Klizzie had chosen it because the color of the stone matched 
Day-nuh's hair exactly.

"It's beautiful," Day-nuh murmured. Then her eyes brightened. 
She held up a finger. "I have something for you, too." 

The words came out in a jumble, meaning nothing to Klizzie, 
but she waited while Day-nuh retrieved her Eel cloak and 
searched through its marvelous pockets. She withdrew a silver 
cylinder, smoother and shinier than any water-polished stone, 
and held it up for Klizzie to see.

"What is it?" she asked, impressed by the pretty thing. 

Day-nuh smiled and separated the cylinder into two halves. 
Then she twisted the bottom of one half until a blood red 
finger poked up from inside. Klizzie wasn't sure what to make 
of it. Whose finger was it and why would anyone keep such a 
ghastly thing?

She was even more shocked when Day-nuh pressed the bleeding 
finger to her lips. Was she going to eat it?

Oh! It stained her lips red! Klizzie leaned closer. The thing 
was not a finger after all; it was paint!

"May I?" Day-nuh asked, pointing the paint stick at Klizzie's 
lips.

Klizzie nodded and let the other woman color her lips. When 
Day-nuh was satisfied, smoothing the paint with her finger, 
she searched her pocket again, and this time she pulled out a 
container that looked like a small tortoiseshell. She opened 
the little shell and inside was a smooth, shiny surface that 
reflected the firelight the way a pond reflects the sun. She 
held it up to Klizzie's face.

Oh, Great Spirits! It was her own face! She recognized her 
eyes and mouth from seeing them reflected in the lake water. 
But never had she seen herself so clearly as this!

"May I hold it?" she asked. She reached for the shiny 
tortoiseshell to indicate she wanted a closer look. Day-nuh 
smiled and handed it to her.

Klizzie could not stop staring at her own dark eyes, fringed 
with long, straight lashes...and her smooth nose, a little 
curved and somewhat flat...and her lips! Blood red with Day-
nuh's paint. She smiled, only to be stunned by the whiteness 
of her teeth and the two crescent-shaped dimples that dented 
her cheeks.

She might never have stopped looking at herself if not for the 
strange popping noise that suddenly echoed up from the lake.

Worry glittered in Day-nuh's eyes. She tried to stand. "Gun 
shots. Mulder--"     

"Sit, Sister, please. You will hurt yourself." Klizzie 
indicated her bound ankle. "I will see what is the matter."

"But I have to--" Day-nuh blinked dizzily and fell back 
against the furs.

"Remain here. I will bring back any news." 

Day-nuh closed her tired eyes, succumbing to the effects of 
the tea. Klizzie returned the tortoiseshell container to her, 
thanked her and apologized for leaving so quickly. She gave 
Day-nuh's cheek a quick kiss before grabbing her things and 
rising to her feet.

"Klizzie, wait..." The words stretched out in a long, drowsy 
fashion. For a moment the exhausted woman seemed to forget 
what it was she intended to say. Then she held out the paint 
stick. "This is for you." 

Klizzie gave her a questioning look.

"I want you to have it," she said, and held the paint stick a 
little higher.

Klizzie took it. Impressed by the other woman's generosity, 
she leaned down to kiss her again before hurrying from the 
shelter. 

Out in the village's common area she found a group of 
concerned men and women looking toward the lake, discussing 
the odd popping noise in uneasy voices.

"It came from the direction of the hunt," one man said, 
pointing northeast. 

"What could make such a noise?"

Speculation was cut short when the excited cry of a messenger 
resounded from the nearby woods. 

"We killed a mastodon!" he yelled. "We killed a mastodon -- 
there will be a feast tonight!"  

*   *   *

The Men's Prayer Lodge was the largest structure in the camp. 
Oblong in shape, it had a single door, which faced west to 
catch the last light of the setting sun. The broad, domed roof 
was constructed of animal hides, sewn together with sinew. The 
roof was supported by shoulder-high walls built of mastodon 
skulls, which had been stacked one atop another, fitted 
together like spooning lovers. Tusks and slender saplings 
provided additional height, making the interior space tall 
enough for a man to stand upright with his arms raised.

In the center of the lodge was a large fire-pit, which offered 
light and warmth, as well as a spit for roasting meat. An open 
area around the fire was used for speeches, dances, prayers 
and storytelling. Furs lined the floor along the room's 
perimeter, providing comfortable seating. Thirty men could sit 
in the lodge with room to spare. Fifty became a tight fit. 
Tonight, more than eighty men and boys crowded the lodge to 
hear the story of the mastodon hunt.

Because the lodge was oblong and not circular, some seats were 
preferred over others because they offered superior views of 
the speakers and the fire. Dzeh sat in one of these better 
spots, between his Uncle Lin and his Trading Partner Muhl-dar. 
A hearty meal of roasted mastodon had left him sated, and 
several draughts of wo-chi fogged his head in a most pleasant 
manner. A bite of raw heart fresh from the kill had inundated 
him with the Mastodon Spirit's generosity. 

As was custom, the men had let the women finish butchering the 
mastodon and transport its meat, hide, bones and organs back 
to camp, while the hunters cleaned themselves in the lake. 
After their bath, they dressed in fresh garments for Prayers 
of Thanks in the Lodge.

Influenced by the Mastodon Spirit's generosity, Dzeh lent 
Muhl-dar his best buckskin tunic. After all, the newcomer had 
nothing clean to put on after his bath. Dzeh had a spare, and 
Muhl-dar was his Trading Partner now, so why not?

The tunic was a fine one, supple and soft, decorated with 
handsome quillwork and fringe. Klizzie had outdone herself 
making it. It fit comfortably and would last many seasons. 

"Take it," Dzeh had insisted, pressing the garment into Muhl-
dar's arms. 

"No, no, no." Muhl-dar shook his head and pushed back, making 
further objections in his own strange language.

Although Dzeh didn't understand his words, he understood his 
hesitation to accept the shirt. A gift was an obligation that 
required compensation at some point. Perhaps Muhl-dar felt 
unable to settle such a large debt. It was possible he was not 
as well off as Dzeh had first assumed. 

Even so, he needed something to wear.

"This tunic is of little value," Dzeh lied, attempting once 
more to give the garment away. "The hide is of inferior 
quality; the seams poorly sewn. Please, take it off my hands."

Muhl-dar appeared reluctant and a bit embarrassed, but he was 
finally persuaded by Dzeh's persistent arguments to take the 
tunic. Slipping it over his head, he emerged with a broad grin 
lighting his face. The shirt fit as if made for him.

Cleaned, dressed, and cheered by their successful hunt, the 
men gathered in the Prayer Lodge to celebrate. They recited 
all the official prayers and then settled in for a long night 
of storytelling and feasting. Regaling each other with tales 
of past exploits, they relived every hunt that remained 
outstanding in their memories. And they coaxed Muhl-dar into 
telling and retelling his version of tonight's hunt at least 
six times over. It didn't matter that they couldn't understand 
his foreign words. The wild motions of his hands, the varied 
expressions of his face, and the inflection of his voice lent 
excitement to the tale. They gasped each time he leapt to his 
feet to pantomime the action. Again and again the hunters 
interrupted his rendition to add their own perspectives, 
filling in minute details for the benefit of those who had not 
been present.

While Muhl-dar pointed his gun, another man played the role of 
the mastodon. A third mimicked fear-stricken Chal, caught in 
the path of the raging beast.

"Whe-hus-dil...pow, pow, pow," the hunters shouted, describing 
the noise of Muhl-dar's weapon to those who had remained in 
the camp and heard it only from a distance. The hunters held 
their ears, rounded their eyes, laughed with relief when the 
man who was pretending to be the mastodon sank to his knees.

"Bih-din-ne-dey!" Lin exclaimed, and all the men cheered.

The story became grander with each telling. After the third or 
fourth performance, it became embellished beyond all 
recognition. But whenever Muhl-dar seemed reluctant to repeat 
his version of events, the elders plied him with more wo-chi. 
A sip or two more were enough to loosen his tongue and get him 
back on his feet.

Muhl-dar's gun was passed around the circle many times while 
he reenacted his tale. Dzeh laughed heartily when Muhl-dar 
took on the role of each hunter, exaggerating each man's 
heroism, fear, and shock. He laughed doubly hard at Muhl-dar's 
impersonation of himself.

This was a fine night. Dzeh felt more at ease than he had in 
many days. Forgotten was his vision about Muhl-dar's unlucky 
return. The arrival of his Trading Partner had turned out to 
be a good omen after all.

"Enough!" Muhl-dar announced. He collapsed onto his haunches 
beside Dzeh and refused to get up again. "Enough, enough." He 
held up his hands in protest.

"Eee-nuff!" Dzeh bellowed good-naturedly, causing the men to 
laugh and repeat the word. 

The men's moods remained high throughout the evening. 
Exhausted of tales about their hunting prowess, they now 
exchanged ribald jokes, some at Muhl-dar's expense, as they 
passed around more roasted meat and more wo-chi.

"Do Eel Clan men 'pow, pow, pow' when they make love to their 
mates?" someone asked, triggering an uproar of laughter. 
Similar questions followed -- questions that would be unseemly 
anywhere but here. Muhl-dar took their ribbing in stride. He 
clearly understood some of what they said because he joined in 
their hilarity, insinuating that Eel Clan men were endowed 
like stallions and made explosive noises whenever they 
ejaculated.  

This brought up an important matter, Dzeh realized.    

"Eee-nuff. Beh-gha," he said, his tone suddenly serious. He 
clamped a hand on Muhl-dar's arm to draw him close. This 
conversation was between Trading Partners, not for the general 
assembly. 

"Beh-gha?" Muhl-dar repeated the strange word. "Beh-gha means 
enough?"

"Yes, yes! That is right. Beh-gha. Eee-nuff." Dzeh said. He 
leaned toward his partner's ear and lowered his voice. "We 
must discuss tonight's arrangements." 

Muhl-dar shook his head, not understanding.

Dzeh tried again. "Klizzie has prepared the shelters." Using 
hand signals, Dzeh made the signs for "shelter" and "two." "I 
will take you to yours. You will lay there with Klizzie on the 
sleeping skins. I will go to Day-nuh and lay with her. You 
know how it goes." He smiled and Muhl-dar smiled back, nodding 
his head as if he understood every word. "Tomorrow we will 
officially be Partners. Hozo-go nay-yeltay to. May we live in 
peace hereafter." He clapped Muhl-dar on the back.

"Hozo...?" Muhl-dar stammered, his grin fading a little.

"Hozo-go nay-yeltay to."

"Hozo-go...uh...nay-yeltay to?" Muhl-dar's tongue twisted 
around the unfamiliar words. His pronunciation was poor, but 
he managed to repeat the phrase fairly accurately.

"Yes, hozo-go nay-yeltay to." Dzeh laughed, glad to get this 
formality out of the way.      

*   *   * 

"This the place?" Mulder asked, hooking a thumb at the domed 
shelter. He and Dzeh stood under the stars at the edge of the 
village. Fifty or more similar huts separated them from the 
lake.

Dzeh pointed and nodded, and then turned to go.

"Wait, wait," Mulder said, staggering a little as he grabbed 
Dzeh's arm. Dzeh steadied him and chuckled as Mulder 
unsuccessfully tried to shrug out of the borrowed buckskin 
tunic he wore. "Your shirt. I should give it back."  

Dzeh wagged his head and yammered something in a friendly 
tone. He slapped Mulder's back a few times, pointed repeatedly 
at the buckskin shirt, tugged at Mulder's disheveled hair and 
short beard. Between his good-natured gesticulations and his 
broad smile, he convinced Mulder to keep the tunic. 

"*You*..." -- Mulder prodded Dzeh in the breastbone with a 
stiff index finger -- "are a real gen'rous guy, y'know that, 
Dzeh ol' buddy? Nice of you t'gimme the shirtoffyerback."

Nodding in agreement with everything Mulder said, Dzeh spun 
Mulder to face the hut's entrance. 

"Here? This place?" Mulder asked again, forgetting Dzeh's 
previous instructions.

Dzeh gave him an affable shove. Then he turned and walked away 
on unsteady legs, and in no time, disappeared into the dark.

"Gen'rous guy," Mulder repeated to no one in particular. 

Bleary-eyed and a little dizzy, he tried to focus on the 
entrance to the hut. He reached for the flap of hide that 
served as the shelter's door. He lifted it and considered 
shouting, "Hi, honey, I'm home!" but was distracted by the 
unusual numbness in his fingers. Couldn't feel the 
flap...door...whatever. He grinned as he kneaded the supple 
material. Nope, couldn't feel a damn thing. His hand might as 
well belong to someone else. HA!

He ducked his head to peer through the door. The hut's 
interior was lit by the dim glow of the hearth. In the bed 
beside the dying fire was the rounded shape of Scully, sound 
asleep beneath the furs. 

Awww, Scully. Sleeping Scully. His beautiful, beautiful 
Scully.

Hi, honey, I'm home.

Stepping across the threshold, Mulder walloped his forehead on 
a bone support. "Damn it!" He rubbed the sore spot. How was it 
possible to feel pain in his head and nothing at all in his 
fingertips? 

Too late he realized he'd spoken out loud. "Shhhhhh," he said, 
finger raised to his lips. He let the door-flap-thingy close 
behind him.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself enough to 
walk a straight line from the door to the bed without falling 
on his ass. Dzeh had helped him stay upright on the way over 
from the men's lodge. Left to his own devices, however, he 
wasn't sure he could make it across the room. He tried to 
gauge the distance. Hmm. Three steps? Four? Concentrating on 
his rubbery legs and unfeeling feet he attempted one crooked 
step toward Scully. Oops! He lurched to the left. 

Arms held out to his sides, he managed to maintain his 
balance, but just barely. "If at first you don't succeed..." 
His next step carried him forward, more or less. "Suck a lemon 
and you'll 'suck seed'!" The joke made him chuckle. It was an 
old joke, something his father used to say. 

Scully stirred beneath the blankets. 

"Shhhh," Mulder said again. "Scully's tryin' t'sleep."

Wow, he hadn't felt this tipsy since...since...since never. He 
rarely drank, which was probably why the wo-chi had gone 
straight to his head.

Wo-chi. It was a strange word. Sounded like something you'd 
say to a baby. Wo-chi-wo-chi-wo-chi. Again, he laughed at his 
own joke.

Another deep breath. Concemtrate, consimptrate, constanrate... 

Man, it smelled good in here! Like mint and...and...fabric 
softener -- those flowery-scented sheet-things you toss in the 
dryer, the spring-time fresh ones. Or was that toilet bowl 
cleaner? 

Didn't matter. In his fuzzy state of mind, everything seemed 
right with the world...if you discounted that little time 
travel booboo.

Aw hell, so what if he and Scully were a gazillion years from 
where they were supposed to be? They were safe. They had each 
other. Did anything else really matter?

After all, the Ice Age had lots of benefits over the 20th 
Century. No pollution, no nuclear weapons, no government 
conspiracies or alien invaders. "No, expense reports. HA!"

Beneath the covers, Scully shifted again. Just a twitch. 
Mulder clapped his hand over his mouth. Shhhhhh. "Didn't mean 
t'say that ow'loud, Slully...umm...Scully," he whispered from 
behind his hand.

He expected her to growl at him for making so much noise, but 
apparently she was down for the count -- probably exhausted 
from their hike and the late hour and her injured ankle.

Poor Slully. Scully. She sluffered in slilence...shlit! 
Suffered in silence. Well, most of the time anyway. Not that 
she didn't have good reason to compain...complain.

Better get undressed, he decided. He wasn't thinking straight. 
And he loved Scully. And wooooo! That wo-chi had him feeling 
*good* -- like he had nothing but clouds for brains.

He shrugged out of Dzeh's tunic and let it drop to the floor. 
That left him wearing only his loincloth and belt, and the 
belt held his holster and gun. Couldn't sleep in that. He 
fumbled with the buckle. His unfeeling fingers had trouble 
with the clasp, but he managed to unfasten it on the third or 
fourth try. He let it fall to his feet, too, and the gun 
thudded loudly when it struck the dirt floor. "Shhhhhh," he 
told it.

He took a tentative step. Then another. Uh-oh, he leaned too 
far to the right. Whoa! Gyrating to maintain his balance, he 
found himself at the edge of the bed. When he was satisfied he 
wasn't going to tip over, he shucked his loincloth and tossed 
it in the general direction of the door.  

Ready to take that one final step into bed, he glanced down at 
his feet. Oops. Still had his boots on. 

The boots proved more difficult to remove than the tricky 
belt. He sat on his haunches and plucked at the laces. His 
fingers refused to close around the damn bows. After several 
unsuccessful attempts, he said, "Fuck it," and left them on.

Lifting the fur blanket, he half-fell, half-rolled into bed. 
Scully stretched a little, but kept her back to him.

Scully, beautiful Scully. The woman who meant everything in 
the world to him. She lay on her side, facing away. He counted 
her breaths. One, two, thr--

"You smell pretty," he whispered. She did! Like flowery 
fabric-softener sheets...or toilet bowl cleanser...whatever.

Burrowing beneath the blankets, he drove his nose into her 
neck and sniffed. Mmmmmm. Too bad his hands weren't working 
the way they were supposed to. He wanted to touch her skin. 
Reaching for her anyway, he clumsily placed an unfeeling palm 
on the curve of her waist. Warm. Bare. He could tell that 
much, at least. Intending to stroke her ass, he found himself 
cupping her breast instead. He squeezed. She stiffened.

"Muhl-dar?"

"You were expecting someone el--"

Ummm...that didn't sound quite like Scully. He lifted his head 
to peer at the woman beside him only to find Klizzie was 
staring back at him over her bare shoulder. Shit! He was in 
the wrong hut. The wrong bed. His hand was on the wrong 
breast! He released his hold and scrambled backward, out from 
under the covers.

"I'm...oh, jees...I'm sorry, Klizzie...I didn't...I 
musta...this was an honest mistake...I'm really--" 

Naked. 

Fuck. 

He yanked the blanket off the bed into his lap, covering 
himself and uncovering her. Now *she* was naked. And she 
didn't seem the least bit concerned.

"Muhl-dar?" She sat up.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to sound casual. 

She smiled. A brilliant, come-hither, turn-a-guy's-legs-to-
jelly smile. Then she crawled toward him, and, oh God, her 
breasts bounced in the most delightful way.

"Pinch me?" he squeaked, hoping he was asleep or at the very 
least unconscious. 

She reached toward him and he thought maybe she was going to 
pinch him. But instead she tugged at the blanket covering his 
lap. He hung onto it.

"Huc-quo," she said, still smiling her man-eating grin. 
"Klizzie nih-tsa-goh-al-neh be-zonz. Klizzie, Muhl-dar, de-ji-
kash. Be-zonz yeh-zihn. Lanh?"

"I...I..."

She tilted her head in the cutest way and licked her lips. Her 
hand crept up his bare leg...knee...thigh. He wasn't entirely 
sure, but he thought she might be wearing lipstick and it 
looked a lot like Scully's shade. Was that possible? 

Snaking her warm, little hand beneath his blanket, she groped 
his lap. When her fingers found his penis, she gave him a 
squeeze.

"No! Klizzie... Don't." He backed away. 

Her happy smile disintegrated as her eyes blinked in surprise. 
Biting her lip, she now appeared nervous.

"De-ji-kash." She beckoned him into the bed with a wave of her 
trembling hand. "Klizzie yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih Muhl-dar. Day-nuh 
yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih Dzeh." 

Day-nuh? And Dzeh? The fog began to lift from his brain, 
leaving him feeling sober...almost.

"Where's Scully?" he demanded. He grabbed Klizzie's arm and 
gripped her hard. "Where's Dana? Where is she?"

Klizzie tried to smile again, but failed. Her eyebrows peaked 
with worry. "Day-nuh, Dzeh, yah-tay-go-e-elah ta-bilh."

He had no idea what she was saying, but it couldn't be good if 
Dzeh and Scully's names were spoken in the same breath.

Mulder rose unsteadily to his feet. 

What the hell was going on here? Klizzie wasn't acting like 
this was a simple mix-up. She was acting as if she'd been 
expecting him to show up in her bed tonight. Which could only 
mean Dzeh had purposely led him here, which could only mean he 
was intending to... 

Son of a bitch. This was a deliberate swap. Mulder stumbled 
out of the shelter into the cool night, oblivious to his 
nudity.

He found himself facing dozens of identical huts. Jesus, which 
one was Scully in?

"Scully?" he called, becoming more frantic as a vision of 
Scully, naked in Dzeh's arms, took shape in his head. He 
sprinted for the nearest hut. He would search every damn one 
if he had to. "Sculleee!"  

*   *   *

Scully awoke to the steam of a sigh on the nape of her neck. 
Mmm. Mulder. He'd returned, safe and...

Aroused! His erection prodded the small of her back as he 
spooned against her. 

He caressed her bare arm, and she responded by nestling deeper 
into his embrace. He smelled good, like soap root and lake 
water and...alcohol?

"Out partying late, Mulder?" 

The entire camp had been in a celebratory mood after receiving 
the news of the successful mastodon hunt. There would be 
plenty to eat for days. 

Mulder's arm curled lovingly around her. She glanced at his 
watch. 3:52 a.m. 

"Musta been some party," she murmured, feeling content and 
sleepy. Her belly was full, her body clean. The tea the Shaman 
had given her earlier had stopped the awful throbbing in her 
ankle. She hadn't felt this good in days.

Not since the night she and Mulder had made love in the cave.    

Heat blossomed in her abdomen at the memory. She moaned when 
his fingers skated up her naked thigh to settle in her curls. 

"You must be reading my mind," she whispered.

He snuggled closer, pressing his hips into her buttocks, 
poking her spine with his rigid penis. He kissed her neck, her 
shoulder, his long beard tickling her--

Wait a minute... Long beard? It'd been a month since Mulder 
last shaved, but his whiskers weren't *that* long.

And Mulder had traded his wristwatch to--

Scully lurched out of Dzeh's embrace and turned to glower at 
him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. 

He remained where he was, grinning shyly and looking a bit 
bleary-eyed. 

She yanked the fur blanket off him and covered herself with 
it.

"Wrong bed, mister. Get out." 

He reached for her again and she shoved his hand away.

"I said, get out!" 

She scooted from the bed, beyond his reach. He chuckled and 
came after her. Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her back 
onto the furs.

"Let go of me, Dzeh. Let--"

His mouth covered hers, silencing her as he pressed her gently 
but firmly down onto the sleeping skins.

TO BE CONTINUED IN 11/22...