Three days later found them deep into the wide grasslands moving steadily toward Prescott's station. Living off the land was simple enough, though he was glad to have the provisions given him by Abbott. The animal life in the vastness of the wild consisted mostly of various species of kangaroo, from the small gray wombats to the large black wallaroo's. Lizards and snakes sunned themselves on open ledges of rock, darting away only when he got too close. At night he could hear the loud ruckus of Tasmanian devils and the belching cough of the koalas as they became active.

Occasionally he thought he caught glimpses of an unusual creature. Like a large, short-haired dog with a stiff tail which extended smoothly from the body in a way similar to that of kangaroos, as it flitted silently through the tall grass. The dog-like creature had a yellow-brown coat with quite a few distinctive dark stripes across its back, rump and the base of its tail, leaving him with an impression of a tiger, a beast he'd only seen a drawing of. He wondered aloud at what sort of creatures lived out here beyond the reach of man. Indigo only flicked his ears occasionally and continued on.

The air was thick with the heat and the smell of eucalyptus and dust was everywhere. Scrub brush rustled beneath the gelding's hooves as they pushed on, trekking across land without paths or trails. Pointing the horse north Indigo held true as mile by mile they drew closer to their destination. His mind kept replaying the same memory of his family but try as he might nothing else came back to him.

When a wide but shallow river opened up before them Rueben stepped from the saddle. After a careful look around he dropped to his knees to scoop water into his mouth, keeping his eyes up. It was deliciously refreshing in the heat of midday.

Indigo paid no heed at all and walked into the shallow water, happily grunting as he drank his fill. Thirst slaked, Rueben had stood and was reaching for his water canteens when he saw them. Reflections wavering in the rippling surface of the water, dark skin and eyes and he looked up, surprised. Aborigines! How had they just appeared from thin air?

The men had spears and clubs enough between them to pose a formidable threat and he stiffened slightly, his heart pulsing. Indigo acted as though he had not noticed they were there, tail flicking as he continued to nose the water. Instead of lifting the water canteens, Rueben slowly opened one of the saddle bags, wanting to have some form on defense in his hands should he need it. Dark eyes followed every move with eerie silence until the bone womerah appeared and then they began to murmur to one another and gesture at the tool in his hands.

At last Indigo raised his head from the water to look at the natives, his ears twitching slightly at the foreign sound of their voices. Nostrils flared he stood alert, watching, blowing noisily now and then, tossing his head. Unafraid, the gelding was naturally suspicious of the unknown.

"Whoa, easy now, Indigo, stay calm boy," stroking the horse's neck, his gaze never left the men. "Let's just wait and see."

As if a decision had been made among them, three of the warriors slowly came across the river, wading through the shallow water toward him. He settled the womerah in his grip and shifted slightly to one side, putting Indigo on his left. As if wanting to ensure their reception the advancing men held up their hands, palms out and he relaxed slightly.

"You Rueben Lane yeah?" the oldest of the three spoke, his voice high and nasal, his accent so thick it took Rueben a moment to process what he said.

"Yes," he frowned in suspicion. How would they know about him?

"We hear you have sista, take her farway," the same man spoke and again he had to pause, trying to work his way through the sounds.

"Your sister?" He shook his head. "I do not know what you speak of, or who you mean."

"Wooman, sista, daughta," the man was using gestures, some of which were familiar. "We seek her, she one of us, belong wid her people."

It hit him. Harmony! They were talking about Harmony. Instantly wary, he felt a stab of anger jolt through him. He didn't care who was asking, Harmony was his to protect and right now she was hidden away and safe. Moving slowly toward them, he kept his gaze on the one who had been speaking.

"I am alone here; the woman you seek is not with me."

"She need people, she in danger alone," the man started, Lane finding his ears becoming accustomed to the man's accent.

"She's safe where she is, and she is better off alone until I come for her." he let his voice drop, looking squarely at them.

They spoke among themselves for a while, gesturing and debating until they reached an agreement. The same man looked back at Lane and gestured for him to approach.

"You come..." he urged Lane, "you come."

"Why."

"No 'fraid, Rueben Lane. No harm. Come come."

It was against his better judgment but despite himself Rueben was curious. None of them looked as though they meant him harm. When the natives turned to head north and as that was the direction he wanted, he mounted the roan and followed slowly after them.

The sun was dipping below the horizon when the warriors came to a stop, their destination was a wide area of broken rock and large boulders. Over twenty men of varying ages and status, they began to work at starting a fire, some disappearing to reappear with bowls of water. Others started to mix various powders together, forming thick white and red pastes that were liberally painted across their faces and bodies. As the darkness grew deeper, they threw more wood on the fire until it was blazing high and hot, flickering off the walls. Rueben saw the images painted on the rock for the first time, eyes widening as the dancing shadows seeming to make the painted figures move.

He'd been standing next to the roan, but the native who had spoken to him earlier urged him forward into the circle of men around the bonfire.

"Come, come join, 'memberit..."

"My friend I have no idea what it is you want from me..." his protest was mild.

"Rueben Lane lost," the man answered "Spirits findim, restore him to you." As he spoke the man waved his hands through the air and laid them to rest firmly against his chest, square over his heart.

"What do you know about me?" Against his better judgment he was intrigued.

"Come, come and join,"

Allowing himself to be led among them, he settled down amongst the warriors. Many hands surrounded him, stripping his hat and shirt away, drawing designs in white and red across his face and torso. He thought better of resisting and sat quietly, letting them do what they would. A boule made of bark appeared at his elbow, filled with a potent smelling brew, his features grimacing at the odor.

"No, thank you," he gently pushed the bowl away, but it was returned immediately.

"Drink Rueben Lane, 'memberit, see what you seek..." it was a voice in his ear and he began to think it all a strange dream.

"Why not? Can't possibly get worse," he accepted the bowl and downed the contents in one long swallow. The regret was instant.

He coughed, the bitter liquid burning a path down his throat but before hitting his stomach. Warmth seeped into his veins, followed by an unnatural weightlessness. Figures danced in and out of his vision which went blurry and unfocused. The men around him rose and began to circle the flames in a coordinated dance, clapping their hands and stomping their feet into the dust.

A low-pitched drone hummed from beyond the other side of the fire as an aboriginal man picked up a didjeridu, a slightly flaring wooden tube about one and a half meters in length, playing it expertly. It was hollowed out by natural termites from the trunk of one of the small native trees of the region. After cutting it down, the trunk was cleaned out with a stick, the outside refined by scraping and then painted with traditional designs, and the blowing end smoothed by adding a rim of beeswax.

To this hypnotic sound was added the distinctive whirr of the sacred turndun, a simple wooden slat, about forty centimeters in length and nearly seven centimeters wide. It was whirled around in a circle on the end of a length of cord generating a pulsating hum that reached deep into Rueben's core. He swayed a little, a soft dizziness causing him to lean forward to avoid falling over. Blinking, he rubbed a hand across his eyes, but the dust around them grew thicker, the heat from the flames intense.

Bimli made a clapping rhythm in the background, setting the pace for the dancers and the music. Blinking faster, trying to clear his eyes he was beginning to see things that weren't there, forms whirling around him that struck a familiar chord within his mind, accessing memories that he could not at first identify.

The air was alive with the heavy smell of buffalo and corn, richly dressed figures whirling and dancing in the firelight. Full voices were raised in a chanting song, men and women moving in smooth circles, stomping their feet, clapping their hands as they sang. Ropes of bone and beads swished and flashed in the firelight as the women rose to join the braves in the celebration dance.

He was watching one in particular, her lithe form graceful and light as she danced around the fire, laughing. As she came back into view her eyes caught his and held as she turned and twisted to the pulsing rhythm moving smoothly to where he sat alone. She held out her hands to him, urging him to his feet without a word, her smiling lips and sparkling eyes all the persuasion she needed.

Allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and led into the dance, her gentle hands pulled him through the steps, the atmosphere around them friendly and happy. It was a celebration among the Iroquois people. The dance was easy to pick up and soon he was whirling smoothly among them, keeping pace with the lovely form at his side. They spun under the black sky with her people late into the night, many simply dropping where they danced in exhaustion, those still moving gracefully stepping over them.

At last, he drew the woman away from the fire, her hand warm and soft in his as they reached the shadows beyond the flickering light. Her breath was coming fast from the dance, her cheeks flushed and he pulled her close.

"What does your father say, Genessee?" it was whispered into her ear.

"You are a good man Rueben Lane, and you have done much for my people," her words were soft and light as she leaned into his embrace.

"Does he accept my offer?" he asked.

"Yes, and so do I," she turned her lips to his as they shared their first kiss.

"I will provide well for you, Genessee, you will see. You will lack for nothing." He promised, looking down at her with a loving smile.

"Will the Redcoats come looking for you Rueben? Will they not seek to punish you for betraying them?"

"Perhaps they will, but they will not find us Genessee. We will lose ourselves in this land and live freely, as your people do."

"I want that, Rueben Lane," she whispered softly against his lips, her breath warm and soft. "I want a life with you, I want to love you and be loved by you, for the rest of my life,"

"You have it Genessee, every part of me is yours."

Sound faded from the world as their lips met again, tender and soft in a lingering embrace. Everything fell away in that moment, the two lovers the only people in their world; the only existence was in each other's arms. 

Another piece of his puzzle...