Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Standing at the river's edge, Scully wrung water from Mulder's 
clean pants and then shook out the wrinkles. Moisture rained 
from the cuffs as she carried them to the nearby bushes, where 
she spread them over blossom-covered branches to dry in the 
sun alongside their other clothes. Blond, trumpet-shaped 
flowers spiked the shrubbery, poking up between the clean 
clothes like birthday candles, scenting them with the sweet 
aroma of honeysuckle. The tattered garments fluttered in the 
morning breeze, looking the worse for wear after so many weeks 
in the Pleistocene. Frayed holes gaped at the knees of 
Mulder's jeans, and a slash on her right pants leg left the 
hem dangling. Her turtleneck was on the verge of losing a 
sleeve if she didn't repair it soon. She decided to mend it 
after it dried, using the sewing kit she still had in her 
jacket pocket. She would stitch the holes in her socks and 
panties, too, while she was feeling domestic.

Done with the clothes washing, she returned naked to the shore 
to watch Mulder finish his bath.  He sat in the shallows with 
knees splayed, water cresting his hipbones, his back to her. 
The river ran broad and calm around him. Pebbles the size of 
coins, polished smooth by centuries of tumbling in the 
current, lined the banks as colorful as confetti. Pillowy 
clouds and a periwinkle sky reflected in the river's glassy 
surface, bright and tranquil, except where Mulder stirred the 
water to wash his hair.

Had Diana Fowley ever watched him shampoo this way?

It bothered her that he'd waited so long to tell her about his 
marriage. To be fair, he had no reason to bring up the subject 
before now. His ex-wife hadn't been any of her business until 
recently. Maybe she still wasn't. And God knew Scully hadn't 
confessed anything about her own past romances. 

Diana Fowley aside, it was nice getting to know the personal 
side of Fox Mulder. She never would have guessed his favorite 
color was yellow or his favorite holiday was Flag Day or that 
he loved dinosaurs as a kid. 

She stood for a moment, watching him scrub his scalp. He had 
no shampoo, but worked hard to clean every trace of mud and 
debris from his hair, rubbing and rinsing until it shone as 
black and glossy as licorice. Next he scoured his neck and 
face with his palms, causing the muscles in his arms and 
shoulders to ripple and glisten. Although still mottled with 
bruises, he was a striking man and the sight of his dewy skin 
and sinewy vigor ignited a fire inside her.

She waded out to him and leaned down to kiss his cleaned 
cheek. His skin smelled fresh like the river. He lifted his 
gaze and reached up to cup her jaw with waterlogged fingers.

A startling current of lust surged beneath the surface of her 
skin where he touched her. She looked down at him, bewildered 
and delighted by the intensity of her attraction to him. 

He stared back at her, his expression fierce, untamed and 
hungry. Sliding sodden fingers down her neck, he traced a path 
to her collarbone, making her shiver. It was difficult for her 
to reconcile this wild, naked man with his 20th Century twin, 
her clean-shaven, impeccable partner. Both versions set her 
pulse pounding, but only with this one had she felt free to 
open her heart. She regretted shutting the other out, letting 
modern-day paradigms govern her instinctual desires. 

At least here her mistake was rectified. In this valley there 
were no rules to follow. No superiors to obey, no tribe to 
placate, no one to please or impress but each other. This was 
living honestly and she'd never felt more genuine.

She moved in front of him, straddled his legs and lowered 
herself into his lap.

"Good morning," she said, looking into his eyes. Such 
beautiful eyes, moss-green and fringed with wet, spiky lashes. 
Water sparkled in the smooth, dark hair of his brows, 
glistened in his bristly beard.

"Hey," he breathed, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His 
gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth.

She felt him growing hard beneath her.

"Again?" She chuckled.

"Don't look at me. Godzilla has a will of his own," he said, 
before his tongue swept across her parted lips, and slipped 
inside her mouth.

She reveled in his kiss. He tasted of the river, silty and 
sweet and ripe with life. She breathed him in, filled her 
sinuses with his humid scent. Ripe with desire, she painted 
his back with loving caresses, longing to have him assail her 
womb the same way his aroma overran her lungs and his taste 
pervaded her mouth.  

As if reading her thoughts, he pressed her backward until she 
lay supine in the shallows, her spine supported by polished 
pea stones and her hips still cradled in his lap. Her knees 
rose on either side of him. She dug her toes into the gravel, 
while her hair floated like a crown of sea kelp around her 
head. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, sounding awestruck. "My own 
mermaid."

He scooped up a palm-full of water and trickled it onto her 
breasts. 

"I want you," she pleaded, responding to the pleasant pucker 
of her nipples.

Without hesitation he shifted forward, spreading her legs 
wider while pushing into her. He found her entrance on the 
first thrust, as if they had performed this intimate act 
innumerable times. He brought cool water with him, startling 
her with its chill before his heat warmed them both. More 
water dripped from his hair onto her chest, spattering her 
breastbone like the first fat raindrops of a thunderstorm. He 
grunted with apparent satisfaction as soon as they were 
joined, his eyes closing briefly, a smile playing along his 
lips.

The pressure between her legs set off a swell of passion that 
traveled like a breaker from her abdomen to her chest, where 
it whirlpooled around her heart. 

"I...need more," she begged, feeling feral and greedy.

His hands slipped beneath her back and he lifted her once 
again into his lap, embedding himself deeply inside her. Water 
streamed from her hair as she rose up from the river. She 
thrust her hips forward and shoved against him, crying out as 
he filled her.

Sunshine heated her upturned face. It reflected off the water, 
mottling his wet skin, making him shimmer, slick and urgent 
beneath her. She arched in his arms when he bowed his head and 
sucked her right nipple. Palming her left breast, he squeezed. 
She pressed into the cup of his hand, while he pumped between 
her splayed legs, jostling her with his thrusts. His teeth 
nipped at her breast. Strong fingers kneaded her flesh.

A raft of ducks, half-hidden in the reeds on the opposite 
shore, swam in wary circles, made nervous by the disturbance. 
They quacked in disapproval whenever she moaned or cried out. 
She ignored their complaints, preferring to focus instead on 
Mulder's lovemaking, letting the act of coitus strip away her 
peripheral awareness. Everything outside her evaporated as his 
movements grew more demanding, until only he existed. His 
prodding. His lust. His unrelenting thrusts and insistent 
kisses. She steadied herself by gripping his shoulders, while 
her hips rose and fell over him.

Using her legs to push, she rode his turgid flesh. The 
friction against her inner walls was extraordinary. It excited 
her and drove her to quicken her pace. She found coupling this 
way, out of doors, washed by sun and water, caressed by a mild 
morning breeze, to be astonishingly sensuous and arousing. 

In no time, it seemed, she felt poised at the crest of a 
colossal waterfall. 

"I'm close," she warned. 

At her announcement, his knees fell apart as he dug his heels 
into the river bottom, searching for leverage, spreading her 
legs impossibly wide. His fingers clasped her hips and she 
relinquished all control, returning his earlier generosity by 
allowing him to steer them toward their climax.

With a bruising grip he lifted her, then brought her back down 
over him. Plunging, withdrawing, he continued to pound into 
her until her insides burned and a welcome contraction began 
behind her pubic bone. 

She held her breath.

"Come for me," he urged.

Giving in to desire, she released all residual restraint and 
allowed pleasure to shudder her womb. The hum of her panting 
breaths and the frantic splash of water faded into silence at 
the onset of her cascading orgasm. A blissful tremor ballooned 
in her belly. It radiated outward, rippling through her torso, 
numbing her limbs. She tried to shout her satisfaction, only 
to discover she hadn't enough air in her lungs to whisper her 
lover's name. 

He ejaculated then, bathing her insides with his fiery 
essence. His bellow prompted the ducks to take wing. They rose 
from the reeds with a raucous flap of feathers, squawking 
skyward, where they eventually dispersed to the north like 
seed on the wind.  

*   *   *

Chal tracked Gini's footprints around scrub brush and stunted 
hardwoods, while only a spear's throw away Wol-la-chee 
followed the trail of his Owl Clan kinsmen and the strangers 
from Eel Clan. The two separate paths had begun in the swamp, 
where Gini had doubled back to head after the others. From 
there she'd traveled to this stony valley, staying always 
within sight of the others' trail, yet never walking in their 
footsteps. 

It was very peculiar. Her tracks clearly indicated she often 
paused behind shrubs, boulders and trees, as if she were 
trying to remain hidden from the others. But why follow them 
if she was afraid of being discovered?

"Have you told Dzeh you are interested in his sister?" Wol-la-
chee asked, raising his voice to be heard across the distance 
between them.

"I am not interested in her," Chal lied. "She is too young." 

In truth, he didn't think Gini was too young and she did 
interest him...a lot. He liked the way she'd faced him, chin 
held high as he teased her at the lake, calling her ugly, 
although she was not ugly at all. To the contrary, she was one 
of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. Even so it was not the 
pleasantness of her face or the glossy shine to her hair that 
made her stand out in his mind. It was the way she'd dared to 
challenge his insulting behavior, telling him bluntly he was 
rude. Her outspokenness was uncommon for a female, and he 
found himself admiring her bravado.

"She is eight Feasts old," Wol-la-chee said. "It is a proper 
age to become Promised."

"She does not appear that old. She behaves like a baby 
and...and she frowns too much." Chal preferred not to discuss 
his true feelings with this cousin of Dzeh's. Arranging for a 
mate was the responsibility of a girl's father -- or her 
brother in this case -- not nosy relatives. Besides, it was 
bad luck to talk about a Joining before the Promise was made, 
and he did not want to ruin his chances by testing the 
Spirits.   

"Dzeh is considering several boys as possible mates for her," 
Wol-la-chee continued, unwilling to let the subject lie. "But 
maybe you already knew that."

Indeed, Chal had hoped this was the reason Dzeh was arranging 
to share food at his mother's hearth...before the trouble with 
the strangers sent them journeying here. His heart began to 
beat faster as he considered the likelihood of a Promise 
between Gini and himself. "Has he settled on someone?" he 
asked, feigning indifference.

Wol-la-chee laughed, recognizing his pretense. "So you *did* 
come along to impress Dzeh." 

"I did not. I am here because the stranger named Muhl-dar 
saved my life."

Wol-la-chee's good-natured expression suddenly turned stormy. 
"You want to *help* Muhl-dar? He is an enemy of Owl Clan!"

"But not of Badger Clan," Chal reminded him.

"He is a chindi," Wol-la-chee insisted. "He stole a sacred 
object."

"He also killed the mastodon that nearly killed me."

Wol-la-chee considered this. After a moment he grunted, 
reluctantly acknowledging Chal's reasoning. Saving another 
man's life was no small thing. It necessitated loyalty, even 
to a man of notorious character. Everyone understood this. 

The two hunters didn't speak for a while, focusing on their 
task instead of their difference of opinion. Following their 
individual trails, they continued south along A-Chi Stream 
into a sandstone canyon strewn with fallen trees and boulders. 
Steep, red cliffs loomed on either side of the rift, blocking 
the sun and cloaking the lowland in darkness. 

In the distance, two figures appeared out of the shadows, 
hiking wearily upstream toward them.

"Is that Dzeh and Lin?" Chal asked.

Wol-la-chee recognized the approaching men and shouted to his 
kinsmen, "Dzeh! Shi-da Lin!"

The others heard his call and responded by waving their 
spears. Then all four men broke into a run, eager to exchange 
information.

Chal was breathing hard when they came together in a copse of 
quaking aspens. 

"Where is Gini?" Dzeh asked, fear shining in his eyes. "Why is 
she not with you?"

Chal exchanged surprised glances with Wol-la-chee.

"We followed her tracks here," Wol-la-chee said.

"Here?" Dzeh appeared thunderstruck.

"Let me show you." Chal led them across the canyon to where 
Gini's diminutive footprints marked the sandy soil. "See?" He 
pointed to her southerly trail.

Dzeh crouched to inspect the prints. He traced one small track 
with a shaky finger. Tears filled his eyes.  

"I do not understand," he mumbled.

Lin placed a broad hand on Dzeh's shoulder. Sadness lined the 
older man's brow. "She must have gone after the strangers." 

"Why would she do such a dangerous thing?" Dzeh asked, rising 
to his feet. He looked at each man in turn. "We must bring her 
back." 

"Nephew...we cannot," Lin said. "Not if she has gone to Ye-
tsan Basin. The serpents--"

"I do not care about serpents! Gini is my sister. I must go to 
her."

"No," Lin said, using the tone of an elder who will be obeyed 
without question. "It is foolhardy. You have many needy kin 
back at Turkey Lake. Our Clan depends on the meat and 
protection you help provide. You must think about what is best 
for them. It is too late for Gini. She is with the Spirits 
now. You cannot bring her back."

"We do not know that...it may not be too late." 

Chal had heard the tales of Ye-tsan and knew its dangers. If 
the girl had gone into that horrible place, she would soon be 
dead, if she wasn't already.

Aspen leaves rattled overhead, sounding like angry snakes. 
Dzeh peered along Gini's thin trail. He took two faltering 
steps toward the south, then stopped, fists clenched in 
desperation.    

"I will go with you, Dzeh," Chal offered. "I-I am not afraid." 

Dzeh turned and regarded him with hopeful eyes. 

After a moment, however, his expression turned forlorn and he 
shook his head. "You are a Badger Clansman, Chal. I cannot ask 
you to take such a risk on behalf of Owl Clan." Then, scowling 
at Lin and Wol-la-chee, he snarled, "Such a sacrifice is for 
kin."

Lin drew himself up to his full height. He was a robust, 
imposing man despite his years, lined by experience and 
muscled by years of difficult living. Placing gnarled hands on 
Dzeh's shoulders, he met the younger man's outrage with 
compassion. 

"We cannot, my Nephew. We have greater responsibilities... 
mates, children and kin who rely on us to feed and clothe 
them. If we go to Ye-tsan, we sacrifice them along with 
ourselves. Ask yourself who will care for Klizzie if you 
perish? Who will teach Wol-la-chee's three young sons how to 
hunt? Who will comfort them when we do not return home? We are 
more than four men; we must think beyond ourselves. You know 
this."

"But...Gini..."

Tears overflowed Dzeh's eyes and streamed into his beard. 
Grief distorted his face.

Lin spoke softly, but with conviction. "She is already lost, 
Nephew. Do not sacrifice the living to chase a ghost."

A miserable moan bubbled from Dzeh's throat, numbing Chal's 
arms and legs with its intensity. The boy's chest tightened at 
the thought of Gini alone against the monsters of Ye-tsan.

Dzeh spun to face the southern horizon and suddenly bellowed, 
"Gini! Giniiiii!" 

When nothing but his wretched echo returned from the blood-
colored cliffs, Dzeh's shoulders slumped and he buried his 
face in his hands. The others waited quietly, grief-stricken, 
too, while he wept unashamedly for his dead sister.  

*   *   * 

"Get over here, Scully! I need your help." 

Mulder felt ridiculous. He was standing knee deep in the 
river, wielding a branch of driftwood like a baseball bat, 
dressed in nothing but his boxers as he tried to herd a 
snapping turtle the size of a hubcap toward shore. 

His underwear offered no real protection against an attack, 
should the turtle decide to turn and bite him, but he hadn't 
been comfortable with the idea of chasing after it with the 
family jewels dangling in front of its menacing jaws like bait 
on a hook.

"You're on your own, Mulder. I only promised to gut and cook 
it, not catch and kill it." Scully sat on shore, watching him 
with an amused look on her face. Her torn panties lay in her 
lap, waiting to be mended while she threaded her sewing 
needle.   

"You could at least help me corner...whoa!"

The turtle suddenly spun and headed straight at him. He back-
peddled into the shallows, splashing as he tried not to trip 
and fall. He swung his club, bringing it down hard, but the 
turtle zigzagged out of the way and he missed it by several 
inches. Water sprayed the air, momentarily blinding him.

When his view cleared, he saw the snapper lunging open-mouthed 
at his crotch. 

"Shit!" 

He whacked at it again. This time, driftwood connected with 
shell, producing a lethal-sounding thud. The impact rattled 
Mulder's teeth and he nearly lost his grip on the club, but 
blood began to ooze through the current around his ankles. The 
turtle was floundering. Its head lolled to one side as it 
tried to retreat.

Mulder struck once more, hitting it squarely between its beady 
eyes. This time it stopped moving altogether. Bobbling on the 
waves, it began to drift downstream, limbs and head hanging 
limply. Mulder followed it at a safe distance, wondering if it 
was just pretending to be dead or if in fact he had killed it. 
He nudged its bloodied nose with his stick to be sure.

Nothing. It didn't move. Didn't even blink. 

"Yes!" He lifted his club overhead and performed a lively 
victory dance, kicking up water as he pranced around the dead 
turtle.

Scully smiled and clapped her hands in dignified approval, 
which only encouraged him to strut more. He hurled his branch 
away and beat his chest for effect.

"Okay, Tarzan, haul it out so we can eat," she called.

Grasping the turtle by its stout tail, he dragged it to shore. 
It weighed fifty pounds or more, and left a trail of crushed 
grass nearly two feet wide from the riverbank to where Scully 
was sitting. It pleased him more than he expected to present 
it to her. He was providing for his mate and the idea puffed 
him with masculine pride. 

She smiled with obvious appreciation when he deposited the 
turtle at her feet. "Nice," she said.

Her eyes weren't focused on the turtle, he realized. She was 
ogling his crotch, where an erection tented his boxers.

"Huh, whaddaya know?" He feigned surprise. "Is it too soon 
to...uh...you know?"

She set her sewing aside. "Not at all."

"Then c'mere." He dropped to his knees and opened his arms. 

*   *   *

Gini walked through Ye-tsan Basin with her mouth gaping. She'd 
never seen anything like this place before. There was food 
everywhere!

Camels, horses, pronghorns, bison...they roamed the lowland in 
great herds, indifferent to her passing. Beavers, turtles, 
frogs and birds crowded the waterway. Heavenly Spirits, there 
was enough meat in this one valley to feed two hungry clans 
for an entire year!

Earlier in the morning she'd filled her stomach with six fat 
duck eggs and more mushrooms than she could count. Then she'd 
eaten fistfuls of sorrel and ramps, which grew in profusion 
along the riverbank. She considered gathering mussels for 
later in the day, but the shellfish were so plentiful she saw 
no reason to carry them. 

No doubt about it, half a day's hike south of those 
terrifying, giant footprints, Ye-tsan had turned into one of 
the most hospitable places she'd ever encountered, nothing at 
all like the grim stories had claimed. There were no rivers of 
human blood, no sandy dessert of powdered bones, no flying 
serpents or mastodon-sized monsters. 

Only lots and lots of delicious things to eat.

She decided to stop worrying about oversized serpents. She 
hadn't seen a single one since coming here. Dzeh and Lin had 
been silly to turn back. There was nothing fearsome in this 
valley and it would be a fine place to live for the 
summer...or even longer.  

Comforted by a full belly, and eager to catch up with Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh, Gini broke into a happy run.

*   *   *

Scully dozed next to Mulder on the riverbank. Fresh grass 
cradled her naked body and Mulder's arm cushioned her head. 
The pleasant sweet-tart smell of chlorophyll prickled her 
nose, while honeybees droned in the flowering shrubs higher up 
the bank where their clothes were still drying. The river 
whispered like a sated lover beyond her feet as it flowed 
gently southward. 

She covered her face with the crook of her arm, blocking out 
the brilliant morning sky. The sun's rays warmed her skin and 
she drifted between sleep and arousal as Mulder drew feather-
light circles on her abdomen with his finger. His touch was 
partly stimulating and partly hypnotic...an erotic 
combination.

"Scully..." His voice vibrated like the humming bees. "When 
was your last period?"

His question brought her fully awake. She unshielded her eyes 
and reached down to close her hand over his, stilling his 
eddying caress. 

"I...I'm not sure. Why?"

"You know why." His tone sounded worried and a little 
accusatory. "We've been having unprotected sex for weeks."

She counted silently backward to the day when Klizzie had 
given her cattail down to absorb her menstrual flow. 

Five weeks had passed since then, she realized with some 
surprise.

"I'm a little late."

"What's 'a little'?"

"Maybe a week."

He sat up, jostling her as he slid his arm out from under her 
neck. Ordinarily he was quite adept at concealing his emotions 
beneath a mask of professional detachment, but this news 
clearly rocked him and he wasn't able to hide his shock. 
Concern puckered his brow and tightened his lips, and he 
regarded her with nervous eyes.

Feeling exposed beneath the intensity of his stare, she sat 
up, too, and hugged her knees to her chest. What had happened 
to his recent resolve to become a father? she wondered.  

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything, Mulder," she tried to 
reassure him. "There are numerous explanations for 
oligomenorrhoea. Overexertion, poor diet, stress, even a 
change in routine. I've experienced all of those since coming 
here."

He nodded slowly, lower lip caught between his teeth. Shifting 
his gaze from her to the river, he seemed to consider his next 
words with great care.

When he did speak, his voice was quiet, his tone 
indeterminate. "But it's possible you're pregnant."

"No...I'm...I can't get pregnant, Mulder. You know that." Not 
wanting to rehash this familiar conversation, she plucked 
peevishly at the grass beside her. Did they have to go over it 
all again?

"But maybe you can...now," he said in a voice so soft it was 
nearly lost beneath the rustle of the river.

She reached out and tagged his arm, drawing his attention back 
to her. "What makes you say that?"

"Something happened two nights ago."

Two nights ago she'd woken to find him red-eyed from crying.

"What...what happened?"

"I went to the river to...cool off. While I was swimming I 
experienced a, uh, time anomaly."

This surprised her. Why had he waited until now to mention it? 
"What kind of anomaly?"

He shrugged, causing sunlight to slide across his fine-grained 
shoulders, highlighting a fresh rash of gooseflesh and 
exposing his nervousness. "It felt like falling backward only 
I wound up where I'd started...but younger...sort of...I 
guess."

"Mulder, that doesn't make any sense."

"I know." A humorless smile nudged his furred cheek. "Sorry."

"Tell me more," she urged. 

He released a slow breath. On the far shore a pair of egrets 
argued over a flopping fish. The sun shone so brightly off the 
water it was painful to the eyes. 

"The sky seemed to buckle," he said. "Everything became 
blurry. I'm pretty sure I was seeing events unfold backwards."

"What events?"

"The Boggs case. Going to Lake Jordan in Raleigh. Getting shot 
in the leg, only everyone was moving and talking in reverse, 
including me. It was very disorienting."

"I can imagine." She reached for his hand and dovetailed her 
fingers with his because she didn't want him to take her next 
question as an accusation. "Other than the backward direction 
of events, how was your experience so different from mine?"

"Your visions?" He hung his head. "Not so different, I guess." 
Squeezing her fingers, he offered her a contrite smile. "I 
think I know what you're going to say next."

"What?"

"You're going to ask why I didn't believe you. Why I didn't 
accept your visions when I'm willing to accept every other 
paranormal event we encounter."

"And your answer?"

"I suppose I didn't like what you were seeing."

So they were making progress after all; he was being open, 
answering honestly. 

"And now that you've experienced a time event of your own?"

"I feel like a jackass." 

He lifted her hand and placed it on his bare thigh.   

"It's gone," she said. "Your scar is gone." His skin was 
unblemished and smooth.

The realization that he was reverting to a younger version of 
himself made her stomach roll uneasily. In less than two 
months he had regressed five years. How long before he was a 
teenager...or a toddler? 

"Whatever's happening to us, Scully, it's changing us 
physically. We have no idea to what extent, or how far it 
might go."

They had to find a way out of this place. "You're getting 
younger, while I'm...not. How fair is that?" she tried to 
joke. 

He didn't smile. "You've seen glimpses of the future. In them 
you're pregnant, giving birth. How do you think that's 
possible?"

"I don't know." She honestly had no explanation.

"Your vision suggests your fertility is going to be restored 
at some point. How that happens, I don't even want to guess. 
But when it happens is what's important right now." He pointed 
to the new scar on her abdomen. "Before that? Or after?" 

Her hand went automatically to the gunshot wound...undeniable 
evidence that she was already physically changed by an event 
which had yet to happen. Did it mean her fertility was 
restored, too? Could she become pregnant now?

"No, the child I saw in my vision was a product of IVF, not 
natural conception."

"Are you sure about that?"

No, she wasn't sure. Not one hundred percent. She'd seen only 
bits and pieces, like snapshots tossed randomly onto a 
tabletop, some half-hidden beneath others. The experience had 
been incomplete.

The only thing she knew with any certainty was how she'd felt 
when she held their son in her arms. She'd been happy and 
proud and calm. And Mulder had appeared to feel the same way.    

"Last night you claimed to be ready for fatherhood," she 
reminded him.

His expression turned forlorn. "I was. I am. But you have to 
admit," -- he waved a hand at the foreign landscape -- "this 
isn't an ideal place to have a child."

He was right, of course. Bringing a child into the Ice Age was 
foolhardy. Assuming she could carry a baby to term and give 
birth without complications, there were other dangers to 
consider. 

"Scully, I don't know if you've thought of this, but..." He 
ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "If you have a 
baby here, we might not be able to bring it back with us."

Her heart began to race. She wouldn't leave a baby here, she 
couldn't. She'd insist on staying with it.

But would Mulder stay, too? Was it even fair to ask him to 
make such a sacrifice? He'd agreed to parenthood, not a life 
sentence in the Pleistocene. 

Another awful thought struck her. They might not be given the 
opportunity to choose between staying and going. They might 
simply fall forward through time the same way they'd fallen 
backward...without their child.

The baby would be left to die alone.

Anxiety glossed Mulder's eyes, making him look as scared as 
she felt. In a croaking voice he said, "There's another 
concern. I'm not the only man you've been with."

So it wasn't just the idea of pregnancy that had him spooked, 
but that Dzeh could be the father.

Quickly, she calculated the timing of her cycle. Assuming she 
wasn't barren and she'd ovulated on schedule, she should have 
been ten to twelve days beyond ovulation when she slept with 
Dzeh, which meant the odds were against a pregnancy by him. 
But the rhythm method was notoriously unpredictable; 
intercourse at any point during a woman's cycle, even while 
menstruating, sometimes resulted in conception. And if her 
cycle had been delayed, for any of the reasons she'd just 
cited, her chances of conceiving a child by Dzeh were even 
greater. 

Mulder turned to face her, rose onto his knees and took both 
of her hands in his. Looking sincere, he said, "Scully, marry 
me."

Marry him? 

"That's not funny, Mulder."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

She scowled at him. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" 

"I'm not pregnant."

"It doesn't matter. That's not why I'm asking."

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I plan to spend the rest of my life with you...as 
more than your FBI partner, more than your friend, more than 
your lover. I want to be your husband, Scully. Say you'll 
marry me."

Doubt closed her throat. She felt confused by his motivations 
and timing. He wouldn't be proposing if she'd started her 
period on schedule, would he? Or if she hadn't slept with 
Dzeh? Or if they'd never come to the Pleistocene?

Or...did those things matter only to her, not to him? 

She'd promised herself just yesterday to follow her heart. And 
yet here she was facing her first opportunity to be honest 
about her feelings and she was falling back on her habit of 
trying to second-guess them.

Let your heart lead you, she reminded herself. Don't over-
think it. Don't question it. Just *feel* it.    

When she didn't answer immediately, his shoulders slumped.

"Unless...you don't want..." His voice petered out. Swallowing 
hard, he released his grip on her hands.

What exactly did she want? 

For five years she'd been trailing after him, searching for 
the truth in shadows, illusions and lies. But her experiences 
over the last few weeks had shown her that falsehood and 
dishonesty were not hiding places for the truth, whether the 
deception came from an enemy or from within oneself. The truth 
only presented itself to an unguarded and honest heart. 
Devotion, attachment, loyalty...love...these were where truth 
resided. 

Mulder seemed ready to take a serious step forward in their 
relationship, a leap of faith, considering their dire 
circumstances.

She should accept his proposal. She certainly loved him enough 
and that was all that really mattered, wasn't it? It was past 
time for her to admit her true feelings...to herself and to 
him.

"Mulder..." 

It took more courage than she imagined to expose her heart. 
Reaching for his hand again, she drew strength from his 
solidity.

"I...I love you," she said at last, deciding to trust her 
emotions. 

His eyes pooled with tears and a smile formed on his softly 
curved lips. He whispered, "I guess I knew that."

"You did?"

"Well...I'd been hoping it for a long time, longer than you 
can imagine, but I knew it for sure when--" His voice caught 
in his throat and he turned away.

"When...?"

"When you agreed to sleep with Dzeh..." -- his words were 
strained and quiet -- "to save my life."  

She tugged him toward her and slid her arms around his waist. 
It relieved her beyond measure to know he understood why she'd 
agreed to the mate exchange. She loved him...Jesus, she loved 
him...more than any silly sense of pride or dignity, more than 
her own personal safety. Submitting to Dzeh had meant nothing 
when compared to saving Mulder's life. There had been no other 
choice for her and she would do it again in a heartbeat if it 
meant she was protecting him by doing so.  

Smiling through tears, she said, "Go ahead, ask me again." 

"What?" He drew back, eyes brimming with raw emotion.

She wiped a falling tear from his cheek before it became lost 
in his beard.

"Ask me again."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wait..." -- he held up a finger -- "I want to do this right."

He rose on one knee and took her hand in his. All his 
nervousness and sorrow seemed to drain away when he looked 
into her eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Dana Katherine Scully, would you do me the honor of agreeing 
to become my wife?"

He looked so sincere and happy, posed on one knee, eagerly 
awaiting her answer. Behind him the Pleistocene landscape was 
picturesque, a Garden of Eden, colorful, pristine, untamed. 
The air smelled of flowers and fresh water. Stilt-legged 
birds, with feathers as white as a bride's gown, tiptoed 
through the shallows. Smaller birds clung to the reeds, 
cheerfully warbling and bobbing in the mid-day breeze. A herd 
of striped antelope with corkscrewing horns grazed on a sea of 
grass beside the shimmering river not more than fifty yards 
away. And grand, ruby cliffs towered above the valley, 
cradling the lowland in their open arms while bestowing a 
sense of security and peace to everything within view. The 
scene was unspoiled, magnificent. The moment was perfect. 

Scully wanted to remember it forever. 

When she didn't immediately answer him, Mulder misinterpreted 
her silence and his face fell with disappointment.

Until she said yes. Then he rose to his feet, pulled her up 
after him, and wrapped his arms around her. Lifting her from 
the ground, he spun them in a circle and whooped for joy. His 
shout echoed off the stone cliffs, repeating his elation over 
and over again. 

"Mulder!" She laughed at his obvious enthusiasm.

"You won't regret it," he promised, setting her back on her 
toes.

At that moment, she believed his words. She felt dizzy and 
happy and all her regrets seemed to be in the past.

*   *   *

Klizzie awoke to a caress, a teasing and gentle stroke along 
her jaw.

"Dzeh?" She turned on the furs to look over her shoulder, 
hoping to find he had come back, safe and willing to forgive 
her.

Instead, Klesh was grinning at her, deepening the scar in his 
left cheek. "You are sleeping late this morning, Cousin."

"Do not touch me!" She ducked out from beneath his gnarled 
hand and sat up. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"I thought you might be lonely without your mate." He leaned 
toward her and stroked her arm. 

Recoiling, she narrowed her eyes and said through gritted 
teeth, "Dzeh will kill you for touching me."

"Oh, really? He did not kill me the last time." Klesh's hand 
moved to her breast, where he cupped her and softly traced her 
nipple with a twisted thumb. "Maybe he is not so possessive as 
you think."

She slapped his face hard. "Touch me again and I will kill you 
myself." 

He laughed at her threat, a mean, barking sound that made her 
stomach roil. 

"You will not kill me, Kliz."

"I will. You cannot force me to lay with you again."

"Your memory is not so good, my Cousin. I did not force you 
the first time."

Shame heated her face at the memory. In truth, he had not 
forced her. But she was no longer the foolish girl she'd been 
then. He could not bribe her into his bed the way he had four 
years ago.  

Smiling, he rolled onto his back to fish into his totem pouch. 
From it he withdrew an astonishing ornament. A delicate 
necklace of shiny yellow, so finely worked only the Spirits 
could have made such a beautiful thing. He dangled it in front 
of her eyes. 

"Like it?" he asked.

She had never seen anything so lovely. "Where did you get it?"

"I have gone many places in four years. I cannot remember them 
all." His eyes gleamed as brightly as the necklace. "It can be 
yours."

"Only if I submit to you, I suppose?"

He shrugged. "Is that such an unfair trade?"

How dare he ask such a question? She rose to her feet. "You 
are my *cousin*," she accused. "I will *never* lay with you 
again."

Giving another shrug, he tucked the ornament back in his totem 
pouch. "Then I will be wanting my breakfast instead. Bring it 
to me now."

Anger flared inside her. She hated that he ordered her around 
as if she were his mate. Filled with rage, she began to gather 
her clothes and stuff them into a travel pack.

"What are you doing?" he snarled. "Where do you think you are 
going?"

"To my Aunt's. I will not share a roof with a chindi like 
you."

Heart beating wildly, stomach churning, she grabbed her pack 
and fled the shelter. 

*   *   *

So this is domestic bliss, Mulder thought. 

His future bride was tending their meal while he whittled a 
sturdy sapling into a six-foot-long spear with his knife. 

They sat at the entrance of the cave, on opposite sides of the 
hearth, where a small fire burned inside a two-tiered ring of 
stones. She wore her clean jeans and camisole. He was dressed 
in his pants, having opted to go shirtless. The midday sun 
flooded the mouth of the cave and warmed his bare shoulders 
and chest. 

He could scarcely believe it, but, sweet Jesus be praised, 
Scully had agreed to become his wife. He'd fully expected her 
to argue against marriage, citing all the logical reasons why 
it wouldn't work out, and he was ready to counter with 
confessions of true love, when she surprised the hell out of 
him by saying yes.

A light breeze whispered through the valley, fluttering leaves 
and grass. Trees lined the river's curving banks. Pale flowers 
blossomed thickly along both shores. Thirty feet below them, 
an enormous beaver nosed a freshly felled log downstream to 
its dam, cutting a V-shaped stripe through the glistening 
water. In the shallows, where Mulder had bathed earlier, a 
herd of dainty pronghorns drank their fill, oblivious to the 
two humans who watched them from the rocks above.

Mulder drew his knife along the shaft of his spear, shaving it 
smooth and straight. Curls of wood spiraled from the blade and 
piled in his lap. He didn't think he could feel any happier 
than he did right now. 

Strips of turtle meat were roasting on long sticks propped 
against the hearth stones near his feet. Scully periodically 
rotated the skewers, adjusting their distance from the coals 
to ensure even cooking. The food smelled delicious.

As promised, she'd gutted and butchered the turtle. While 
she'd been preparing the meat, he'd built a proper hearth by 
wrestling stones up to the cave, and then positioning them 
around the existing fire. He was pleased with the outcome. The 
circular wall prevented the wind from spreading ash into the 
cave, and would keep the coals protected and burning 
throughout the night. It also provided a decent shelf for a 
spit or for propping skewers. 

"Nice job on the fire pit," Scully complimented him, checking 
one of the steaks to see if it was done.

"I've had some practice." He held up his spear and squinted 
along its length, eyeballing its uniformity.

"You've built fireplaces before?"

"No, I worked for a mason one summer when I was in high 
school. We renovated chimneys, old fieldstone walls, did some 
foundation repair."

It had been laborious work. Long hours in the hot sun, 
tormented by insects, earning slave-wages. The physical 
intensity was mind numbing, which suited him fine at the time. 
Hauling and stacking brick or stone seemed to settle his 
nerves more effectively than the expensive shrink his mom sent 
him to twice a week.

"Not the easiest way to earn money." She gave him a 
sympathetic smile.

"I've had worse jobs." Hell, there were days when he would 
gladly trade his FBI badge for a mason's chisel and a 
wheelbarrow. "What's the worst job you ever had?"

"Laundromat attendant."

His brows lifted and he flashed her a curious grin. "You 
handled strangers' unmentionables for money?"

"Skivvies, socks, uniforms. You name it, I washed, pressed and 
folded it, three afternoons a week throughout my entire junior 
year."

Hearing this he felt a little guilty he hadn't volunteered to 
help her wash their clothes earlier. "No wonder your suitcase 
always looks like it was packed by a professional."

"How do you know what my packed suitcase looks like?"

"I'm a peeker, remember?"

"Ahh, right." She nodded and offered him a piece of cooked 
meat on a blackened skewer. 

It sizzled and steamed, putting off a mouth-watering aroma. He 
set down his knife and unfinished spear to take the stick from 
her. 

She selected another for herself. "What else did you do before 
you decided to devote your life -- and mine -- to the pursuit 
of the truth?"

"I think I was always searching for the truth." He bit into 
the meat. It seared his tongue, but he was too hungry to wait 
for it to cool. "Even when I was bagging groceries at Wakeby's 
or lifeguarding at Sengekontacket, I was looking for Sam. Mmm, 
this is good."

"You were a lifeguard?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"No, not really." She ate carefully, nibbling at the edges of 
her steak as if she were eating corn on the cob. "Did you sit 
in one of those lifeguard towers?"

"I did."

"Ogled by all the girls, I bet."

"Hardly. But I tanned up nicely. How about you?"

"Did I tan nicely?" she teased. "Or were you wondering if I've 
been ogled by girls?" 

"If you have any stories that involve either tanning or ogling 
I'd be happy to listen." Juice from his steak drizzled into 
his beard and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. When 
the grease spread, he found himself wishing again for a razor. 
Growing a beard was like wearing a hairy bib.

"I waited tables," she said. "Did a lot of babysitting. I 
liked watching people's kids...although there was this one 
eight-year-old boy who--"

She abruptly stopped talking. Mulder glanced up from his food 
to find her staring into the valley, back stiff, muscles taut. 

"What is it?" he asked, following her gaze to the river.

"Someone's down there."

"Where?"

"About fifty yards upstream."

His focus moved to a grove of broad-leaved hardwoods that 
fringed the riverbank. Their pale, slanting trunks leaned out 
over the water, creating a dense bower that could easily hide 
an entire tribe. He searched for movement beneath the arching 
branches, but could see nothing.

"How many?" he asked, putting down his food and reaching for 
his unfinished spear. Could it be Dzeh and his fellow 
tribesmen? Some other hostile natives?

"I caught only a glimpse," she said.

After a moment a small, solitary figure emerged from beneath 
the cover of trees. Mulder tightened his grip on his spear and 
rose to his feet.

Scully stood, too. 

The interloper paused, lifted an arm and shaded sun-blinded 
eyes to stare back at them.

"Mulder, I think that's..." She startled him when she suddenly 
broke into a wobbly jog, favoring her injured ankle as she 
headed down the rugged path that led from the cave to the 
river. "It's Gini," she shouted over her shoulder.

"Scully, wait!" He bolted after her. Dodging stones, he 
ignored the scour of loose gravel against his bare feet. He 
pictured Dzeh and a dozen of his beefy cousins hiding in the 
underbrush, waiting to ambush and kill them. "Scully, she 
might not be alone," he warned. 

"It doesn't matter." She hobbled downhill. "If anyone else is 
down there, they've already seen our fire."

Smoke curled through the air, carrying the hazy smell of their 
roasting meat across the valley, pinpointing their location 
like a flag.

"Gini!" Scully waved to the girl. 

The child waved back and ran toward them. "Day-nuh!" Her high-
pitched shout ricocheted off the stone cliffs. Even at this 
distance, Mulder could see she was grinning from ear to ear. 
"Muhl-dar!"

A large pack hung from her narrow shoulders and pounded her 
back with every stride. Despite its size, it didn't seem to 
slow her as she charged around shrubbery and raced with 
splashing steps through river water.

Scully slowed when she reached the bottom of the hill and let 
Gini come the last few yards to her. Still upslope, Mulder 
paused where the view of the valley was better. If Dzeh and 
his Cro-Magnon buddies were going to pop out of the bushes at 
any minute, he wanted to be where he could see them coming.

Panting and laughing Gini threw herself into Scully's 
outstretched arms. She babbled excitedly, hugging Scully and 
repeating her name again and again. Her eyes were bright with 
tears; a flash of white teeth lit her small, brown face.

Mulder felt an unexpected lump rise in his throat at the sight 
of Scully embracing the happy little girl. For just an instant 
Gini reminded him of Samantha and this joyous reunion made him 
wish again for his sister's long-awaited homecoming.

"Let me look at you," Scully murmured, kneeling to inspect the 
girl. "Hold still, sweetie."

Mulder's stomach contracted when he saw the girl's legs and 
arms were streaked with dried blood.

"Is she okay?" he asked, combing the valley again for any sign 
of Dzeh.

"I think so. Just insect bites and superficial scratches. 
There's some minor infection. These cuts need a thorough 
cleaning."

That was an understatement. Gini's hands and feet were black 
with grime. What appeared to be berry juice stained her chin 
and lips, and her hair was matted with twigs and grass. Mud 
caked her torn clothing. 

She grinned up at Mulder, seemingly unconcerned by her filthy 
condition. Shrugging her pack from her shoulders, she set it 
on the ground at her feet. She crouched to rummage through its 
contents, chattering the entire time in a breathy, eager 
voice. At last she found what she was looking for and withdrew 
her hand, fingers curled around something of obvious 
significance.

Her expression grew solemn. She straightened and walked uphill 
to Mulder, and when she stood only an arm's length away, she 
opened her fist. There, cradled in the well of her palm, was 
the little ivory carving, the idol he'd stolen from the 
tribe's cave.

Jesus, she'd come all this way to bring him that damn thing. 

Reluctantly he took it from her, causing her to smile shyly 
but proudly up at him. He didn't share her enthusiasm and 
couldn't return her smile. The carving had brought nothing but 
trouble. It wasn't connected with Scully's visions as he'd 
once thought -- his own experience with the time anomaly had 
proven that. It was only a worthless bit of bone and all he 
wanted to do was toss it into the river.

Instead, he tucked it into his pants pocket and crouched to 
embrace the beaming girl.     

*   *   *

Why did I strike her? The question circled Dzeh's mind like a 
windstorm in a canyon. 

He walked without seeing; his focus was not on the trail, but 
on that awful moment when he'd last spoken to Gini. He'd hit 
her across the face. Yelled at her. Oh, Spirits, help him, 
he'd knocked her to the ground.

"I *hate* you!" she screamed up at him.

Had she died hating him?

Tears blurred the path. He stumbled, unable to feel his feet. 
If not for Lin's grip on his arm, he would wander off course, 
fall to his hands and knees. Not that it would matter. He 
deserved this anguish. He had been a brute to her when he 
should have controlled his temper. In the end it was his 
stubbornness that killed her. She was dead because he'd placed 
tribal customs and his anger for Muhl-dar ahead of his love 
for her.

Dzeh felt his mother's spirit surround him. In his grief he 
believed he could hear her weeping in the rustle of leaves 
overhead. The breeze whispered her dying words through the 
wind-tossed branches, begging him again to take care of his 
young sister, to watch over her with the heart of a doting 
parent because she would not otherwise know such love.    

"I am sorry," he mumbled to his dead mother. "I am sorry." 

Soon his mother would greet Gini in the Spirit World; she 
would hold her little girl in her arms once more. 

His arms would be empty. Klizzie's, too. And there was no one 
to blame but himself.  

*   *   *

"Mulder, bring your shirt from the cave." Scully took Gini's 
hand and began to lead her toward the river. 

"My shirt?"

"She'll need something to wear after her bath," she called 
over her shoulder.

"Why not your shirt?"

"It needs mending."

"Won't mine be kinda big for her?"

"We can roll up the sleeves. Just get it, please."

Mulder jogged up the incline, hurried into the cave and back 
out again, taking the shirt with him. 

At the river, he handed it off, then took up a position 
several yards up-slope, where he would have a better view of 
the valley. He was still expecting Dzeh to show up any minute.
 
Scully helped Gini out of her muddy, torn tunic and inspected 
her chest and back. The girl talked non-stop while dutifully 
turning to be examined on all sides. Mulder clenched his fists 
at the sight of her ribbed torso and knobby knees. Her once 
neat braids were unraveled and fell in knotted mats down her 
back. Mud and blood caked her slender limbs. 

"Did he do that to her?" Mulder nodded at the girl's bloodied 
skin. "He" referred to "Dzeh," of course.

"They're just ordinary scratches and insect bites," Scully 
said. "She hasn't been abused."

Skeptical, he grunted and glanced again to the north, where 
there was still no sign of Dzeh or the others.

Scully quickly stripped out of her camisole and jeans before 
herding Gini into the river. The girl jabbered a mile a minute 
as she pranced naked into the water.

"Can you understand anything she's saying?" Mulder called down 
to them. 

"I recognize the words 'Turkey Lake.'"

"Turkey Lake?"

"The place we ran away from."

"It was called Turkey Lake?"

"I think that's what she was telling me the day we played word 
games on the hill." She lowered herself into the shallows and 
motioned to Gini to sit, too.

Mulder's focus swiveled between Gini and the landscape to the 
north. He wondered how it was possible such a young child 
could come all this way by herself. Surely someone must have 
accompanied her.

"Ask her about Dzeh," he said.

At the mention of Dzeh's name, Gini pointed a finger in the 
direction she'd come. Her words came out in clipped, angry 
tones as she jabbed the air. "Ye-tsan Dzeh. Ye-tsan Dzeh."

"You understand that?" Mulder asked Scully.

She shook her head and scooped water over the girl's 
shoulders, wetting her thoroughly before massaging the filth 
from her neck and back.

"She sounds pissed," he said. She had good reason to be mad, 
he knew; Dzeh had walloped her pretty hard back at the 
wedding.  "Ten to one she's running away from home." 

"She must have followed us." Scully scrubbed the girl's 
outstretched arms.

If she had, that meant she'd been within sight of them the 
entire way. Shit, he hoped she hadn't seen them--

"Maybe she left later and tracked us."

"Mulder, she can't be more than seven or eight years old."

As old as that? She looked like a kindergartner.

"Could be cave kids know these things," he suggested.

"We walked in the stream, remember? We didn't leave tracks."

"Yeah, but she was the one who told us to do that."

And if Gini knew that old trick, then Dzeh did, too. He would 
be coming for them as soon as he discovered she was missing, 
which must have been the morning after they'd left. They'd had 
only a half a day head start at best. 

Gini emerged from her bath clean and cheerful. Her tanned skin 
glistened and her wet hair hung in dripping ropes down her 
narrow back. She prattled in an exuberant tone, taking a 
breath only when Scully tugged Mulder's turtleneck over her 
head. 

"Oooh!" she said, eyes rounding as the fabric draped her 
shoulders. Scully guided her arms into the sleeves and then 
rolled up the cuffs. The shirt's hem hung well below her 
knees. She seemed delighted by the feel of the material, 
squirming inside it, patting the sleeves, burying her face in 
the loose-fitting neck. "Ne-zhoni," she said in an awed tone.

She ran to Mulder to show him, as if he'd never seen his shirt 
before. Grinning broadly, eyes bright, she twirled several 
times in front of him. When the fabric flared as she whirled, 
she squealed with delight, making Mulder smile in spite of his 
concerns about Dzeh.

He scooped her up in his arms. She giggled and hugged him, 
while calling out to "Day-nuh." 

Scully paused in her dressing to wave at her.

Mulder tugged playfully at the girl's sleeve. "You like my 
shirt?"

"Lyke ma sssert?" she repeated, smiling. Not the least self-
conscious, she reached up to stroke his short beard.

He gave her nose a light peck and then pretended to try to 
bite her fingers. The game made her laugh and she teased him 
by waggling her hand near his lips, pulling away just before 
he could nip it.    

Scully climbed the hill to join them.

"We have to take her back, you know," she said, as soon as she 
stood beside Mulder. 

His smile quickly faded. "We can't go back. They'll kill us."

"We don't have a choice."

"But she...she obviously ran away. Wouldn't you say that means 
she doesn't want to go back?"

"She's a child, Mulder. She doesn't know what she wants." 
Scully reached out to give Gini's cheek a gentle stroke. "She 
belongs with her family."

"So Dzeh can beat her again?"

Scully frowned. "You're judging him by 20th Century 
standards."

"I don't care what century it is. It's wrong to hit a child."

"Mulder--"

"No, Scully. We saw him hit her -- *hard*. She's just a little 
kid. I'm not taking her back to be beaten up again." 

Gini's brows peaked with worry. "Muhl-dar a-nah-ne-dzin bilh 
Day-nuh?" 

Mulder had no idea what she was asking, but clearly their 
argument was worrying her. He tried to corral his mounting 
irritation.

Scully appeared to do the same. She lowered her tone and said, 
"We don't know if what we saw was an everyday occurrence or an 
isolated incident."

"She's gone to considerable trouble to get away. That should 
tell us something."

"The fact that she's alive, healthy and educated by 
Pleistocene standards tells me she hasn't been neglected. 
She's been well cared for."

"We can care for her, too." He wasn't convinced it was in her 
best interest -- or theirs -- to return her. Not yet anyway.

"Mulder, she needs her real family. They love her. She loves 
them."

"Shall we test that theory?" If Scully needed proof, he would 
give it to her. He shifted Gini to his left hip. "What was the 
word for 'Turkey Lake'?" 

"'Than-zie tkoh,'" Scully said, pronouncing each syllable 
carefully. 

"'Than-zie tkoh'? Fine. Come on, Gini, I'm taking you to Than-
zie tkoh. I'm taking you back to Dzeh."

Gini stiffened in his arms and her eyes rounded with obvious 
dread when he began hiking north.

"No, no," Gini squawked, using English. She struggled to be 
put down. "No tehi. No ta-yi-the! Muhl-dar, no, no, no."

"Yes," he insisted, gripping her more tightly. He hardened his 
heart against her escalating panic and quickened his pace. 
"Yes, Than-zie tkoh. Yes Dzeh."

"NO!" she shrieked. "No Than-zie tkoh, no Dzeh!" 
 
He felt like a monster for doing this. She was clearly upset 
and desperate to be released. She began boxing his head and 
neck with her fists. He took the blows...apt punishment for 
his cruelty.

"Nooooo, Muhl-dar!" She was crying in earnest now, kicking and 
twisting in an effort to escape. She let out an ear-piercing 
screech.

He stopped walking and spun to face Scully.  

"Can I stop now?" he shouted to be heard over Gini's desperate 
wails.

Scully's chin dropped to her chest. After an excruciating 
half-minute she nodded.

Thank God. Poor Gini was distraught. She must think his 
actions abominable after coming all this way to deliver the 
carving. 

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, stroking her damp hair. 
"Shhhh. Demonstration over. No Than-zie tkoh, no Dzeh. Shhhh."

She collapsed against his shoulder, arms and legs dangling 
limply. Her cries slowly dwindled into watery hiccups as he 
carried her back to Scully.

Scully looked contrite. "Okay, we'll give her a day or two to 
cool off."

"Good. Maybe Dzeh will cool off a little by then, too." 

Assuming he didn't show up after dark tonight to kill them in 
their sleep.

*   *   *

Klizzie made it out of her aunt's hut before her oversensitive 
stomach threw back her evening meal. She retched into the 
weeds, feeling sweaty, exhausted, and a little frightened. The 
Shaman's tea had failed to put out the fire in her belly, or 
ease the thunderstorm in her head. In truth, its spicy smell 
made her feel even more queasy.

"Are you all right, Niece?" Ho-Ya approached her, her long 
horsy face puckered with concern. She crouched beside Klizzie 
and rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades while 
Klizzie finished emptying her stomach onto the ground.

Klizzie gulped for air. Her skin prickled with fever. The 
world seemed to spin around her. "Oh, Auntie...I do not know 
what is wrong with me. Nothing will stay put in my stomach. 
Whenever I rise to my feet, I am sick. It feels like a fire is 
burning inside my chest."

"Did you visit the Shaman?"

Klizzie bowed her head in shame. The Shaman had said the 
Spirits were punishing her for bringing the strangers to Owl 
Clan. "He told me to drink more bergamot tea. But the smell 
just makes me sicker."

Ho-Ya studied her for a moment. Suddenly a kindly smile split 
her long face. "When was your last Moon Time, my Niece?"

Klizzie thought back. She was always regular, flowing with the 
return of each new moon. But the moon was presently halfway to 
full and she had not bled during its dark phase. "I-I have 
missed a cycle," she said. 

Thoughts of the strangers had been filling her head for weeks. 
And now, with Gini missing and Klesh returned, she had new 
troubles to keep her preoccupied. It was no wonder her moon 
time had passed without notice.

"Come with me," Ho-Ya said as she helped Klizzie to her feet. 
"Rise slowly. I think I know what is wrong with you."

"You do?" She felt confused. Her head ached and her stomach 
churned.

"Of course." Ho-Ya steered her toward the shelter. "The 
stranger from Eel Clan has left a gift inside you."

What was she talking about? Muhl-dar had given her no gift. "I 
do not understand."   

"A baby, Klizzie! You are pregnant."

Pregnant? With Muhl-dar's baby? That was impossible. He had 
not performed the ritual exchange. They had not joined as 
mates. There was no opportunity for a baby to pass from him 
into her. 

"Auntie, I do not think...I cannot...the Spirits..." What 
should she say?

She couldn't admit the truth. Dzeh was already angry with her 
for lying about Klesh. What would he think if he discovered 
she had not fulfilled her duty with his Trading Partner? He 
might accuse her of cursing the partnership. He could say his 
falling out with Muhl-dar was her fault. 

"It is possible I ate spoiled meat," she said by way of 
explanation.

Ho-Ya chuckled. "No, Niece. I know the symptoms. I have had 
six children and I was as sick as you are with each of them. 
Before Chal was born, I was certain I would waste away to my 
bones, he caused such pains in my belly."

Klizzie put her hand over her own aching stomach. If there was 
a baby in there, it had not come from Muhl-dar. It must have 
been given to her by Dzeh. The fertility idol he carved for 
Hare Spirit must have convinced the god to finally answer his 
prayers.

But how could she tell him this good news without divulging 
the truth about Muhl-dar?

"Auntie, I do not know what to do--"

"Do not worry." Ho-Ya patted her arm, misunderstanding her 
concern. "I have learned some ways to make the sickness 
tolerable." She guided Klizzie into the hut and back into bed. 
"You must eat small meals. No eggs, no meat, no fat! And do 
not lie down after you eat. Drink lots of water. I will make 
you some mint tea with honey right now. It will help ease your 
stomach. And tomorrow morning, I will bring you your breakfast 
in bed so you can eat it before you rise. Berries, greens and 
lily buds. These will sit well with the baby inside you."

Klizzie snuggled beneath her blankets, stunned by this 
unexpected turn of events. Long after Ho-Ya brought her a bowl 
of steaming mint tea, she lay awake, trying to guess what Dzeh 
would say when he learned she was finally carrying a child.

*   *   *

Although Scully had eaten her fill of turtle meat she took one 
last bite, hoping to coax Gini to try some, too. The girl was 
staring glassy-eyed at the fire, uninterested in food. Still 
in a funk hours after Mulder's threat to take her home, she 
leaned sullenly against him, tucked beneath his arm, her knees 
drawn up inside his long turtleneck. Only her bare toes peeked 
out beneath the hem, making her appear even smaller than she 
was.

In one fist, she clutched his FBI badge, which he had given 
her earlier. With the other she stubbornly held onto his pants 
leg, unwilling to let him beyond her reach.

Throughout the afternoon and evening he had tried various 
things to calm her fraught nerves. He helped her empty her 
travel pack and rolled out her sleeping skin near theirs, 
hoping this gesture would show her the cave was her home, too, 
at least for the time being. He set the fertility idol on a 
narrow shelf of rock, a place of honor above his and Scully's 
bed, right beside the petroglyph he'd carved the previous day. 
He praised her for the many useful items she'd brought and 
they went together to fetch fresh water from the river in the 
hollow gourd. They picked berries, which they brought back to 
the cave, but she wasn't interested in actually eating any of 
them. She obliged Mulder by popping two or three into her 
mouth, but she chewed without apparent pleasure. All her 
former exuberance had completely vanished.

Remembering how much she'd enjoyed Mulder's binoculars, Scully 
suggested he let her explore the contents of his jacket 
pockets. This activity was moderately successful. Gini spent 
the better part of an hour crouched on the cave floor, 
solemnly examining everything she pulled out of his coat. His 
cell phone piqued her interest, particularly after he turned 
it on to demonstrate its different musical tones, but even 
when he let her try it, her mood was restrained. She was not 
the Chatty Cathy she'd been when she first arrived. 

In the end it was his FBI badge that intrigued her the most. 
She scrutinized the photo ID for quite some time. She was 
still clinging to it almost two hours later, while he held her 
and recited Dr. Seuss rhymes.

"So Horton stopped splashing. He looked toward the sound. 
'That's funny,' thought Horton. 'There's no one around.'" 

Muted by the sputter of burning wood, his voice was pleasantly 
hypnotic, a steady monotone, as velvety smooth as the fire's 
golden glow. Scully found it peaceful and hoped Gini did, too.

"Then he heard it again!" he said, putting almost no emphasis 
on Seuss' exclamation. He gently tugged one of Gini's shiny 
pigtails and smiled when she looked up at him.

After her bath, she had allowed Scully to comb and braid her 
long, tangled hair. One snarl had been so knotted Scully 
decided to cut it out with the knife rather than yank 
painfully at it. The result was a cowlick that sprouted like a 
whiskbroom from the mid-point of her left pigtail.
  
"Just a very faint yelp, as if some tiny person were calling 
for help," he continued. 

A tentative smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. His 
storytelling was apparently easing her fears.  

It didn't seem to matter that she couldn't understand his 
words. She listened intently, and now tried repeating his last 
phrase. 

"Kawl-ing for hel-lep?"

"Like this..." Mulder took a deep breath and cupped his hands 
around his mouth, megaphone style, as if he intended to shout 
at the top of his lungs. Scully braced herself for a loud 
bellow, but he surprised her when he whispered "hellllllp" in 
the faintest voice possible. 

Gini giggled. 

"You try it," he said, encouraging her to parrot him by 
demonstrating his quiet cry once again.

She set down his badge to pose with her hands on either side 
of her mouth the way he had done. "Hellll-lep," she whispered.

He nodded his approval. "'I'll *hellll-lep* you,'" he mimicked 
her Clan accent, "said Horton. 'But where are you? Where?' He 
looked and he looked. He could see nothing there but a small 
speck of dust blowing just through the air."

Gini leaned again into his loose embrace. She no longer 
gripped his ID or his pants leg. Her eyes began to droop and 
her body relaxed as his honeyed cadence lulled her toward 
sleep. 

Scully was impressed by his patience with the girl. He would 
make a good father, despite his fears to the contrary. 

She expected he would make a good husband, too. She just 
needed to give him a fair chance by being more forthright with 
her feelings. No more "I'm fines," whenever he asked about her 
well-being. She needed to be honest, so that he could respond 
with equal honesty.

"What made you pick that particular story?" she asked when he 
finished his recitation. Gini was fast asleep against him.

"I dunno. I guess I've always seen a parallel between 'Horton 
Hears a Who' and the search for extraterrestrials."

I should have known, she thought. "How is that?"

"For one thing, Horton hears the Who because he has this pair 
of reeeeally big ears," he teased, "not unlike the satellites 
used to listen for signals from outer space."

"That's a stretch, don't you think?"

"Maybe." He shifted Gini into his arms and rose to his feet, 
taking care not to wake her. 

Scully stood, too, and crossed the cave to straighten the 
girl's sleeping skins. 

"Thanks," Mulder said, before laying Gini on the furs. He 
retrieved his jacket to cover her. After tucking the coat 
around her shoulders, he snagged Scully's hand and led her to 
the front of the cave, where they sat facing the stars, their 
backs to the fire, far enough from Gini so as not to disturb 
her while they talked. "Could be I like the story because Jane 
Kangaroo reminds me of you," he said, picking up their 
conversation where they'd left off.

"How am I like Jane Kangaroo?"

"She denounced the possibility of people living on a dust 
speck because she didn't believe people that size could exist. 
In other words, she was unwilling to believe what she couldn't 
see with her own eyes." He leaned over and kissed the tip of 
her nose. 

God, she loved this new, easy intimacy with him. She returned 
his kiss. "I guess that makes you Horton," she said against 
his lips.

He chuckled and drew her into a one-armed embrace. "None of 
his fellow animals were willing to accept his beliefs. Story 
of my life, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded. "Too bad aliens don't communicate with Who-Scopes. 
Maybe they could convince us non-believers, too."

"Mm...that's interesting." He turned to gaze to the night sky.

"It was a joke."

"I know, but think about it. If intelligent beings elsewhere 
in the galaxy wanted us to hear them, they would need to send 
a signal using a medium we could hear, at a frequency that 
we're listening to. It would have to be unique compared to any 
natural background signals, like static or naturally occurring 
radio waves. And the signal would have to be powerful enough 
for us to detect it."

"And your point is?"

He shrugged. "Just talkin' out loud, wondering what it might 
take to contact someone far, far away."

"Like 10,000 years in the future?"

"Yeah, kinda like that."

"More than a Who-Scope and a pair of reeeeally big ears, I'm 
afraid."

When he turned to smile at her, she leaned in and kissed him 
again.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:29 AM

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked. She rolled her chair next to 
Jason's and sat down.

With the stroke of a key, he initiated a diagnostic, setting 
his time model into motion. Then he lowered his voice so the 
guards outside the lab door wouldn't overhear his next words. 
"I'm trying to find those missing agents."

"You think they're the cause of this?" She pointed at the 
disturbance on the computer screen.

"Who else? Agent Mulder came here because he knew about the 
old man's attempt to destroy my work."

Jason still couldn't bring himself to refer to the old man as 
"me."

It was Mulder who had first figured out the truth about the 
old man's identity. Apparently the agent and his partner were 
still working on the case.

And now they were somewhere in the past, causing a progressive 
disintegration to the continuum.

"We have to find them," he said.

"How?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Can we bring them back?"

"In theory. We have to open another hole."

"The field can't be manipulated easily. How are you going to 
control it? We could end up making things worse." 

She didn't realize things couldn't get worse.

"I'll find a way."

She watched him intently. "Maybe we should just leave them 
where they are."

"We can't. Their presence in the past is causing increasing 
instability in the continuum. The longer they're there, the 
more volatile the time field becomes." He pointed to the 
growing perforations in the model. "If we don't get them out, 
the continuum will eventually disintegrate." He turned to 
stare at her. "And time as we know it will end."

This news clearly shocked her. "How long before that happens?"

"I don't know. It's possible we might start feeling the 
effects soon."

She blinked in surprise. "In what way?"

"Flashbacks in reverse, glimpses of the future. It'll be like 
stirring a pot of soup, mixing past, present and future into a 
jumble of confusing moments. Our lifetimes will cease to 
progress linearly."

She stood and began to pace. He hoped she wasn't about to 
panic and go running to Beck.

Turning his chair to face her, he reached out and grabbed her 
hand as she walked past. "It'll be okay," he said, squeezing 
her fingers. "We need to stay calm. Focus on solving the 
problem. You're good at that. Help me."

When she nodded he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He released her hand and turned his attention back to the 
monitor.

"Jason, why do you think Agent Mulder came here?"

"I don't know." He watched the model writhe. "But I'm betting 
he wishes he'd never left Washington." 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 29, 10:19 PM

Mulder stoked the fire with two knotty pieces of sun-bleached 
tree roots, driftwood smoothed by the river and thick enough 
to burn throughout the night. Sparks floated from the mouth of 
the cave like fireflies when he disturbed the coals. They 
spiraled toward the moon and he watched them until they became 
lost against the backdrop of stars.

In the southern sky Ophiuchus, the celestial Serpent Holder, 
stood upright on the horizon; the snake in his fists appeared 
to be climbing out of the trees. Above him, Hercules faced his 
old enemy, blocked as always from Virgo and crowded by the 
Dragon to the north. The hero's struggle was eternal. God had 
placed him in an untenable situation, one he could neither win 
nor lose. He could only stand bravely, prepared to fight.   

Behind Mulder, the cave glowed with the flicker of fire. Gini 
slept in its warm circle of light, cushioned by furs and 
curled on her side beneath his jacket. A few feet away Scully 
waited for him on the larger sleeping skin. Even without 
looking at her, he knew she watched him. It was a familiar 
feeling, her eyes on his back. Tonight her guardianship 
comforted him more than ever. Her recent confession of love 
let him know her true feelings. Amazingly, she'd agreed to 
marry him. And this was his advantage over Hercules. Unlike 
the solitary hero, he would not be facing his fears alone. 
Scully's declaration had filled him with unprecedented hope 
and knowing she wanted to become his wife gave him newfound 
courage, bravado enough to battle a lifetime of ferocious 
serpents.

He felt a sudden urge to hold her, but before retiring to 
their bed, he went to check on Gini. 

The girl appeared lost on her island of fur, cloaked by his 
jacket. Her small fingers, loosely curved and motionless 
beneath her chin, peeked out from the rolled sleeves of his 
turtleneck. He adjusted the coat over her shoulders, then 
palmed the crown of her head, giving her hair a gentle stroke 
goodnight.

She stirred but didn't open her eyes. 

Satisfied that she was fine, he crossed the cave to Scully, 
lowered himself onto the furs and gathered her lovingly into 
his arms.

"Is she asleep?" Scully whispered, snuggling closer.

"Mm hm." He kissed the curve of her brow. 

Domestic bliss, indeed. This simple cave felt like a haven, 
and the valley an oasis. The most luxurious lodgings in the 
modern world couldn't hold a candle to this place. Contentment 
rolled over him like the fire's welcome heat, despite his 
worries about Dzeh. He held the woman he loved in his arms, 
while their unexpected foster child slept soundly nearby. For 
the time being, they were well fed and secure, and an 
unfamiliar sense of peace settled into his heart as he began 
to experience the pleasure of family life for the first time 
in years.

Gini was not his child, of course, nor a substitute for his 
lost sister, but her arrival seemed to answer a need in him. 
Although she carried the genes of strangers, he felt 
enormously protective of her, much as he did of Scully, and 
was willing to take on the task of caring for her.

It was possible he would fail. Gini might become injured or 
ill or die, despite his best efforts, but clearly he had no 
choice but to try his best. To be honest, he didn't really 
want another choice. Right now, this was what he wanted: 
Scully and Gini, under the same stone roof, within arm's 
reach, and for the time being, safe from harm.

He was beginning to understand what Scully meant by the 
"wrong" reasons for fatherhood. Yesterday, he'd agreed to 
father her children because he'd wanted to tie himself to her. 
But today he grasped that a child was more than a tether 
between two people; she could be desirable for herself, not 
for what she brought to her parents. 

Was this the true meaning of commitment that Diana had spoken 
about? 

Damn, if she hadn't turned out to be right. 

Scully nestled against his chest. He buried his nose in her 
hair. God, she smelled good. If Gini wasn't just a few feet 
away, he would take her again. He would--

"Muhl-dar?" A soft voice behind him.

He rolled over to find Gini standing beside the bed looking 
frightened.

Had she heard something? Was Dzeh outside? 

"What is it? Bad dream?" he asked.

He doubted she could translate his questions literally, but 
she did seem to grasp his sympathetic tone because two fat 
tears began to roll down her cheeks. 

"No Than-zie tkoh," she said, sniffling. "No Dzeh."

So that was it. She was still worried about him taking her 
home.

"No Than-zie tkoh. No Dzeh," he assured her. 

She didn't look convinced.

"You wanna sleep with us?" He pointed to the bed, indicating 
she could join them if she wanted to.   

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she nodded and crawled between 
them. Scully immediately offered her the harbor of her arms 
and the girl quickly nestled into her embrace.

Scully peered over the top of her head and pinned Mulder with 
a stern look.

"You shouldn't give her the impression we won't be taking her 
back. We could vanish from here without warning, the same way 
we arrived. We need to return her to her tribe as soon as 
possible."

He reached for Scully's hand and their fingers intertwined in 
the dark. The danger was real, he knew. Even if they didn't 
suddenly disappear into another time, they were still subject 
to the strange effects of accelerated aging and regression. In 
another month or two he might actually be younger than Gini, 
while Scully would become an old woman. They'd be defenseless. 
It was wrong to encourage the girl's dependency on them.

With regret he felt his short-lived fantasy of family life 
slipping away. "We will," he promised.

"When?"

"A day or two."

"Mulder--"

"Give her some time, Scully." Give *me* some time, he thought.

She searched his face. "I'm afraid time is the one thing we 
don't have."

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

An enormous beaver crossed the swimming hole each sunrise and 
sunset, nosing logs downstream to its dam. Four hundred and 
fifty pounds if it was an ounce, the oversized rodent was 
eight feet long and resembled a black bear more than one of 
its own 20th Century descendants. It didn't have a wide flat 
tail like a modern beaver, but it was an agile swimmer. And 
with six-inch-long incisors, it was no slouch at cutting 
trees.  

Mulder decided to hunt and kill the beaver while Scully and 
Gini were upstream foraging for breakfast. He figured one 
well-placed spear would do the trick, and then they'd be 
feasting on flank steaks, tenderloins and T-bones for a 
week...uh, assuming beavers had all those parts. 

Hell, even if the oversized animal turned out to be inedible, 
its hide would make a warm sleeping skin, or a couple of 
decent winter coats. And a few logs from its dam would go a 
long way toward building a smokehouse.

The beaver's dam was an astonishing thirty-five to forty feet 
long. Made of mud, brush and logs -- some as thick as a man's 
waist -- it bisected the river, effectively blocking its flow 
and creating a deep, wide pond on the upstream side. Mulder 
climbed out onto its uneven surface with some difficulty and 
took up a position at the midpoint, where he would be able to 
throw his spear at the beaver as it made its morning run.

Sure enough, it arrived right on schedule, guiding a freshly 
fallen tree toward the dam with its nose.

Closer...closer, Mulder silently urged, raising his spear 
shoulder high and gripping the mud-covered timbers with his 
toes.

The beaver swam toward him, oblivious to the danger. If it 
could see him with those beady little eyes, it didn't seem 
perturbed to find him standing atop its weir, armed with a 
spear and wearing nothing but his lucky boxers.

"Your hairy ass is mine," he mumbled under his breath.

Jesus, the thing was the size of a fucking Volkswagen.

Steady...steady...

Mulder squinted against the glare of early morning sun and 
fine-tuned the angle of his spear, thankful for its new stone 
tip. 

The spearhead came courtesy of Gini. She'd brought a nice 
selection of goodies with her from Turkey Lake: scrapers, 
flints, fishhooks and line...her backpack had been chock full 
of useful items. He'd appropriated a yard of her fishing line 
to secure the spearhead to a seven-foot-long shaft, making a 
formidable weapon, much better than that clumsy driftwood club 
he'd used to beat the snapping turtle into submission two days 
ago.

Visions of Scully and Gini dressed in matching beaver-skin 
coats boosted Mulder's courage and fueled his determination to 
nail the unsuspecting animal. He pictured them gnawing happily 
on its huge spareribs while complimenting his impressive 
hunting prowess for the gazillionth time.

The beaver suddenly stopped paddling. It lifted its flat head 
to sniff the air. Could it smell him from ten yards away?

Small eyes blinking, it floated slowly into range, carried by 
the current. 

Mulder waited, itching to throw his spear.

Come on, you ugly... 

The beaver appeared to be staring straight at him.

It was now or never. Mulder hurled the spear. It made a quiet 
whooshing sound as it sailed through the air. The trajectory 
was perfect, the speed more than adequate. Its point sank 
deeply into the beaver's humped back with a satisfying thud. 

The surprised beaver reacted by diving underwater, 
disappearing beneath the surface and taking Mulder's spear 
with it. 

"Shit." He was going to lose the animal *and* his new 
spearhead.

His instinct was to dive in after it, but a breakwater of logs 
bristled beneath the river's surface, blocking his way. So he 
scrambled over the edge, lowering himself feet-first into the 
water.

The river was deep and startlingly cold. Mulder gasped when he 
sank up to his armpits. Gooseflesh sprouted along his 
shoulders, and his testicles felt as if they were being 
squeezed in an icy fist. Not wanting to linger, he filled his 
lungs with air and ducked beneath the surface.

The water was crystal clear, allowing him to see all the way 
to the toe of the dam, where whip-like plants swayed in the 
current, anchored to the logs. A blood trail was blossoming 
out of one shadowy tunnel where two trees crossed each other. 
He swam toward it, using branches as handholds to drag himself 
quickly into the crimson cloud. 

Ten feet ahead, the pale shaft of his spear disappeared behind 
a jumble of timbers. He plowed after it, angling more deeply 
into the dam. Gaining on his target, he came close enough to 
reach out and grasp the spear's butt end. The beaver lurched 
forward, jerking the shaft from his grip before veering into a 
side tunnel. Mulder gave chase, confident he could easily fit 
into any crevice that could accommodate the massive rodent. A 
trickle of air bubbles escaped the beaver's nose, keeping 
Mulder oriented as he insinuated himself between timbers, 
unwilling to abandon his pursuit.

Two powerful strokes brought him within range again. He 
grabbed the spear and this time managed to hang on when the 
beaver started thrashing. It pulled him forward, deeper into 
the labyrinth of logs, scraping his unprotected ribs against 
clawed branches. Pain blazed along his right side from armpit 
to hip. 

The beaver's strength was astonishing and Mulder worried he 
would lose his hold, or dislocate a shoulder. He was pitched 
into another rough-barked tree when the beaver flailed again. 
His lungs began to call for air. Time was running out. 

He braced his feet against a log. Using the leverage to propel 
himself forward, he embedded the weapon solidly into the 
animal's back and lungs.

Blood gushed from the wound and the beaver ceased its violent 
struggle. Although not dead, it floundered as its strength 
ebbed. 

Mulder latched onto a fistful of its long fur and dragged it 
backward out of the logjam. His lungs hitched as he grew more 
desperate for air.

Towing the oversized animal was no easy task, especially given 
his oxygen-deprived state. He felt light-headed. His chest 
ached to take a breath. 

He kicked harder, trying to increase his speed. His pulse 
hammered inside his ears. Sunlight and blue sky guided him, 
becoming brighter as he rose. Stale air leached from his lungs 
in a mass of bubbles that blinded him as they swirled past his 
face. 

*Don't breathe.* 

Damn it, he wasn't going to make it. 

He considered releasing his hold on the beaver.

*Don't breathe.*

Only a few strokes to go.

Hang on...hang on...don't breathe...

Finally he punched through the surface and gasped for air. His 
lungs filled. He swallowed a mouthful of water and coughed, 
but he was okay. Thank you Jesus! He'd made it...with the 
beaver *and* his spear.

Panting, blinking water from his eyes, he hooked one rubbery 
arm over a branch to steady himself while he caught his 
breath. 

After a minute, his heart stopped its awful pounding and he 
gave the beaver a shake...turned it so that he could stare 
into its dull eyes...decided it was truly dead. 

Fingers gone numb, limbs quaking with fatigue, he began 
swimming towards the shore, shoving the carcass ahead of him, 
wrestling it with elbows and shoulders and even the crown of 
his head. By the time he finally beached it, he was covered 
with mud, bark and blood...some his own. 

Muscles trembling from overexertion, he rose on unsteady legs 
to yank the spear from the beaver's lifeless body. Pride 
surged through him as he pulled the weapon free, giving him 
the strength to stagger up the bank onto dry land. Dropping to 
his knees in the grass, he felt exhausted but indomitable. 
He'd done what he'd set out to do. And he couldn't wait to see 
Scully and Gini's expressions when they saw what he'd brought 
home for breakfast.   

*   *   *

Dzeh took no notice of the sun's daily journey, nor did he 
discern the change of terrain from red rock cliffs to open 
grassland to wooded hills as he and his kinsmen traveled 
steadily northward. His thoughts were focused on Gini, and his 
regrets grew heavier with each step toward home. 

He tried to imagine how he might have conducted himself 
differently on that last awful day with his sister, 
scrutinizing his every action, word and decision. But no 
matter how often he reviewed it, he could think of nothing 
he'd done that contradicted Clan ways. He'd followed every 
rule, acted precisely as any reasonable clansman would act, 
and still Gini had run away from home -- away from *him* -- to 
chase after a couple of depraved chindis. She'd left behind a 
loving family to follow strangers. 

Why would she do such a thing? 

Before coming to Turkey Lake -- before the arrival of Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh -- Gini had been a reasonably obedient girl. At 
times headstrong and independent, but not intolerably so. 
Usually she was helpful and polite, eager to contribute to the 
welfare of the Clan, giving no argument when performing 
everyday tasks like butchering meat, preparing hides, or 
collecting firewood. Truly, she did whatever he or Klizzie 
asked, with very little complaint.

Except when it came to the matter of finding her a mate. For 
some unfathomable reason she'd balked at being Promised. The 
mere mention of it had caused her to run from Lin's shelter 
the day of the yea-go match as if chased by a saber-toothed 
cat. Later he'd had to force her to attend her friend's 
Joining Ceremony, dragging her against her will while she 
screeched and struggled to be let go. 

The members of four clans witnessed her willful disrespect. 
They were clearly appalled by her outburst and expected him to 
put an end to it. 

So he'd struck her. 

What else could he have done? 

It was true he'd hit her more forcefully than he'd intended. 
With every passing heartbeat he wished he had not. She was 
just a small girl and he a full-grown hunter and he could 
understand how his foul temper might have frightened her. But 
was one slap cause to run away? Certainly she knew he loved 
her. He'd never struck her before -- not even once -- although 
it was within his right to do so. Men were always hitting 
their children to maintain peace at their hearths. 

Perhaps he should have been stricter with her from the start. 
If he'd disciplined her more frequently, instead of allowing 
her to go her own way for so many seasons, maybe she would 
have grown used to it, the way other children seemed to. Then 
she might not have overreacted to his reprimand. And she would 
be alive now, safe at his hearth.

Preoccupied by his regret, Dzeh failed to notice the hunters 
had stopped at the edge of the swamp, and he bumped into Chal, 
startling them both. 

"Why are we stopping?" he grumbled.

This dark and inhospitable quagmire was not a place to linger. 
The swamp bristled with dead trees, gray and naked as corpses, 
spearing the sky as far as the eye could see. Blowdowns 
crisscrossed the murky lowland, uprooted by violent storms, 
fallen victim to age and rot. Rancid air snaked into Dzeh's 
nostrils and down his throat like a rattler looking for 
respite in the shadows. 

Chal pointed to the ground, directing his attention to Gini's 
small footprints, still visible in the deep mud.

Dzeh wondered again why she had left the others, only to turn 
back and follow them. Her motives were as difficult to discern 
as doves in fog. 

"I should have asked," he mumbled. 

Lin's brow wrinkled with concern. "Asked what, Nephew?"     

"Asked Gini why she objected to being Joined." He had 
discounted his sister's distress without ever learning its 
cause, and now she was dead and his lack of understanding 
weighed heavily on his heart.

"Gini did not want to be Joined?" Chal's eyes rounded with 
surprise.

"That is absurd," Wol-la-chee said, frowning. "Why would a 
girl not want to be Joined?"

Dzeh shook his head. He could think of no logical reason. 
Taking a mate and having children were desirable, necessary 
things. There was no alternative. Life without family was 
impossible. No one, not even a seasoned hunter, could survive 
for long alone.  

"Perhaps..." Chal's voice grew thin, losing its strength. He 
cleared his throat and began again. "Perhaps she was afraid."

"Afraid?" Lin blinked in astonishment.

"Of what?" Wol-la-chee asked.

The boy squared his slim shoulders and faced the hunters. 
Lifting his chin, he said, "Maybe it is not easy to be sent 
away from kin and made to live with strangers."

Dzeh shook his head, trying to dislodge the boy's perplexing 
words from his ears. "All girls must move away when they take 
mates," he said. 

"It is the Clan way," said Wol-la-chee.

"It is the manner in which these things have always been 
done," Lin agreed.

"Yes, but..." -- Chal licked dry lips -- "maybe...the old way 
is not the best way." He tightened his fists, stilling his 
shaking hands, and locked determined eyes with Dzeh. "Perhaps 
some rules need to be reconsidered."

"You are suggesting we change what is custom?" Dzeh scowled at 
him. 

Clan traditions came from the Spirits and could not be altered 
without their divine guidance and blessing. It was not up to 
men to say, "We will no longer send girls away when they are 
Joined." Only the Spirits could determine such things and 
their rules were made for the good of everyone; going against 
them would bring misfortune to all. If a girl was frightened 
by the prospect of moving to a new clan, she should simply 
pray to the Spirits to give her more courage. 

"This boy knows nothing," Wol-la-chee announced with a wave of 
dismissal. "He is arrogant to think we should amend the 
Spirits' ways."

Lin placed a large, gnarled hand on Chal's recently tattooed 
shoulder and studied the boy's beardless face. "You have a 
season or two yet before you are wise to the ways of the 
Spirits, young man. Until then, it is best that you do not 
question their decisions."

Chal did not back down or avert his earnest, almond-eyed gaze. 
"Even if their decisions are unsatisfactory?"

Wol-la-chee hissed at the boy's disrespect. Lin quieted them 
both with an upraised hand. "There is nothing for us to decide 
here. We still have a full day's hike before we are back with 
our families. Let us not waste the daylight."

With that, he headed north for Turkey Lake. Wol-la-chee fell 
immediately into step behind him. After a moment, Chal 
followed, too, with his head hanging. But Dzeh lingered, his 
eyes fastened on Gini's small tracks.      

He could feel the Spirits squabbling in his chest and their 
quarrel frightened him. Most of their voices seemed to be in 
agreement with Lin, Wol-la-chee and Clan tradition, yet a few 
were casting spears of doubt at their arguments.

Dzeh had lived his entire life according to the customs of his 
people, always knowing which actions were correct and which 
were not. He had never before questioned the Clan's ways. 

Until now. Now he felt confused. He wished he had not struck 
Gini, even if doing so was the accepted way to chastise an 
unruly child. He wished, too, that he had asked her why the 
prospect of taking a mate had been so upsetting to her. 

Dzeh took one final look at Gini's small footprints before he 
turned to follow his kinsmen. Right or wrong, what was done 
was already done. Gini was dead and he would not see her 
again, not until he, too, passed into the World of Spirits.

*   *   *

Scully paused to readjust the pack that hung from her right 
shoulder, while Gini skipped ahead. The girl's unraveling 
braids bounced against her straight, narrow back and the 
sleeves of Mulder's oversized shirt dangled loosely from her 
short arms as she ran.  Scully smiled, glad Gini's energy and 
enthusiasm had rebounded after Mulder's demonstration two days 
ago. She'd even slept peaceably in her own bed last night.

This morning they were heading upstream to collect mushrooms, 
fresh greens and "a-ye-shi" -- duck eggs -- along the 
riverbank. The sun was already warming the post-dawn air, 
causing vapor to rise from the water. It gilded the entire 
valley in blonde light, and the cliffs appeared peach-colored, 
the sky rose-hued. Fluttering tree leaves sparkled with 
silvery dew.

Again Scully was struck by the beauty of this place. The river 
meandered serenely through the flat-bottomed basin, hemmed by 
shade trees and sweet smelling flower blossoms. Herds of 
animals grazed on long grasses or drank their fill along the 
winding shores. Birds celebrated the sunrise with a trill that 
cheered her in a way she wouldn't have thought possible given 
the precariousness of their situation.

Up ahead, Gini stopped to pluck a bright orange bud from a 
long-stemmed lily. She popped it into her mouth, then gathered 
a few more before hiking upstream at a more leisurely pace.    

They had left the cave as the first rays of sunlight were 
cresting the cliffs, and in less than an hour they had 
collected enough food for the entire day. Scully decided to 
extend their hunting expedition a little longer; she wanted to 
learn as much as possible about edible plants from Gini before 
the girl returned to her family. She and Mulder would soon be 
fending for themselves, and everything she learned now could 
help them survive on their own later. 

She stooped to pick a toadstool from a rotting tree stump. 
Holding it aloft, she called to Gini, "Is this one okay?"

Gini ran back to her, a serious expression on her face. One 
glance at the mushroom and she shook her head. "No. Do-ya-sho-
da. No good." Her accent hummed in her nose and her 
pronunciation was flat and gravelly. Her croaking voice didn't 
match her diminutive features and every time she spoke Scully 
was taken a little by surprise.

"What'll happen if I eat it?" Scully pantomimed taking a bite.

Gini frowned and pointed out the toadstool's defining 
characteristics and then, mimicking obvious body sounds, she 
demonstrated quite clearly how it would make her sick. 

Scully tossed the mushroom to the ground and waved the girl 
upstream. 

Gini's knowledge of Pleistocene flora didn't surprise Scully. 
She remembered reading an article in one of her journals that 
described a group of hunter/gatherers on the island of Mer in 
the Torres Strait in Australia. The study had shown that even 
very young Meriam children could quickly master the knowledge 
and skills needed to engage in productive, adult activities -- 
like spear and line fishing -- as long as those activities 
didn't require adult size and strength. Most of the children 
were fishing by age six, and by age nine they'd become as good 
at it as the adults. The children weren't as successful at 
collecting shellfish, however, although it required very 
little knowledge or skill. Apparently their size didn't allow 
them to cover much ground, so they were ineffective at it. 

It was logical that Gini, even at the tender age of seven or 
eight, would have accumulated considerable knowledge about her 
world, and be skilled at whatever survival techniques her size 
permitted.

As the morning wore on, they stopped often to study one plant 
or another. Sometimes Gini would pick and eat what she found, 
or offer it to Scully, while other times she left the plants 
alone, presumably to let them ripen. She cheerfully attempted 
to explain her choices, or describe various methods of cooking 
or practical uses, but Scully found it difficult to follow 
most of her instructions.

For two days they'd been playing word games, exchanging a 
multitude of phrases. She guessed Gini's vocabulary had grown 
to more than four or five hundred English expressions. Scully 
was not as adept at memorizing the tribe's language, so more 
often than not, Gini used English to make herself understood. 

"Who-neh?" she asked in her own language as they continued 
their walk along the river. She pointed at the red cliffs to 
the west and switched to English. "Wha'zat?"

"Cliffs," Scully answered.

"Kiffs."

"Close. Cliffs. Culliffs." She emphasized the L. "What do you 
call them?"

"Tse-ye-chee."

"Tse-ye-chee?" Scully tried her best to pronounce the 
expression and fix it firmly in her mind.

"Lanh. Yes."

Immediately Gini pointed to another object, a dark stone that 
stood like a lone sentinel on the riverbank. "Wha'zat?" 

"A tall black rock." Scully enunciated each word with care, 
uncertain which aspect of the rock Gini wanted clarified.

"Bul-lak rok," Gini repeated, before giving Scully the tribe's 
translation, "Tsa-zhin."

Many of Gini's words began with an unfamiliar "TS" 
combination, making it difficult for Scully to differentiate 
between them. Tse-e meant mosquito. Tsa-zhin meant rock, or 
maybe black rock, or even tall black rock. Tsee...the cheese? 
-- or something like that -- meant cliffs. Already she had 
forgotten the precise pronunciation.

Gini glanced back the way they'd come and began to chew on the 
cuff of her dangling sleeve. "Muhl-dar seep?" she asked 
without releasing the fabric from her teeth.

"Probably not."

He'd been sleeping when they left -- Scully had hushed the 
girl, hoping not to wake him -- but he was typically an early 
riser and, no doubt, was up by now.

She tapped the girl's arm. "Don't chew your shirt, sweetie." 

An embarrassed smile spread across Gini's face and she let the 
sleeve drop. This wasn't her first reminder. 

"Muhl-dar's sssirt." She had trouble pronouncing SHs and THs, 
yet she managed her own tongue-twisting DLs, DZs, TKs and TSs 
with ease. 

"Yes, Mulder's shirt."

"Pretty." She patted the fabric that covered her flat chest. 

Since she seemed cheery and relatively calm Scully decided 
this might be an opportune time to broach the subject of 
returning to Turkey Lake.

Keeping her voice light, she asked, "Gini, why did you leave 
home?"

"Leaf?" The girl scanned the surrounding trees with a confused 
look.

"No, not leaf. Leave. Why did you...?" How could she phrase it 
so the girl would understand? She gestured at their 
surroundings. "Why did you come here...to this valley, this 
river?" She knew Gini understood the words for valley, river, 
come, why, you. Surely she would put it all together. "Why did 
you follow Mulder and me here?"

Gini's sleeve-covered fist lifted once again to her mouth. She 
stopped herself before she actually took the fabric between 
her teeth. "Bring...baby."

The carved bone idol. "Why else?"

"Elz?" She didn't understand.

Scully was hesitant to mention Dzeh, since his name had 
triggered such an extreme reaction two days ago. Obviously he 
was somehow involved in the girl's decision to run away. 

Taking a less direct approach, she smiled and said, "I like 
Klizzie." 

Gini glanced nervously to the north. She bit her lower lip 
instead of her sleeve.

Scully reached out and smoothed a few stray hairs from the 
girl's worried face. "She braided my hair, put beads in it. 
And gave me her pretty comb, too. Remember?"

Gini nodded but said nothing.

"She took good care of me when I was sick. She took care of 
Mulder, too. That was kind of her, wasn't it?"

Still the girl didn't speak.

"I imagine she misses you a lot."

"Klizzie--" Gini stuffed the shirt cuff into her mouth. Tears 
welled in her eyes.

"Sweetie, we can take you back to her if you--"   

"No. No go Too-key Lake. Peese." Her body began to tremble.

Scully set down her travel pack and crouched in front of her. 
Gently, she removed the cuff from the girl's mouth and rolled 
the sleeve up to her wrist. Turning her attention to the other 
sleeve, she rolled it up, too. Then she took both of Gini's 
hands in hers. "Why don't you want to go back to Turkey Lake?"

"Tehi ah-na-sozi." Gini pulled at Scully's hands, urging her 
to stand. "Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih--"

"No, sweetie. First tell me why you don't want to go to Turkey 
Lake." She spoke kindly but refused to budge. Reaching out to 
stroke the faint bruise beside Gini's right eye, she asked, 
"Are you afraid Dzeh will hurt you again?"

Gini lifted her hand to the bruise. "Hurt?"

Scully nodded. "Dzeh hurt you, didn't he?" She pointed to the 
injury and then pantomimed a slow, left hook.

Gini didn't flinch. Her expression was one of bewilderment, 
not alarm. Scully began to sense she might be on the wrong 
track.

"Sit, please." She patted the ground beside her, then settled 
cross-legged on the grass. Gini squatted beside her. 

They were in a narrow clearing in full sun with an 
unobstructed view of the river twenty feet away. The water 
made a tinkling sound as it flowed south between gravel-lined 
banks. A mother duck and her lone chick waddled along one 
pebbled shore, searching for food among the wet stones.   

Scully pointed to the birds. "See those ducks?"

"Dose duhks," Gini sounded out the new phrase. 

The duckling wobbled after its mother, almost toppling in its 
effort to keep up. 

"Baby duhk run...um..." Gini waggled her head from side to 
side to demonstrate the word she was looking for.

"Tippy?"

"Tip-pee."

"He reminds me of you, Gini."

The girl seemed to take offense at this. "Gini no run tip-
pee."

"No, I didn't mean that." Scully smiled. "He's following his 
mother the same way you used to follow Klizzie."

Gini frowned and stared at the ground between her feet. "No 
talk Klizzie." 

"Is Klizzie your mother?" Scully was determined not to let the 
subject drop. She suspected the girl was a blood relative of 
Dzeh, not Klizzie, because Klizzie looked too young to have an 
eight-year-old child, and Dzeh and Gini shared the same eye 
color and slanting grin. It was possible he was the girl's 
father by a former partner. Or he could be her brother, or a 
cousin or uncle with a strong family resemblance.

"No muht-her," Gini said without a hint of self-pity.

"Your sister then? Or your aunt?" 

"No...want...talk Klizzie! No want talk Dzeh, no want talk 
Too-key Lake!" she said firmly.

"Gini, we have to talk about this."

"Why?" the girl whined. Fear peaked her brows and her chin 
quivered. "Day-nuh no want Gini?" she asked, sounding 
heartbroken.

"Sweetie..." Damn, how was she going to explain? She reached 
out and placed her hand on Gini's back to gently rub circles 
between her shoulder blades. "I'm not angry at you. You've 
done nothing wrong."

"Gini...stay...here. 'Kay?"

"You can't stay. I'm sorry."

Frustration crumpled Gini's face. "Here...good," she said, 
searching hard for the proper words, and staring up at Scully 
with tear-filled eyes. "Day-nuh, Muhl-dar, Gini...ummm...ta-
bilh."

"Ta-bihl? I don't understand."

"Ta-bihl...ummm...means..." She pointed toward the two ducks.

Mother and baby? 

Family.

"Dzeh and Klizzie are your family, sweetheart. Dzeh, Klizzie 
and Gini ta-bihl."

"No, nooooo..." 

Too upset to speak English, Gini rattled off her woes in her 
own language. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she hiccupped 
her way through her concerns. Scully recognized a few of her 
words and phrases: go, Badger tribe, no, want, big...be-zonz? 
Wasn't that the word Mulder said meant penis?

What the hell?

*   *   *

Gini was desperate to make Day-nuh understand. She would not 
go back to Turkey Lake, but trying to remember the right 
combination of Eel words to say so was impossible. The words 
were difficult to pronounce and she didn't know enough of them 
to express her thoughts. So she spoke in her own language, and 
once she got started, her worries poured out of her like water 
from a spring.

"I can not go back there, Day-nuh. Dzeh wants to send me away 
to live with a boy in Badger Clan. He has already Promised me 
to Chal, I think. I am so scared. I do not know Chal! I do not 
want to be Joined with him or live with him. I am afraid he is 
going to make me lay with him on his sleeping skins and it 
will hurt because his be-zonz will grow too big to fit inside 
me, just like that awful stallion with his mare--"

"Sweetie, sweetie, slow down," Day-nuh interrupted. Her voice 
and manner were soothing and her concern was evident. She 
asked several more unintelligible questions, something 
about...Dzeh's penis?

"No, no Dzeh be-zonz," Gini said. What was Day-nuh talking 
about? "*Chal's* be-zonz."

"Chal? Who is Chal?"

"Badger..." She didn't know the Eel word for boy. "Badger 
man," she said instead, before switching back to her own 
language. "I do not like him very much. He looks like a stork 
and he is rude and mean."

Day-nuh shook her head, not understanding. "A-nah-neh...?" she 
asked for clarification.

"A-nah-neh-dzin." Gini lowered her brows and grimaced, trying 
to make her face look as fearsome as possible to convey the 
nasty look Chal had given her on the day they first met.

Day-nuh's eyes widened as if she had been bitten by a 
rattlesnake. Gini realized her impersonation of Chal was 
perhaps unfair. He hadn't been *that* mean. But still, she 
didn't like him and she didn't want to live with him or his 
peculiar Badger Clan kin. She particularly didn't want to 
share his bed or touch his disgusting be-zonz. Ugh!

Day-nuh reached out and wiped away her tears. "Gini, help me 
understand. Explain again what's frightening you."

Although Gini couldn't translate the request word-for-word, 
she'd learned enough over the past two days to know that Day-
nuh wanted a more precise explanation, even if it meant using 
hand signals and a mix of Eel and Owl Clan words.

Gini did her best to detail Dzeh's plans to Join her with 
Chal. She repeated the story about the dreadful stallion and 
his frightened mare several times, too, until finally Day-
nuh's frown changed into a smile.

"What is so funny?" Gini asked in her own language, a little 
hurt that Day-nuh was laughing at her troubles.

Day-nuh seemed to grasp this was serious talk and her face 
grew more solemn. "Sorry," she said. Then she leaned forward 
and embraced Gini.

It felt nice to be held in her arms, like being hugged by 
Klizzie. 

Suddenly Gini missed Klizzie with an intensity that made her 
chest hurt. Tears filled her eyes again, and she hid them by 
throwing her arms around Day-nuh's neck and burying her face 
against her chest, trying to push away any thoughts of 
Klizzie, hoping beyond hope that Day-nuh -- and Muhl-dar -- 
might someday love her as much as Klizzie had.

Day-nuh murmured more unrecognizable but reassuring words into 
her ear, while rocking her and smoothing her hair.    

They remained like that for many moments, until a faint call 
came from the direction of the cave. Muhl-dar was shouting and 
he sounded excited.

"Scully! Sculleee!" His voice echoed off the valley's rosy 
cliffs.

Day-nuh rose to her feet and pulled Gini up after her. "Let's 
go see what he wants."

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
8:02 AM

Beck dropped the faded Black Sox cap onto Nichols' keyboard. 
"Does that mean what I think it means?" 

Nichols leaned back in his chair to look up at him with mock-
innocence. His hands slid into his lap without touching the 
hat. "I don't know, Colonel. What do you think it means?" 

Lisa Ianelli was sitting in her usual place beside Nichols. A 
3-dimensional computer model undulated on the monitor in front 
of them, disintegrating as it writhed. Beck recognized the 
image as a diagnostic of last night's test. It clearly showed 
a malfunction had occurred while the aircraft was operating in 
gravity pulse mode.

"Just answer the question," he said through gritted teeth.

Nichols shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by Beck's threatening 
tone. Ianelli, on the other hand, appeared nervous...and 
confused. She picked up the hat. "I don't understand. What's 
this got to do with us or our work?"

Before Beck could answer, Nichols sighed loudly and said, "The 
Colonel thinks it's a clue to the whereabouts of the missing 
agents. Isn't that right, Colonel?"

That was precisely what he thought. Security had searched 
every square inch of the Base and had come up empty 
handed...except for the ball cap.

"The Baltimore Black Sox haven't played ball since 1934. I 
checked it myself," Beck said.

"So? It's a reproduction."

"Does it look new to you?"

Nichols shrugged again. "Maybe someone here at Hill collects 
baseball memorabilia."

"My men deny ever seeing it before."

"So it belongs to the missing agents. That doesn't necessarily 
connect it to last night's test...at least not in the way 
you're implying."

"It does when you add to it the evidence on that computer 
screen." Beck nodded at the monitor.

Ianelli glanced at the undulating image, then down at the hat 
in her hands. "You think the missing agents went back in time 
to--"

"To the 1930s, yes, I do," Beck finished for her. "I think the 
anti-gravity propulsion system caused a warp during last 
night's test. Agents Mulder and Scully got caught in that 
warp. That model..." -- he nodded at the screen again -- 
"proves it."

He was guessing a sudden shift in the craft's trajectory 
created the distortion, and that the agents had been in close 
proximity to the AGPS when it malfunctioned, bending time, and 
throwing them several decades into the past, while depositing 
the cap in the present. 

"I want you to find those agents," Beck ordered, "and bring 
them back. ASAP." 

"Suppose they're dead."

"If they were dead, the model wouldn't be reacting like that." 
Beck jabbed a finger at the swirls on the computer screen. 
There was no doubt the agents were still alive and their 
presence in the past was affecting the stability of the 
continuum.

Nichols eyeballed the model, his expression guarded. A twinge 
in Beck's gut warned him that Nichols knew more than he was 
saying. 

"Open a new hole and haul them back," Beck ordered. 

"It's not that easy."

"Make it happen...*before* General Kaback gets here."

Nichols leaned back in his chair while continuing to study the 
model. "It might be possible to open a small hole, to allow 
the transfer of electronic data."

"Electronic data? I want those agents, not a fucking email."

"The data would just be a test...to ensure stabilization of 
the warp before we actually try to retrieve the agents. As a 
matter of fact, we could use the data to send them a message, 
notify them of our intentions, make sure they stay in one 
place long enough for us to pinpoint them and grab them."  

"A message?" Ianelli sounded incredulous. "To what? Their cell 
phones?"

To Beck's surprise, Nichols nodded at her suggestion. 
"Actually, that would work perfectly."

Was such a thing even technologically possible? 

Beck knew that Mulder and Scully carried FBI issued cell 
phones; he'd seen their numbers listed in Captain Linden's 
background report. But would the agents have their phones 
charged and turned on? More importantly, would a cell phone 
work in 1930?

"Do it," he said. "Rerun last night's test, recreate the 
distortion. Make it look routine. I want this done quietly."  

Nichols no longer appeared to be listening. He was already 
punching keys, altering the model's makeup. 

"Kaback's due at 1100," Beck reminded him. "Do whatever you 
need to do before then."

Nichols nodded absently. 

Beck wasn't certain he grasped the seriousness of the 
situation. "We're running out of time, Nichols."

The scientist swiveled in his chair. "Interesting choice of 
words, Colonel." 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JULY 1, 10:19 AM

Gini gutted the beaver, while Mulder and Scully watched. They 
sat a few feet away, leaning comfortably against a fallen tree 
in a grassy clearing approximately ten yards from where Mulder 
had beached the animal. The tree was without branches or bark, 
having lost them decades ago to wind and weather. Its thick 
trunk was bleached silver-gray by the sun, and it felt smooth 
and warm against Mulder's sore, bare back. 

It surprised him how happily Gini was going about her grisly 
task. She chattered as she slit the beaver from gullet to 
groin, carefully cutting around its genitals and anus without 
penetrating the bowel, which he supposed was to prevent 
contamination of the meat. She used one of her small stone 
blades, brought from Turkey Lake, having declined his offer of 
the pocketknife. She was evidently more comfortable with her 
own familiar tools.

Using bare hands, she scooped entrails from the gaping body, 
emptying the cavity onto the grass. She pointed to the growing 
pile of organs and rattled off a string of what sounded like 
questions or commands.

"What's she saying?" he asked, not understanding a single 
word.   

"I didn't get all of it, but 'a-chi' means intestines and 
'cha' means 'beaver.' I think she wants to know if we plan to 
use the entrails," Scully said, rising to her feet to inspect 
the gore. "You really should make an effort to learn her 
language, Mulder."

"I'm not good at languages."

"With your photographic memory?" 

"Doesn't seem to help. You should hear my Spanish. It's 
embarrassing. 'Mi nalga se confunde fcilmente.'"

She laughed. "You just said, 'My rump is easily confused.'"

"Did I?" He grinned at his mistake. "Oh, well, considering how 
often I have my head up my ass, that's not too far off the 
mark, actually. But what I meant to say was 'My brain is 
easily confused.' Guess I proved my point."

"'Brain' is 'cerebro,' not 'nalga.'"

"'Patata,' pa-tay-ta. The Vineyard's a long way from the 
Mexican border, San Diego Girl."

Bending over the bloody entrails, she frowned. "How is it you 
were able to remember the tribe's words for the male and 
female genitalia without any trouble?"  

"Easy...that's a guy thing."

She rummaged through the guts and retrieved what looked to him 
to be the liver. 

"You interested in eating this?" she asked, holding it up. It 
draped heavily over her arm, dark, slimy and wholly 
unappetizing. 

His throat closed and his stomach rebelled. "Uh...no, thanks." 

To avoid watching her pick through the gore, he inspected the 
injury on his ribs. The scrape he'd received underwater was 
beginning to sting like hell. It was raw and inflamed looking. 
Carefully, he pulled a long sliver from the wound. 

"I was kind of hoping we wouldn't be here long enough to make 
learning cavemanese a necessity," he said, letting the bloody 
splinter drop to the ground.

"Do you have something more pressing to do?" She abandoned the 
beaver's innards to come inspect his wound. "You should rinse 
that." 

"It's fine." To be honest, he felt too tired to rise to his 
feet and traipse all the way down to the river.

"Mulder..." Her warning tone.

"Give me a few minutes," he wheedled. "I wanna see how Gini 
skins this thing." 

Gini was already separating the hide from the carcass, cutting 
and tugging, while taking care not to puncture it. With 
Scully's help she removed the entire skin in about twenty 
minutes. Mulder was content to simply sit and watch them. The 
work appeared to be strenuous. Sweat was slicking their faces 
by the time they laid the hide on the grass -- sans head -- in 
one unbroken piece. 

Opened flat, it was wider than Gini was tall. Gore still clung 
to its inner surface, making it too unwieldy for Scully and 
Gini to lift on their own. 

"Muhl-dar na-e-lahi?" Gini pointed to the skin and pantomimed 
draping it over the fallen tree.

"Come on, Mulder. Help us."

Reluctantly, and with an exaggerated groan, he rose to his 
feet to help them lift the pelt into position over the log. 
Once it was where they wanted it, Gini crouched beside it and 
immediately began scraping off a layer of sticky membrane with 
her crescent-shaped blade. She held the stone knife at a 
ninety-degree angle while she methodically removed fat from 
the pelt, until the underlying pores began to appear.

While she worked on the hide, Scully butchered the beaver, 
using Mulder's knife. Mulder returned to his comfortable 
position beside the log.

"Too bad we don't have some way to preserve all that meat," he 
said. 

"The tribe had a smokehouse." Scully sliced through what was 
once a muscular thigh, trimming away several perfect steaks. 
"Maybe we could build one, too."

"Maybe." Without tools it would be difficult to build 
anything. He plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his 
teeth. "If we had another knife, I could help you cut that 
up," he said, glad there was only one.

"You killed it, I can clean it. Nice job, by the way, Tarzan."

She glanced at him and smiled. Her praise lessened the ache in 
his limbs.   

Half an hour later, Scully and Gini were still cutting and 
scraping. Apparently ready for a break, Gini rose to search 
through the pile of guts. To Mulder's disgust, she dug out the 
heart, from which she took a big, bloody bite. She chewed with 
obvious relish and swallowed.

"Mmmmm. Gud!" she said, wiping gore from her lips onto the 
back of her hand.

"Jesus." Mulder's gag reflex kicked in and he felt his gorge 
rise. He looked to Scully to see if she was going to object.

Instead she simply shrugged. "It can't harm her, and I doubt 
it's any worse than the raw snake meat you and I ate."

Maybe not, but... "I'm going to wash up." He stood and headed 
for the river.

By the time he returned, Gini was finished with her scraping 
and Scully was bringing the snapping turtle's shell from the 
cave.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"I don't know. Gini asked for it." She handed the turtle shell 
-- which was as big as a punch bowl -- to the girl. 

Gini set it on the ground beside the log. "Muhl-dar break 
head," she said. 

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Break head?"

Gini smiled and pointed first to the turtle-bowl, and then to 
the beaver's decapitated skull lying beside the entrails in 
the grass. After several minutes of sign language and broken 
English it became clear that she wanted him to crack open the 
beaver's skull with a rock and dump the contents into the 
turtle shell. Why, he wasn't exactly sure, but guessed it must 
have something to do with curing the hide.

While Gini was showing Scully how to rough up the pelt's 
underside with sand and fine gravel, he hunted for an 
appropriate sized rock to hammer open the beaver's head.

A fist-sized stone caught his eye. He brought it and the 
grisly severed head to the log where Gini and Scully were 
abrading the skin. A few well-placed blows between the 
beaver's eyes punched a hole through its fur and bone, opening 
its flat forehead and exposing a gray soup of brains inside.

"There you go." He nudged the mutilated head toward Gini.

She took it from him and scooped the brains into the turtle 
shell. Mulder was reminded of a grotesque little verse from 
his childhood. He began to chant while she emptied the skull: 
"Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts; mutilated 
monkey meat; little turdy birdy feet; French-fried eyeballs 
swimming in a bowl of blood; And I forgot my spoon!"

"But I've got my straw," Scully finished the ditty for him, 
and followed it with the prerequisite slurp, which made Gini 
pause at her brain mashing to giggle.

Her laugh was so throaty and infectious Mulder couldn't help 
but chuckle, too. 

Smiling broadly, Gini held out the bowl to him. "Muhl-dar bel-
dil-khon." 

"Sorry, I didn't quite get that."

"Bel-dil-khon. Um...fill...uhhh..." She thought for a moment, 
trying to come up with the appropriate words. "Muhl-
dar...make...uh, tkoh."

Now Scully laughed. Loudly.

"What?" he asked, not getting the joke.

"She wants you to fill the bowl."

"I get that, but with what?"

Scully seemed to be struggling to suppress another laugh. 
"Urine."

"Urine? She wants me to pee in this?"

Scully nodded. "I remember Dr. Diamond telling us that Sub-
Arctic People used animal brains and human urine to tan 
caribou and moose skins."

"Well that's fine and dandy, but why do *I* have to piss in 
the pot? What's wrong with your urine? Or hers?"

She shrugged. "It could be a tribal preference. Maybe male pee 
is thought to be luckier than female pee."

"Luckier?"

"I don't know, Mulder. Just do it, will you?"

Reluctantly he grabbed the turtle shell from Gini and headed 
for the trees. Behind him he heard Gini ask Scully, "Where 
Muhl-dar go?"

"He'll be right back, sweetie."

Sequestered behind dense foliage, he set the turtle shell on 
the ground between his feet. Didn't this just take the 
proverbial cake? Pissing into a bowl of beaver brains. 
"Highlight of my professional career," he muttered as he 
emptied his bladder.

Walking back to Scully and Gini, he tried not to blush or trip 
over his feet and fall face-first into the damn bowl.

"Here." He passed the bowl to Gini, who set it on the ground 
and began mashing its contents with a paddle-shaped stick.

"Ut-zah," she said after a few minutes of mixing. The gray 
contents had become a greasy slurry, which she applied to the 
inside of the pelt with her bare hands.

"Isn't that...unhygienic?" Mulder asked, face wrinkled in 
disgust.

"Human urine is sterile when it's fresh," Scully informed him.

Twice Gini smeared the entire skin with the brain mixture, 
buffing the surface between coats with a handful of sand. Then 
she rolled the skin into a tight bundle and left it beside the 
log.

"That's it? It's ready to be made into fur coats?" Mulder 
asked.

"Not yet," Scully said. "Dr. Diamond described several 
traditional methods for softening hides, to keep the skin 
flexible."

"Chewed by Indian maidens?" 

"Something like that." She turned to Gini, who was smeared 
with blood, brains, sweat, and no doubt, Mulder's urine. "Bath 
time, sweetie. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Bat-time!" Gini grinned and immediately stripped off Mulder's 
soiled shirt. She dropped it onto the ground and ran naked to 
the river.

Scully collected the shirt from the grass. "I'll wash this."

"You do that. I'd prefer it didn't smell like my pee."

"Your *lucky* pee," she called over her shoulder, waving the 
shirt at him.

From the water's edge, Gini high-stepped into the water and 
shouted at the top of her lungs, "Lug-hee pee, lug-hee pee, 
lug-hee pee!"   

*   *   * 

A knife of defeat prodded Chal between the shoulders as he and 
the others crossed the sun-washed ball field at Turkey Lake. 
He gripped his spear in bone-weary fingers. The weapon seemed 
as burdensome as a bull mastodon tusk, tugging painfully at 
the muscles of his arm. His travel pack caused him irritation, 
too. Its strap chafed his neck with every plodding step, and 
the pack itself pressed heavily against his spine although it 
contained nothing more than a few meager supplies. The 
hunters' journey to Ye-tsan had yielded only empty bellies and 
disconsolate hearts. No fresh meat, no redress for the 
transgressions against Owl Clan, and no happy homecoming for 
Gini.

Chal conjured up an image of her the way she'd looked the day 
he met her at the lake, her eyes flashing with indignation, 
her pretty mouth set in a taut frown, while the midday sun 
glossed her braids and a light breeze rattled the beads in her 
hair. His bones had rattled at that moment, too. It took all 
his strength to quell the trembling in his limbs as he stood 
on the bank above her. No girl had ever set his knees to 
wobbling the way she did. It was as if he had been caught 
unawares by a powerful punch to the gut. The feeling was 
unexpected and alarming, yet he found himself rooted to the 
riverbank, curiously delighted as he gazed at her clenched 
fists and angry wide eyes, eyes that weren't afraid to meet 
his own blinking stare.

It was at that exact moment he decided to bargain with Dzeh 
and the Spirits to make her his mate.

And now...now he must forget that she had ever lived.

How was he to do such an impossible thing? She had occupied 
his thoughts every day and every night since he first laid 
eyes on her, and now her spirit was haunting his heart. While 
awake he imagined himself returning to Ye-tsan and rescuing 
her. While asleep he dreamt that she shared his sleeping skins 
or tended his hearth. Last night he saw their children playing 
by the fire, two daughters and four sons, all strong and 
healthy, long-limbed like him, yet marked by her dimpled 
smile. He was loath to wake from this happy scene, preferring 
instead to imagine a life with her. Upon opening his eyes at 
daybreak, he was met with the disappointing truth that she was 
lost to him forever.      

Four sunrises had come and gone since he and the other hunters 
had turned their backs on Ye-tsan Basin. Finally they were in 
sight of the domed huts of their summer home. The 
mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat greeted them even before 
they heard the cheerful voices of their kin at the lakeshore 
where all the clans were gathered to watch teams of girls and 
boys compete in water games. Even without looking, Chal knew 
his best friends Nash-doie-tso and Tsah were there, winning 
prizes because they were vigorous swimmers and skilled divers, 
able to hold their breaths for long periods. Chal was an 
excellent swimmer, too, but he had no interest in joining his 
friends or competing in the games. Not this season. The 
rituals of the Mastodon Feast had lost their appeal; now Chal 
longed only to see summer end, so that Badger Clan could 
return to their eastern territory, far away from any reminders 
of Owl Clan or Gini.

Chal was walking a few paces behind Dzeh when they arrived at 
the Men's Prayer Lodge. The Owl clansman split away from the 
group to slip sullenly inside, no doubt intending to paint his 
face with white clay to honor his dead sister and make 
offerings to the Spirits on her behalf. Chal would have liked 
to join him and give a heartfelt prayer of his own, but it was 
not his place. Gini was neither kin nor mate, and so any 
prayer or blatant show of sorrow would be considered improper, 
bordering on an insult to the deceased's family.

Wol-la-chee and Lin did not follow Dzeh into the Lodge, 
although it was within their rights to do so. Instead they 
headed to their respective hearths, where they would no doubt 
deposit their packs before going in search of their mates at 
the games. It was up to them as Owl clansmen to spread the 
word about Gini.

Left on his own, Chal scuffed along a worn path between 
shelters. Another cheer sounded from the lake, drawing his 
attention. Even at this distance, three spear throws away, he 
could see the men placing wagers while women congregated in 
groups, chattering like blackbirds. Young children splashed in 
the shallows, imitating their older brothers and sisters in 
mock races. Meat roasted over a communal fire built on the 
gravelly shore. The clans would remain by the lake until long 
after sunset, feasting, singing, dancing and betting.

Arriving at his mother's hut, Chal ducked into its cool, quiet 
interior, eager for its shadowy solitude after spending nearly 
a quarter moon in the company of the Owl clansmen. It wasn't 
that he disliked Dzeh and his kin. To the contrary he found 
them to be admirable men in almost every respect. But he 
associated their company with the misery of Gini's 
disappearance and he longed for a private moment to let the 
ache in his chest escape. He was barely through the door when 
tears sprang to his eyes. A fist of anguish lodged itself in 
his throat. He tossed his spear onto his sleeping skins and 
shrugged out of his pack, which he set beside the spear. 
Crouching, he wiped his wet cheeks and waited for his grief to 
come full force.

The hut was just as he'd left it. Two hearth fires glowed, one 
at each end of the oblong shelter, their red coals 
illuminating the hut's ivory bone supports. Other familiar 
things came into focus as his teary eyes adjusted to the dark: 
the smooth, tan roof, the softly furred beds, twelve in all, 
the stockpiles of supplies along the outer walls. He could 
smell the pleasant odor of sage, which hung from the roof 
supports, drying in upside-down bunches. Its familiar aroma 
helped soothe his uneasy heart.

"Chal?" A woman's voice from the back of the hut startled him. 
Not his mother. One of his aunts?

"Auntie?" He strained to make out her face in the dark.

"No, it's me...Klizzie."

His cousin. His shoulders sagged. Now he would have to be the 
one to relay the heartbreaking news about Gini.  

"Why are you not at the games?" he asked, stalling.

"I am not feeling well." She rose from her bed to come to him. 

At closer range he saw that her face was painted with white 
clay. The mask of grief, created by mixing powdered stone with 
water, then applied as a slip and allowed to dry. Once 
hardened, the thin coat cracked around the eyes and mouth as 
the mourner cried. Tears washed the pale clay away, leaving 
dark rivulets striping each cheek. The mask was frightful to 
behold in its disintegrating state.

For a moment Chal was confused, thinking Klizzie wore the clay 
because she somehow already knew about Gini. But that wasn't 
possible; only the hunters knew. And from the ragged state of 
Klizzie's mask Chal guessed she'd been grieving for several 
days.

Her sorrow must be for someone else.

More bad luck had befallen the Mastodon Feast.

"Did you find my Little Chick?" she asked, sounding hopeful 
and nervous behind her cracked mask. "And the strangers from 
Eel Clan? What of them?"

"We did not find the strangers," he said, avoiding the subject 
of Gini. How was he to deliver such dreadful information? The 
story should come from Dzeh, or one of the other Owl clansmen, 
not a Badger cousin. "We followed their tracks as far as Ye-
tsan Basin." It was remarkable how calm he was able to keep 
his voice. "When we encountered the footprints of giant 
serpents, we turned back."

Alarm lit Klizzie's eyes. "The serpents are real?"

Chal wasn't certain if they were or they weren't. The hunters 
hadn't actually seen any of the mythical beasts. "There were 
tracks in the stone, some as long as a grown man's stride." 

He left it at that, moving away from Klizzie to stir the ashes 
in the hearth. The hut seemed suddenly as cold as midwinter. 
He knew she was going to inquire about Gini again, and to 
postpone her inevitable question he asked, "Why are you not 
inside your own hut, Cousin?"

He hoped his words didn't sound impertinent. He hadn't meant 
them to.

"My hut is occupied." Anger creased her clay-covered features. 
Her voice growled in her throat when she said, "Our cousin 
Klesh has returned."

He pictured their scarred cousin, victim of a saber-toothed 
cat mauling. Chal had been very young when Klesh left the 
Clan, and could not recall the details of his departure. He 
remembered only the man's frightful deformity.

After his banishment, no one ever talked about him. It had 
been as if he had died, yet not a single clansman painted his 
face with clay to show respect.

In light of Klesh's return Klizzie's mask was even more 
perplexing. 

"Please, Chal, tell me about Gini. Is my Little Chick safe?" 
Once more she moved to stand beside him. She placed a feverish 
hand on his shoulder.

He could not lift his eyes to meet hers. "I am sorry," he 
whispered, "we did not find her."

Klizzie gasped. A moan began deep in her throat. It hummed 
behind clenched teeth. Chal had never heard such a mournful 
sound and it made him want to clap his hands over his ears. He 
forced his fists to remain at his sides. When he finally 
looked up at her he was met by a heartrending sight. Klizzie's 
face was contorted with grief, her clay mask a spider web of 
bleak cracks.

Cheerful shouts burst upon them from the lake, startling in 
their contrast to Klizzie's distress.

"I am sorry, Cousin," Chal repeated. He didn't know what else 
to say. He could not tell her that he, too, felt as if 
buzzards were pecking at his heart.

*   *   *

It was sundown when Dzeh finally finished his prayers. He 
painted his face with clay and spoke at length to his mother's 
spirit. Gini was not with her. Not yet. It would be several 
days before the Spirits guided her across the chasm between 
the worlds of the living and the dead. He would need to wait 
before sending his apologies to her on a column of sage-
scented smoke. 

Soon after nightfall, Lin, Wol-la-chee and several others 
arrived to pray with Dzeh. Lin insisted on painting his face 
with clay, although it wasn't required, and Dzeh appreciated 
his uncle's respectful gesture. 

The Owl clansmen ate a meager meal of bitter herbs, 
representative of the many hardships in life. They sat around 
the fire with legs crossed, drinking wo-chi, chanting and 
rocking as they passed the gourd between them. Lin told Dzeh 
that Klizzie had been informed about Gini. 

It was only after three gourds were emptied that Dzeh felt 
ready to rise from the hearth and go to his mate. She would 
want to hear his version of events, and to be honest, he felt 
the need to tell her. Only she would understand the depth of 
his sorrow. 

"Little Chick" she had called the girl, always treating her as 
tenderly as a beloved daughter.

Dzeh stumbled with watery eyes and an unsteady gait from the 
Prayer Lodge to his hut. Wo-chi burned in his gut; it numbed 
his fingers and feet, but did little to ease the pain of his 
grief. His spirit longed to find Gini inside the hut, asleep 
beside Klizzie, dreaming of tomorrow's blanket toss games. 

Wo-chi rose in his throat, stinging the back of his tongue 
with its sour heat when he realized she would never play the 
game again.

He waited outside the hut for the wave of nausea to pass. 
Through the crack at the door he glimpsed a low fire burning 
in the hearth. A lone figure crouched beside it. He pushed the 
flap aside, expecting Klizzie to turn toward him, eyes red-
rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears.

Instead he found Klesh stirring the coals.

Dzeh rocked back on his heels and blinked in disbelief at the 
sight of Klizzie's chindi cousin. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping your mate company while you have been gone," Klesh 
sneered. A strange shiny bracelet dangled from his wrist, 
reflecting firelight. Except for the unusual ornament and a 
loincloth, which Dzeh recognized as his own, he was naked. His 
body appeared more scarred and deformed than Dzeh remembered.

Klesh regarded him through hooded eyes, black holes in the 
white mask of grief he wore.

Why was he donning a clay mask? He barely knew Gini. This 
presumption was an insult, as was his presence in Dzeh's hut.

"Get out," he said, lurching toward Klesh with fists balled.

"You would put out a grieving man?" Klesh asked, not moving.

"You have no right to grieve!" Dzeh was incensed. He would 
throw this vile man out and then beat him severely for his 
impudence.

Klesh's scarred brows rose. "But I *do* have the right. Tse-e 
was my best friend and my cousin."

Tse-e? What was he talking about? Had something happened to 
Klizzie's brother? "But it is Gini who is dead."

"Muhl-dar killed her, too?" He nodded as if he expected this. 
"He is a cruel man. No doubt he tortured the girl before he 
sent her to the Spirits."

It was too much to take in. Dzeh felt his legs grow weak. The 
wo-chi threatened to fly from his stomach. "What do you know 
about it?" he asked.

Eyes blazing, Klesh leaned toward Dzeh. His face was 
crisscrossed with gouges where the clay of his mask had caked 
and cracked around his scars. "Muhl-dar murdered Tse-e. And he 
left me to die at Toh-ta Lodge. If you desire revenge against 
this man, I am willing to help you."

Under any other circumstances Dzeh would not have considered 
siding with Klesh. He had loathed this despicable cousin of 
Klizzie's for four long years, blaming him for forcing her to 
submit to his sexual demands against her will. 

But...that had turned out to be untrue. 

And now it seemed Klesh was suffering from Muhl-dar's cruelty, 
exactly as Dzeh was suffering. His head pounded from too much 
wo-chi and too little sleep. He felt dizzy and sick to his 
stomach. The stranger from Eel Clan had wronged him. Had 
wronged Klesh, too. They had both lost kin because of his 
treachery.

Feeling overwhelmed by anguish and outrage, Dzeh was suddenly 
seeing Klesh through new eyes. 

"Where is Klizzie?" he asked.

Klesh shrugged his scarred shoulders. "She has been feeling 
poorly. A woman's matter. Ho-Ya has been caring for her."

"A woman's matter?"

"Don't tell me you did not know?" Klesh rolled back on the 
sleeping skins and laughed, a harsh sound that scoured Dzeh's 
ears like winter wind upon a frozen lake. "It seems your 
Trading Partner planted a gift inside your mate before he 
stole your sister."

No, this could not be. Please, Spirit Mother, no. "A g-gift?"

"Yes, Cousin. Klizzie is pregnant. She is carrying the child 
of your enemy inside her womb."     

*   *   *

Mulder squatted beside Gini beneath the overhang at the mouth 
of the cave. He was dressed in jeans and jacket, his unzipped 
coat exposing his bare chest. She was still wearing his 
commandeered turtleneck, and sat without smiling, facing the 
river, legs drawn up inside the loose fabric of her shirt. Her 
arms were folded across her knees, and she glumly propped her 
chin in the crook of one elbow. 

Rainwater, cool and heavy, streamed from the overhang, 
creating a veil that tinted everything beyond it silver-gray. 
Fat raindrops slapped against glossy vegetation throughout the 
valley and the noise sounded like quiet applause. Tree leaves 
pitched and rebounded beneath the relentless tap of water. 
Mulder watched a ruddy rivulet wind its way downhill around 
rocks and tree roots toward the river, until it became lost in 
the thick blanket of mist below.

Behind him, Scully worked on the beaver hide. Gini had shown 
her how to soften the skin, pulling it from side-to-side and 
from head to tail, stretching and buffing it with sand until 
it was dry and supple. The process looked tedious and hard on 
the arms and hands, but Scully didn't appear bored or 
fatigued. She hummed tunelessly as she tugged at a tough spot, 
a small smile curving her lips.

Mulder turned to Gini and tagged her cheek to get her 
attention. "Hey, pipsqueak."

She responded with a shy smile. "Ba-hal-neh Hor-ton Hears 
Who?"

"No, no Horton Hears a Who. How 'bout you teach me some tribe 
words instead."

"Word sted?" Gini asked, parroting him and looking confused. 

Mulder gave Scully a pleading stare. "Tell her I want to learn 
her language."

"Tell her yourself." Scully paused at her task. "She 
understands more than you think."

She did seem to grasp most of the things he said. And it was 
he who had been resistant to learning a new language. 

Knowing his limitations, he decided to start with something 
easy. "What's this?" He tapped her nose.

"Nose," she said.

She had evidently missed his point. "No, what do *you* call 
it?"

"Nose," she said again. A sly grin produced a dimple in her 
plump right cheek.

Scully chuckled behind him. "She's pulling your leg, Mulder. 
Gini, ha-neh-al-enji Ne-as-jah Din-neh-ih."

The girl giggled but explained, "Nose is 'a-chin'."

"A chin?" Mulder repeated. "Well...then what's the word for 
this?" He pinched her small chin.

Again she laughed before giving him her translation. He asked 
for more words and they spent the next several minutes 
pointing and translating simple things like hand, eye, lips, 
teeth, smile, tongue. This last one began a tongue-rolling 
demonstration, which was followed by a face-making contest.

When they'd exhausted every possible contortion of their 
features, Gini quizzed Mulder on his new vocabulary. He failed 
miserably, unable to accurately repeat back most of the words 
she'd just shared. His mispronunciations and wrong word 
choices set her giggling at his expense.

"Go ahead, yuck it up, Miss Smartypants. It's not my fault mi 
nalga se confunde fcilmente."

It was Scully's turn to laugh, a deep throaty chuckle that 
delighted Mulder so much he didn't care that the joke was on 
him. 

Leaning toward Gini, he draped one arm over her small 
shoulders, and said, "Tell me, pipsqueak, what's the word 
for...TICKLE!" 

He began counting her ribs, making her shriek with delight. 
She rolled into his lap, laughing uncontrollably. 

After a moment he stopped to let her catch her breath.

"Atsanh yeh-hes," she said, grinning up at him.

"Atsanh...?"

"Atsanh yeh-hes," she repeated, reaching beneath his coat to 
wiggle her fingers against his bare ribs.

He smiled, then pinned her hand between his chest and arm, 
while thrusting his other hand into her armpit, making her 
curl into a chortling ball.

"Stop!" she said through her giggles. 

Immediately he ceased his tickling. "Did you say stop?"

She nodded, then apparently changed her mind and shook her 
head. "Tickle more, Muhl-dar, peese."

"Really?" He tweaked her belly. "More atsanh yeh-hes?"

"Yes...more...ahhhh!" Again she shrieked, twisting onto her 
back between his bent knees as his fingers crawled over her 
stomach, hunting for sensitive spots. 

"If you insist." He prodded under her arms. Every few seconds 
he paused to ask, "Stop?"

"More, peese," she begged, going so far as to lift her arms to 
give him better access to her ribs.

After another minute or two, she was once again gasping for 
breath, so he announced, "That's it." She was flushed from 
exertion. Her small chest heaved beneath the loose turtleneck. 
"Enough," he said, up-righting her in his lap.

She straddled his legs, facing him, and gazed up at him with a 
contented and ingenuous expression. For whatever reason she 
trusted him...had trusted him right from the start. Emotion 
welled up in him. Trust was a hard thing for him to give or 
accept, and he viewed it as the ultimate compliment. It 
touched him to be on the receiving end of something so 
precious and unexpected. 

He slid his thumb gently over the faint bruise below her right 
eye where Dzeh had struck her.

"My father hit me once...like this...in the eye," he said.

Gini didn't reply to his soft-spoken confession, but Scully 
stopped working the beaver hide to stare at him. "When?" she 
asked.

"The day Sam fell off our backyard swing and broke her 
collarbone. I was ten." He recalled the pain of his father's 
hand connecting with his right cheek, followed by his mother's 
frantic screams and Bill Mulder's hoarse accusation, "Damn it, 
son, you were supposed to be watching her!"

His father's disappointment had hurt more than the slap. 

"Surprised the shit out of me," he admitted. "I think it 
surprised Dad, too. He'd never hit me before. Never did again 
either."

"Prized shhhit outta me," Gini repeated.

"Oops. Guess I need to start watching what I say."

He decided to distract her from his indiscretion by fishing 
into his jacket pockets. Pulling out his handkerchief with one 
hand and his picture ID with the other, he passed them to her. 

"Hangertiff. Badj," she said.  

Scully resumed her work on the hide. "She's not afraid of him, 
you know."

Mulder guessed "him" referred to Dzeh. "How do you know that?"

Gini set the items in her lap and reached back into his 
pockets to look for more.

"She told me."

"Then why does she act so afraid of him?"

Out came his car rental receipt and his keys. The items were 
quickly laid aside.

"He's planning to mate her," Scully said.

Mate her? What the fuck? Blood pounded in Mulder's ears as he 
pictured Dzeh forcing himself on the little girl. Gini sat 
contentedly in his lap, digging into his pockets for hidden 
treasures. "Jesus, she's just a kid! And isn't she his 
daughter or sister or something?"

To his surprise, Scully chuckled. "He doesn't want to mate 
*with* her. He wants to marry her off...for lack of a better 
expression."

Oh. The heat in Mulder's face cooled. 

Gini found his binoculars and, twisting at the waist, used 
them to inspect the valley. 

"She's too young to get married...isn't she?" He thought back 
to the wedding ceremony in the village, the night all hell 
broke loose. The bride and groom hadn't been much older than 
Gini. Ten or eleven maybe. Twelve at the most. 

Gini pointed to the valley and began listing aloud the things 
she was seeing through the binoculars. "Trwee. Boord. Kiffs."     

"It's not the idea of marriage that scares her, as much as the 
wedding night," Scully said. "Apparently she thinks men are 
hung like horses...literally."

"How the hell did she get that idea? I mean..." -- he lowered 
his voice -- "Can she really be that naive? Her people all 
sleep in the same hut. Surely she must have seen...or at least 
heard..."

"She's a kid." Scully shrugged. "She made it up, based on bits 
and pieces of things she's seen."

He didn't even want to imagine what those might be.

Gini set down the binoculars and was once more digging into 
Mulder's pockets. She withdrew his cell phone. "Ffffone," she 
said, and then imitated one of its musical rings.

Mulder took the phone and showed her again how to turn it on. 
"You set her straight, right?" he asked Scully.

"Not really. I mean, I tried, but the language barrier made 
explaining the facts of life more complex than you'd imagine. 
Feel free to give it a try yourself, if you'd like."

"Uh...no thanks. Sounds like a mother-daughter moment, not 
something I'd be very good at."

At the push of a button the phone played a few bars of "Yankee 
Doodle," delighting Gini and making her laugh. "Me do," she 
said, taking the phone from his hand.  

He watched her play, relieved that her objection to going home 
wasn't connected directly to Dzeh. Given more time they could 
learn her language or teach her enough of theirs to explain 
about the birds and bees, allay her fears, and take her back 
to her family without initiating another temper tantrum. 

The rain was letting up. He took the phone from her, turned it 
off and returned it, along with the other items, to his 
pockets. Then he lifted her into his arms and rose to his 
feet. "Whaddaya say we build that smokehouse Day-nuh asked 
for, huh, pipsqueak?"

Gini nodded, although it was doubtful she really understood 
everything he'd said.

"I'll have dinner ready by the time you get back," Scully 
said. 

"She's so good to us," he whispered into Gini's ear before 
bending to give Scully a quick kiss and heading out of the 
cave.     

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
8:20 AM

No matter how many times Jason saw the aircraft he was always 
impressed by its sleek design and alien technology. It 
surpassed anything on the planet, in speed, maneuverability, 
stealth...and so much more. 

He crossed the hangar with Lisa following close at his heels, 
their shoes clacking loudly against the concrete floor as they 
headed for a set of portable metal stairs that led up to the 
cockpit. He paused at the base of the steps to look up at the 
imposing ship. Jet black and shaped like a shallow pyramid, 
its triangular sides extended thirty-two feet to its snubbed 
tail. It cast a chilly shadow over them, dwarfing the hangar 
and making Jason feel insignificant. 

The craft's power and potential were almost unimaginable...at 
least for anyone but him. He'd seen it in action, not just 
last night, but many times in the future. When his older self 
died last year in the fire at MIT, Jason suddenly found 
himself in 2038, where he learned how to open doors through 
time. He'd used the technology to travel back to 1998. Four 
decades passed in a nanosecond. The experience had been 
unnerving, but survivable.

It turned out that his freezing compound was unnecessary for 
time travel, and no one had been more surprised by this 
discovery than him. Advances in technology had rendered 
cryogenic sleep obsolete. Journeying from one time to another 
became an everyday occurrence, as uncomplicated as stepping 
over a crack in the sidewalk. 

And therein lay its danger. 

It was too easy. The world became obsessed with seeing and 
experiencing the future. People wanted to learn how they would 
live...and die. Soon every event of their lives was 
anticipated, expected, and dreaded. Who could have predicted 
the horror of knowing every single moment of one's life, or 
the lengths to which desperate people would go to try to alter 
their futures, even in some small, but impossible way? They 
found themselves living out a nightmare, the same nightmare, 
over and over again. Even the most pleasant experiences were 
unbearable after constant repetition.

The world became a violent, intolerable place, which was why 
Jason returned to 1998. He intended to thwart his own 
experiments and, with them, the development of time 
travel...just as his older self had tried to do. 

In order to succeed now, he needed to return Agents Mulder and 
Scully to the present where they belonged, before their 
existence in the past disintegrated the continuum to the point 
of chaos.

He climbed the steps to the cockpit with determination. Lisa 
followed him up and inside.   

"You weren't serious back there, were you?" she asked, 
settling into the copilot's seat. 

He powered up the craft, causing the instrument panels to cast 
a greenish glow over their skin. Methodically he went through 
the checks, flicking switches and noting the readouts. 
"Serious about what?"

"Contacting Agent Mulder by phone. That can't be 
possible...can it?" 

Lisa could be brilliant at times, but she rarely let herself 
think outside the box.

"It's possible."

"How?"

He tried to tamp down his impatience. They didn't have time 
for lengthy explanations, but he needed her help and didn't 
want to alienate her by showing his annoyance. "Look beyond 
the technology's current practical application," he urged her, 
while he listened for the familiar, low hum of the engines. 
Their telltale vibration tickled the soles of his feet and the 
palms of his hands. "Consider the theoretical potential. All 
the necessary components are there."

"But the physics--"

"There are no physical barriers," he snapped, sounding more 
brusque than he intended. He took a slow, deep breath and 
turned to face her. "Listen, in October, 2001, a team of 
scientists in Wales is going to prove physicist Dr. Henning 
Voss's theory of synchronization by successfully transmitting 
a continuous data signal via a fluctuating laser beam. Their 
data will be recorded on a receiver nanoseconds before the 
transmitter actually sends it."

"That's...incredible, but I don't see what it has to do with 
us." Frustration creased her brow. "I'm not following you, 
Jason."

Of course she wasn't. How could she? She didn't have the 
advantage he had: a front row seat to the future. 

He reached out and caressed her cheek. Her worry seemed to 
vanish at his touch. "At it's most basic, the scientists will 
send electronic data through time. It was -- or will be -- the 
first step in developing a workable process for human time 
travel." He waved at the blinking instrument panel. "We're 
going to do something similar here, only our conduit will be a 
hole through the continuum, created by this ship's warp drive 
instead of a fluctuating laser beam. The agents' cell phones 
will be the receivers."

"Because...they can store simple electronic data...emails, 
digital voice messages."

Yes, she was getting it.

"That's right, and we can use the phone's digital readout to 
alert them. We need to let them know we're going to bring them 
back, so that they'll be ready, waiting for us. We may get 
only one shot and we can't afford to mess up."

She shook her head. "But how are we going to pinpoint their 
location or zero in on the specific frequency of their 
phones?"

Again she was letting herself get bogged down by technical 
details. 

"Don't worry. We'll find the frequency. And our message will 
leave a clear trail, giving us their physical location. I 
already know where they are chronologically."

"In the 1930s, like Colonel Beck thinks?"

"Not exactly." Jason returned his attention to the controls. 

"What do you mean not exactly?"

The footprints in the computer model had led to a rather 
surprising conclusion. "They, uh...they went back a little 
further than that."

"How far back?"

"More like...twelve thousand years."


Lisa gasped at this revelation. "Oh my God."

He'd rerun the model half a dozen times and it always came out 
the same; the agents were definitely in the Pleistocene. 

"The model showed something else, Lisa, something I hadn't 
anticipated. It might complicate things."

"What did you find?"

"The agents appear to have fallen into some sort of 
accelerated time stream."

"Meaning...?"

"Time is passing more rapidly for them than it is for us. As 
far as I can tell, an hour here is equal to about a week 
there. To be more precise, it's equal to one week, twenty-six 
minutes and 16.52 seconds. By noontime today, when we're just 
starting to get hungry for lunch, they'll have already eaten 
their way through a month of lunches. The differential is 
going to make their recovery risky."

"More like impossible."

"Maybe." 

But they had to try. The anomalous distortions to the 
continuum were growing exponentially. If they didn't 
successfully return the agents to the present before nightfall 
today, it would be too late...for everyone.   

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
AUGUST 3
10:19 PM

If Mulder had been keeping a journal, every entry would read 
almost the same for the days between July 1 and August 3:

//Today was another good day. Plenty to eat. No injuries or 
illness. Gini taught us the tribe words for onion and weasel, 
"tlo-chin" and "gloe-ih" respectively. I taught her the words 
"birds" and "bees," but the concept was still lost on her. 
Could be my delivery. Whatever. She showed Scully where to 
find pine nuts (pine cones...who knew?) and sunflower 
seeds...halle-fucking-lujah...although they aren't ready to be 
harvested. Scully still hasn't started her period, but I'm not 
worried...not too much anyway. Neither of us has experienced 
another time anomaly or vision, which is good, I guess. Scully 
asked again when we are going to take Gini back to her family, 
and as usual I dodged the issue by saying maybe tomorrow.//

Every night after Scully and Gini fell asleep Mulder laid 
awake on the furs and wrote a new passage in his imaginary 
diary, listing the events of the day, cataloguing edible 
plants, and outlining the instructions for things like tanning 
hides and making pemmican...necessary survival skills for when 
Gini finally did go back to her people, and they were once 
again living on their own. In his head he referred to his 
fantasy journal as the Mastodon Diaries, and he fell asleep 
each night hoping that the next day's entry would be its last: 
"Going home tomorrow." 

Most days were spent on matters of simple survival, like 
building the smokehouse. He'd started that particular project 
by dismantling the top-most section of the beaver dam, 
selecting sturdy timbers, free of branches and not too heavy 
to haul. Gini and Scully helped him by swimming the logs to 
the shore. Together they transferred four-dozen stout timbers 
to a relatively flat location between the river and the cave. 
Over the course of the next several days, he built a stone 
fire pit and then positioned and stacked the logs around it, 
creating a three-sided shelter with a low-pitched roof. The 
beaver meat was spoiled by the time the smokehouse was 
completed, but he soon speared a pronghorn, which provided 
enough meat for curing.

After finishing the smokehouse, they began a few home 
improvements inside the cave. Gini and Scully wove six large 
sleeping mats out of cattail reeds. Joining three pairs of 
mats along their edges, they created "envelopes," which they 
stuffed with cattail down, dried grass and pine needles, 
before weaving them shut. With the sleeping skins thrown on 
top, these homemade mattresses became moderately comfortable 
beds.

While they were working on the mats, Mulder constructed a 
windbreak of stacked stone inside the cave. It stood about 
four feet high and stretched halfway across the entrance, 
cutting off the worst of the incoming drafts, while allowing 
smoke from the hearth to drift up and out.

Staying warm was a growing concern as autumn approached. Even 
though it was only the beginning of August, temperatures at 
night were already chilly. Twice they'd woken to frost in the 
valley and ice on the edge of the river. Mulder worried about 
snow and the possibility of spending an entire Ice Age winter 
in the valley. They had a decent beaver blanket, but it wasn't 
going to be enough. Gini and Scully were working as fast as 
they could on tanning several pronghorn hides, a deerskin and 
at least a dozen rabbit furs, but they wouldn't have them made 
into winter clothes for quite some time.

Mulder's own lack of wilderness skills continually worried 
him. He'd learned a lot from Gini, and was getting better at 
hunting and fishing, but it seemed he no sooner succeeded at 
spearing a deer or snaring a rabbit when he'd do something 
really stupid that put them all at risk.

Like the time he'd left a butchered carcass lying out on the 
grass beside the river. The remains attracted scavengers, 
including a flock of nasty-looking buzzards and a hungry 
saber-toothed tiger. The cat came nosing around while Mulder 
and Gini were swimming.

They were playing a game in which Gini used Mulder's 
interlocked hands as a diving platform. Standing chest deep in 
water, he had just tossed her up and backwards, and was 
waiting for her to resurface, when he heard the cat growl. The 
sound prickled his scalp, reminding him of his and Scully's 
first night in the Pleistocene.

Gini popped up a couple of yards away, startling him. "Muhl-
dar, do agai--"

"Shhh. Come'ere. Quick!" He motioned her toward him.

Her wide smile vanished and her eyes rounded when the cat 
growled again. Immediately she swam to him and he scooped her 
up in his arms. Edging them toward the opposite shore, he 
tried not to splash or make any sudden movements that would 
draw the tiger's attention. All the while he wondered where 
Scully was. She'd headed upstream about an hour earlier to 
collect greens for their dinner and it was possible she was 
already on her way back. They had to stop her.

Gini clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, eyes glued 
to the cat. "Tiger no like swim," she whispered.

"Good." He kept his voice low, talking directly into her ear.

"Eat bones. Go away."

"That's what I'm hoping."

He tried to still the trembling of his limbs as he backed 
cautiously through a stand of reeds on the far shore. The 
tiger ignored them, content to feast on the carcass. 

"Where Day-nuh?" Gini asked.

"That's what we're going to find out."

Once on dry land, he jogged upstream, carrying Gini. They 
found Scully more than a quarter mile north of the swimming 
hole. She was collecting shellfish, unaware of any danger. He 
waved and waded to her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, obviously surprised to 
see them.

"Big tiger!" Gini said as soon as she was put down, naked and 
shivering. She mimicked its fearsome growl. "Eat bones. Maybe 
eat Muhl-dar and Gini, too!"

"Tiger?" Clearly shocked, Scully looked to Mulder for an 
explanation.

"It wasn't that big, really. Just a kitten. We weren't in any 
danger."

"Then it's okay to go back?"

"Yyyyeah-nooo. I wouldn't."

They waited until nearly sunset before returning to the cave. 
The tiger was gone when they arrived, so Mulder dragged what 
was left of the carcass downstream and dumped it beneath the 
falls at the dam. 

Lesson learned.  

Thankfully most days weren't fraught with danger or filled 
with hard work. One lazy afternoon Mulder built Gini a 
makeshift teeter-totter, using a flat, bark-free timber left 
over from the smokehouse project. He balanced it across the 
driftwood log where she'd scraped the beaver pelt a couple of 
weeks before. 

At first she was apprehensive about the seesaw. She perched 
nervously on one end, hands gripping the log, gasping whenever 
Mulder pumped them up and down.

He was sitting close to the center of the timber to balance 
their disparate weights. "Too fast?"

"N-no." She shook her head, but her eyes rounded in startled 
surprise when he suddenly leaned back, shooting her skyward. 
"Yes!" she shrieked.

Her shout brought Scully out of the cave.

"Can three ride?" she asked when she saw what they were doing.

"Sure. Get on." 

Mulder lowered Gini's end so that Scully could scoot on behind 
her. Then he adjusted his own position to counterbalance their 
combined weights.

"Now we're cookin'." He pushed away from the ground.  

Gini must have felt safer tucked between Scully's legs because 
she soon lost her nervous expression and began to smile. 

"Faster!" Mulder said, rocketing them up.

"Oh!" Now it was Scully's turn to gasp. She burst out laughing 
at her unfounded fears. 

Gini laughed, too, and was soon urging Mulder "Go fastoo, go 
fastoo!" They rode for a quarter of an hour, when Gini 
suddenly demanded, "Sit Muhl-dar now."

Mulder leveled the board and stood stiff-legged, while Gini 
hopped off, ran to his side and climbed on in front of him. 

"Push up, pipsqueak." He nudged her toward Scully. "We're too 
heavy on this end."

After a few minor adjustments they found the perfect balance, 
and began a swift, stomach-churning ride. Gini squealed when 
Mulder propelled their end suddenly upward. Scully squealed, 
too, much to Mulder's delight, as she plummeted to the ground.

Perhaps more than any other activity, Mulder enjoyed telling 
bedtime stories after their evening meal. Every night Gini 
begged him to recount the tales of "Eel Tribe." These were 
usually narratives of events from his childhood, mundane for 
the most part, despite his attempts at embellishment. He 
illustrated a few of his stories on the cave wall, next to the 
stickman and stickwoman he'd carved for Scully. 

Sometimes Scully objected to his choice of pictures.

"Do you really think it's wise to show her what a TV set looks 
like?"

"It's not like she's gonna invent one and change the course of 
history after we're gone. I'm not that good an artist."

Gini's favorite stories were about Sam. 

"Tell baby Sam story, peese?" she asked after settling onto 
her sleeping skins for the night.

"You've heard that one at least a million times," he objected. 
Crouching beside her, he drew the beaver-skin blanket up over 
her shoulders.

"Tell again."

He rolled his eyes with exaggerated incredulity. "All right. 
You start me off."

"Once 'pon time..." She snuggled beneath the covers and gave 
him a satisfied smile.

"Once upon a time there was a handsome boy named Fox who lived 
with his mother and father in an old house by the ocean." 

"What 'howz'?" Usually she didn't interrupt, accepting 
whatever he said without comment.

"Uh...it's kinda like a cave."

"Why no say cave?"

"Because a house isn't a cave...exactly."

"What is?"

"It's a shelter made of wood, like our smokehouse, only 
bigger."

She nodded, then asked, "What is 'o-shun'?"

"A very big lake." 

Satisfied with this explanation, she said, "Okay, story go 
like this: one day Fox muht-ter say 'I haff baby today.'"

"That's right." 

He considered taking the story in a different direction this 
time, using it to explain where babies came from. Her grasp of 
English had improved to the point where such a discussion 
would be possible, but he wasn't quite sure how to approach 
the part about men not being hung like horses. So he continued 
the story the same as always, describing how he'd anxiously 
waited five whole days for his mother to return from the 
hospital with his sister Sam. He'd been eager to see the new 
baby, but fearful he might not like her. "What if she turned 
out to be ugly--?"

"Like bug," Gini said.

"Or mean--"

"Like neighbor cat."

"Which once--"

"Scratch Fox thumb so he get stitch."

"And?"

"Medicine needle in butt!" She giggled.

"Who's telling this story?"

Gini smiled shyly. "Muhl-dar tell."

He finished by recounting the wondrous moment when his mother 
and father finally brought Sam home, instructed him to sit on 
the couch and then laid her carefully in his lap.

"Fox love new baby sister," Gini said, sounding as pleased as 
he had felt at the time.

"Yes, he loved his sister very much."

"Happy ever after," she finished for him. 

"More or less."

She surprised him by suddenly sitting up and throwing her arms 
around his neck. "Gini love Muhl-dar," she mumbled against his 
beard.

Tears sprang to his eyes. He folded her in his arms. "I love 
you, too, pipsqueak."

"Mulder..." Scully's tone warned him it was wrong to let the 
girl become too attached to him. He knew he shouldn't 
encourage any sort of emotional bond, but her innocent 
admission had touched his heart. He couldn't help but respond 
with a confession of his own.

Releasing her, he gave Scully a conciliatory shrug. She 
frowned and he knew she wasn't going let it drop.

As soon as Gini was asleep, Scully nodded toward the cave's 
entrance and said, "We need to talk."

Reluctantly he followed her out around the windbreak. She sat 
down beneath the overhang, her feet dangling over the lip. 
Stalling, he bent to collect a few loose stones from the dirt 
floor.

"Sit, Mulder...please." The air was chilly, causing her breath 
to fog. 

He did as she asked. Rattling the stones in his palm like 
dice, he asked, "Am I in trouble?"

"It's been a month."

He tossed one of the pebbles into the shadowed valley. It 
disappeared into the dark, pinging against rocks and 
vegetation as it plummeted to the valley floor. "I know."

"It's time to take her back."

He threw another stone. "We will...soon." 

"Tomorrow."

His shoulders slumped and he let the rest of the stones fall 
to the ground between his knees. "Why tomorrow? There's still 
so much she could teach us that would help us survive after 
she goes back. You know we can't live with the tribe again; 
they'd never go for it. We'll be lucky if they don't kill us 
just for showing up."

"We're using her."

"No, we're not. Not really."

"Yes, we are, and you know it."

He did know it. They were getting far more from her than she 
was getting from them. "I just think we should wait a little 
longer. She's not ready." 

"You mean you're not ready."

"What does that mean?"

"You really don't see it?"

"Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Gini is a substitute, Mulder...for Sam."

He chuffed in disagreement. "That's not true." 

"No?"

"No."

"Then let's pack up our things tomorrow and take her back to 
her family...where she belongs. We have no excuse for keeping 
her here."

"She's not gonna like it."

"Maybe not, but we can explain it to her. She's perfectly 
capable of understanding what we're saying now."

"Fine. *You* explain it."

"I need your cooperation."

"Don't ask me to haul her back against her will."
 
"You know that's not what I'm asking." To his surprise, she 
reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. "It's the 
right thing to do." 

It was the right thing to do...but that didn't make it easy.

"All right. You explain it to her and I promise to go along."

"You won't undermine me?"

Would he be able to go through with it? Even if Gini launched 
into a tearful tirade and begged him not to make her go? He 
gave Scully's hand a squeeze. "I'll do my best."

Later that night after Scully fell asleep, Mulder lay awake on 
the furs beside her, staring up at the cave roof and writing 
another entry in his imaginary diary.

//Today was another good day. Plenty of food. No injuries or 
illness. Gini taught me the tribe words for deer liver and 
purple, which are "be-bih-zihde" and "dinl-chi" respectively. 
I taught her the words "house" and "ocean," but chickened out 
again on the subject of sex. She told me she loves me. Scully 
asked again when we're going to take her back to Turkey Lake, 
and against my better judgment I agreed to go tomorrow.//

*   *   *