Operation: Cloelia

[Azrielle]

Prelude

Trust was not something that came easily. I distrusted everyone. The Social Workers who kept
returning me home. The Constables who had to handcuff me repeatedly so I wouldn't take flight at
the first opportunity. The Elders who blatantly denied such things took place within our
community. Returning me home to my drunk Father, and my Mother who refused to believe what he had
done, repeatedly. Nothing was as it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be safe, protected, it
was like living a horror movie. This was my reality. Welcome to my nightmare.

My name is the only thing about me that my Mother took the time to do right. Cherish Emery
Clearwater. It was the only thing that truly defined who I was. First and foremost, I was a
treasure that my drunken Father tried to hang onto for his own. Secondly, I was a survivor.
Surviving the repeated nights of the smell of bootleg booze that fueled his hunger. At an earlier
time, my Mother was herself a treasure. I was the spitting image of how she was sixteen years
ago. But today she was like most of the things here; disfigured with pen ink tattoos that never
healed properly to begin with. A limp from falling off the roof she had to patch on her own.
Lines on her face from too many lines on a mirror, as she tried to find solace for the mistake
she made to fall hopelessly in love with the wrong man. The one thing I was grateful for though,
was my Mother having had the foresight to protect me from his seed by a surgeon's scalpel. It was
her one redeeming action after so much denial.

It is the ninth time I have been brought back. The ninth time I had fled with what meager amount
of money my Father had in his pants pockets after he had discarded them upon the floor of my
bedroom. Returning had never been my intention, but fate always seemed to intervene against me,
and here I stood once more. This time I had made it on my own. This time I had made it on foot,
with nothing more than the same clothes I was wearing. My collected contraband had been
confiscated when I'd been found. This time I had the experience to make the tenth time permanent.

The only escape I had now, was to retreat into my bedroom which had a new lock. Once again, a
gift of perhaps a degree of truth, that my mother finally accepted the monster inside of the man
she loved. For tonight, there would be no drunken stupor breathing fumes into my face. Tonight
there would be only me, alone in my cell, awaiting a trial that would never come to pass. The
click of my door lock sounded like a rifle shot to my ears.

Alone once more, with my only companion being the memories of seven weeks of the pleasure of
freedom. Seven weeks of the singing of a bow string, the crackle of an almost smokeless fire, and
sleep without the weight of a nightmare to awaken me. Seven weeks of trial and error, to perfect
and master what I needed to learn on my own, from what I had only ever read in a book. Seven
weeks of learning how to read the woods I made into my home. Seven weeks of learning the plants
and rocks and things. Seven weeks of learning to read the wind, and most importantly, to find it
in myself to forgive but not forget what blew me so far away. My most cherished possesions were
now locked firmly in the one place where they could not be taken away, as if the sun shining
through the paneless window frame made it so. I curled up in my closet, amongst the nicotine
stained clothes I had left behind. Sleep was not possible, as I shook like the leaves upon the
tree outside my open window.

“Cherish! it's dinner time!” My Mother's voice called from the kitchen.

I made no attempt to call back, but knew it was better if I responded by removing myself from my
cocoon. To not do so might invite the hand that fed me, to awaken my father from his bottle, and
that was not something I was prepared to allow to happen. It was always safer for both my mother
and I. It was one thing that did indeed keep the two of us together. My father's gentle snoring
always meant peace inside the house he had built with my Uncles and Grandfather.

“Cherish, come and eat.” My Mother spoke softly with a hint of glimmer in her smile.

We sat together, at the table my Grandfather had made for my Grandmother, with three places set.
Another seven chairs sat empty, four once belonging to my Uncles before they had built their own homes,
before they prospered on their own, and the remaining three along with my Mother's having been where my
Aunts and my Grandmother had all sat in silence, as we did now. What was now my Father's chair
had been my Grandfather's. What was once his place was now mine. It was as if a circle had been
drawn and I was now caught within its snare. A snare I had luck enough to have escaped from nine
times before today.

There was once a time when I was akin to my name, and cherished the time I spent curled up in his
arms, with the sweet smell of honey suckle and his pipe tobacco made it the safest place in the
world to be. That was before my world came crashing down, before I learned the pain of a belt,
before I had the wisdom to know the evil deeds my father was capable of. My Mother and I ate in
silence, being careful to be as quiet as the mice living in the wall behind the pantry. The only
sound, snored loudly from the living room where my Father was blissfully encased within a fog of
bootleg booze.

When I finished the potluck of stewed elk, boiled potatoes, and sweet corn, I excused my self
with a blink within a silent stare. It was all I could muster, as the silence was safer than
awaking the slumbering beast. As I rose to remove my plate, I found two things I would need to
escape again. Twelve neatly aranged but razor sharp arrow heads, and my bowstring.

“Thank you.” I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

My Mother shrank into silence, but her eyes told me more than I really ever wanted to know. I now
knew she had found the end of her rope. I now knew that malice lived within her. I also knew that
she would refuse to escape with me. This was her place, this was what she wanted more than
anything, but I also knew it would be without the beat of her heart. She would take that with her
once I had fled once more. I would follow my pattern that she had discovered. Ten days from now,
that was what she expected of me to do. Ten days from now, she was going to end the silence and
she wanted me to be well on my way before the silence broke. Ten days would be all I would have
to buy, sell, trade and steal that which I would need to escape. In her silence, I now noticed
the new scar my last escape had brough down upon her. It was half hidden behind her long raven
hair that matched my own. The silence of my plate in the sink echoed voices of the trust she now
placed upon me.

Carefully, so as to not slice my fingers upon their steel edges, I slipped my belt and hid the
arrowheads inside the slender pockets I had made for my last escape. The bowstring fed silently
through the equally slender loops that would hide them until I had made my next bow. Around my
slender waist once more, they were safe from being discovered. This time, my Mother wrapped her
hand in mine as I kissed her cheek. Silent tears sprank from both our eyes as I exited the
kitchen and fled through the mudroom at the back of the house. My Grandfather's old hunting
jacket, soft and supple as the day he stitched it, still hinting of honey suckle and pipe tobacco
was now mine, this time I would not leave it behind. This time I would take with me from this
house of horrors, the one thing that reminded me of the happiness that once filled this house.
The memory of the man that made it a home with with his gentle voice. The memories of my
childhood, before it became as broken as my hymen had become. I fled into the decending darkness
to begin once again my ritual. Ten days will be all that I would have, and no more. Ten days to
once again do what needed to be done, to survive.

[Azrielle]

Chapter 1 – Escape

Reading from the map in my mind, I watched the search and rescue helicopters that circled above, kilometers away to the south. They were still looking for me. This time I had chosen to be smarter than the last time and hid in plain sight. This time they would not be finding my camp beacuse I didn't have one. The rain from three days ago had blissfully erased any trace of my escape. Four days ago, my Mother was arrested. That was what I heard on the radio, saw splashed across the newspapers, and taked about openly by almost everyone who passed within my earshot. My Mother's parting gift to me that tenth and final morning, had been the title deed to my Grandfather's Cabin, and the six hundred forty acres of forest that surrounded it. No one had even noticed I was gone until the Social Workers showed up. They set the dogs on me, but it was already too late. I had vanished.

My mind wandered back to my Mother's arrest. The newspapers had reported it as a straight out domestic dispute, but I knew better. It was a classic case of burning bed syndrome, no more, no less. My Mother had finally made up her mind that she couldn't live with him, but could not live without him either. The newspapers had reported that she's already tried and failed to take her own life. This was perhaps what she truely wanted me to escape from this time. To not have to bear witness either for or against her, while lawyers spewed words in a tangled web of what it must have been like to live in that house. The last time I had spoken the truths, no one believed me, or had chosen to just simiply deny it. My body was the ultimate truth to the lies, but being sixteen, even the Social Workers believed my Father's lies that I was a promiscous teenager. To them, being a sixteen year old runaway, always meant there was a boy involved.

For my age, I was average in height being one hundreed sixty seven centimeters tall, but still no where as tall as my Grandmother. To her final day, she never let me forget that the women of our family were always tall. She stretched a measuring tape to one hundred seventy seven centimeters. She always told me, that like the wind, our roots were what kept us from falling over. I tipped the scales at a mere fifty-two kilograms. The slight swell of my chest and narrow hips made me look like more of a boy than a girl, but my face always told them I was female. My only guess is that I must be a late bloomer, and I was starting to finally bloom.

The last time I had escaped, I was almost 160 kilometers into the shield. I moved North by North-east along the line of the big lake we called gitchigoome, Everyone else called it Superior. I had been stupid, as the search and rescue helicopters were equipped with the latest in search gear which included heat signature detectors. This time, I carefully hid myself within the hunting cabin beside the great lake, barely two days away from home on foot, but still far enough away that no one would even think of looking for me in the one place that had long been fogotten. There was no electricity here, but the cabin did have running water, even if the only temperature was stone cold. The drains emptied into an underground cistern that slowly bled the water back into the lake. The only thing I had to remember was add powdered lime to my bathwater once a week to aid in decomposing the matural wastes, and to gently clean the old pipes.

The indoor bathroom was a simple marvel of engineering genious that sparkled beneath the layers of grime I found beneath it all. The kitchen was simple, with a heavy stone chimney and equally heavy stone back heat shield that protected the cabin from having the cast iron wood stove from igniting the old timbers. The only thing I had to do was repair a few cedar shingles that had broken loose from the years of neglected occupancy. Unlike my mother, I easily scaled the gently sloping roof, and returned to the ground unscathed. A fresh coating of pine sap collected in one of the only usable wooden buckets I found in the woodshed became my seat today as I continued to watch the helicopters circling like crows.

“I need to tap another tree.” I spoke aloud to myself.

Hearing my own voice was something I had become accustomed to. To think aloud my thoughts let me somehow remember I was a survivor. But I was more than just that, I was Ojibwe, descended from the great tribes of the Chippewa. My Grandmother staunchly proud of who we were and what the land meant to us. More than twenty generations before her made me smile as I stood and stretched my legs, before heading back into the woods to tap another pine. Making the old hunting cabin presentable again was going to be a task that would take me some time, but it was sturdy, weathered the elements and provided me with shelter.

Tapping the trees was something my Grandfather had taught me. Maples made a great treat when the sap was collected then boiled down, but he also taught me that other trees were also useful too. The pine sap was capable of making almost anything water proof, and judging by how sticky it was, it also made a great glue when boiled down. Hardened pine sap was tough as nails, and also kept ice from taking hold and cracking wood. It was probably why the roof on the cabin was still close to perfection even after more than ten years of no one being around to look after it.

The cabin was simple in both its design and construction. It had been built on a low stone foundation, with the floor barely a foot off the ground. That space above the ground had been so well sealed against the elements that even the most determined rodent wasn't going to be making it into a home. The pine sap that coated the outside planks, kept the bugs from finding a way into the sawdust between the inside and outside walls. The clay bricks that made up the chimney were made in an old kiln that still stood, half hidden by a growth of new trees around it. The kiln could easily serve as an oven if I didn't want the inside of the cabin to be hotter than outside as the summer sun could easily reach thirty degrees celcius by late afternoon, but it was the humidity that really made it feel hot. The Cabin itself was easily sixteen meters across the front and easily double that pushing tinto the woods behind it. Inside, is was spacious with no interior walls, just six support pillars that held up both the roof and an attic of sorts, that was just used as storage space. The fireplace was dead center of the Cabin and not only provided light, if a well stoked fire was in it, but vented the smoke from the heavy iron wood stove that provided the only other source of heat.

My first day at the cabin had been taken with doing my very best to clean up what the weather and a few animals had managed to break. One broken shutter, and the window it broke through, spoke volumes about the craftsmanship that had been taken in its construction. A broken window I could manage to live with, but would need to be replaced before the winds of November came crashing. The rotting wood pile wouldn't even last a month without as much heat as the woodstove could provide to keep the pipes from freezing. Probably one reason why the well was dug under the cabin. Another reason was maybe to keep the vermin and bugs from finding it too. I hated bugs.

So, here I was, the second day of my survival, and coated with enough pine sap to glue me to just about anything I came into contact with when I noticed the wildlife. I would be needing to make myself another bow soon and a quiver of arrows too. There was enough game from rabbits and squirrels to keep me fed, once the tinned food I had mannaged to steal from the pantry was gone, but for now there was work that needed to be done and it gave me respite from the helicopters, as the sound of their whirling blades reminded me of where they were.

My supplies included two changes of clothes, extra socks and underwear, the tinned food, water proof matches, and my belt. The bow string and precious arrow heads safely around my waist that would remain where they were until I needed to use them. The money my Mother had pressed into my hand before she bade me to run, had bought me a knife. The one thing that I would need. The blade was sturdy, the handle was the perfect size for my hand, and it was in the sheath on my belt. Around my neck was a compass the size of a large locket. If I ever became lost all I would have to do is travel South until I hit the shore of gitchegoomi, then remember if I was East or West of where the cabin was. The one thing that I took the time to carefully put away was my Grandfather's old hunting jacket. That I would be needing to keep safe until the temperature dictated I should be wearing it.

For today, I was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. On my feet were my boots, that I had made during my last escape. I'd been smart to make them almost mid calf high to protect my legs from the underbrush that would need to be cleared from the overgrown paths. But for now, they were perfect for what I needed. With my forearm, I brushed the hair from my face that the wind had blown into my eyes. I didn't dare use my fingers, as the pine sap would not be forgiving in the least.

[Azrielle]

“One more bucket, and that should be enough.” I stated to hear my own voice.

“One more bucket of what?” I heard a voice answer me.

I spun myself about with my hand finding my knife in its sheath. This was now trouble with a capital T. My reaction caught my uninvited visitor completely by surprise, and he held up open hands to show me he meant no harm.

“Sorry if I startled you, Cherish.” He spoke.

I was at a disadvantage and I did not like the feeling. He knew me, but I didn't know him. Before me stood a Ranger, although you wouldn't have known it by his clothes. The Cabin was not more than a few hours by quad, and a few more hours than that on horseback. I surmised it was the latter that had brought him here as I had heard nothing that even resembled the sound of an engine. My heart raced, not knowing if the Ranger was going to report me, or not. I deeply hoped it was not, but that might be asking too much.

“The last time I saw you, you were a wisp of gristle and bones.” He stated. My hand started to relax a little against the handle of my knife, but I neither let go of it, nor unsheathed it either. His face I remembered, his name I could not.

“Your Grandfather had asked me to keep an eye on the place before he passed, but I never thought I'd ever find anyone, let alone you here.” He spoke. His name still escaped me, and he seemed to be noticing my apprehension.

“Hey, Cherish… It's me, Stephan.” He finally introduced himself. “Stephan Boudry… you remember me, don't you?”

The last ten years had been kind to him, but perhaps not as kind as they should have. He still towered over me at one hundred ninety five centimeters, and a little more round in the middle than I remembered, but he still had that brilliant smile and a sparkle in his eyes that told me he was as much at home in the woods as I was.

“You still riding that glue factory?” I answered him back.

I very much doubted he was, as that horse was probably the meanest thing to walk on four hooves, and as equally stupid, except when it came to snakes when that old mare would run in the opposite direction faster than wildfire.

“Nope, had to put her out to pasture after your Grandfather passed.” Stephan answered.

“You know everyone is looking for me, don't you?” I mentioned.

“Gee, good thing I found you instead of them assholes.” Stephan retorted with a wink.

I tried to let my hand slip from my knife handle, but I had such a tight grip on it before I relaxed that I had no choice but to unsheath it. Prying it from the pine sap was not going to be fun either.

“Got any saddle soap?” I asked ardently.

“Of course.” He replied. “Get that thing off your hand before you cut yourself.”

From within the folds of numerous pockets on his old duster, a tin of saddle soap appeared in his hand and he smeared a generous amount of it on my open hand. In less than a minute, my knife was free and my hands were squeeky clean. My knife was back in the sheath before I rubbed out the last of the pine sap and saddle soap onto the ground. It was only then that I gave him a huge hug.

“Hey, don't break an old man's bones, Cherish.' He half laughed.

“Oops, guess I forgot you never liked hugs.” I chirpped back at him, but still didn't let go.

Stephan just smiled back at me like a younger version of Sam Elliot. His gentle smile and softspoken demeanor always made me feel safe, just like being with my Grandfather, only much easier to look at. From his hip, hung his pistol, an antique colt peacemaker. His stetson looked as I had last seen him, riding away from me that last summer ten years ago. I suspected his boots were even the same ones, though probably had seen a cobbler or two in between now and then for new soles.

“What brings you here now, Cherish?” Stephan asked before he gave a quick low pitch whistle.

“Hiding out.” I quipped back.

Following his whistle, I heard the distinct trod of shod hooves on the only trail leading away from the cabin. Into the clearing trotted not one, but two mares. The first one, with his aged, but still serviceable saddle, and the second laden with enough stores to last anyone two months in the shield. Both mares were the same age. I had no problem seeing that, and probably from the same sire too, although highly doubtful from the same mare.

“Cherish, I'd like you to meet my team. Buck and Dollar.” Stephan stated.

At the sound of both their names, their ears perked up and shot forward. Buck was a deep chestnut colour with strong looking lines to her. Dollar was equally as impressive, but really not that easy to see with the burden cinched to her.

“I had the notion you might hold up here for a spell this time.” Stephan spoke.

“And just how many times might that be?” I accused him right back.

“Whoa there, Cherish. I ain't the enemy.” He retorted. “Don't you be thinking for one minute, I won't tan your ass for being sassy.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to be a bitch, but it sometimes comes out that way.” I answered.

“… and don't you be cussin, neither. Your Grandfather would tan your ass himself.” Stephan mentioned.

“Yea, not fitting to be cussin, when it isn't needed to be.” I answered back. “Well, come on… no sense in not staying a spell, since you're already here.”

“Nope, that'd be just plain rude not to.” Stephan spoke through his heavy moustache.

It took about as long to unpack both horses, and give them both a feed bag as it did to get the old hand pump working again on the water trough. By that time I had almost another full bucket of pine sap to pour onto the roof of the cabin. This time I made sure both my hands were relatively free of too much pine sap when I scuttled off the roof and back onto the ground.

“Your Grandfather be mighty proud you remembered at least some of what he taught you.” Stephan noted.

“Yea, like where he hid his pipe tobacco.” I quipped. “It's going to be aged, but you know how he cured it.”

“Aye, no better smoke in these parts… even if it is ten years old.” Stephan chortled.

[Azrielle]

Stephan opened the door to the cabin, and not unlike the real gentleman he was beneath that scruffy exterior, he held the door open for me. The second best thing I knew to scrub off pine sap was still a bar of soap and cold water. The first was still saddle soap, but such a waste of it. Washing my hands always takes what appears to be forever when you have hair in your face from the gentle breaze wafting through the broken window, but I managed with only a few curses under my breath and one playful swat on my backside. Finding my Grandfather's tobacco stash took me a whole lot less time than that, with it being in the first and last place I looked, inside the false bottom of the desk drawer. I didn't get a swat for it, but instead got a very grateful hug as Stephan filled a bowl from the previously sealed oilskin pouch.

“Ten years old and still fresh.” Stephan noted as he struck his first match. “I never could find it, and its been right under my nose the whole time.”

“That's because you weren't the one who hid it in the first place.” I giggled.

“Nope, better that I didn't find it, or there'd be none left to enjoy today.” Stephan replied with his match having fully lit the bowl.

The rich smell of my Grandfather's pipe tobacco brought with it a flood of happy memories, and an equal amount of sorrow that tears would never give solace. Here in this place, it gave it life once again. Gave me hope that my survival could be gained, if only it was for the amount of time it took for the bowl to be smoked. He sat in what was his chair in the cabin. What was my Grandfather's chair ten years ago, was now mine to take and what was once mine, could be left for the little girl wearing her hair in twin braids. Her ghost had fled to the same place my Grandfather now rested, within the memories that were synonymous with my name. Outside the sound
of the search and rescue helicopters snapped my mind back to the present as brutally as the first time my Father had taken a belt to me for having broken a bottle of his bootleg. The trip into the past became today once again.

“Them search people are not going to give up when your trust fund has a big pile of money still in it.” Stephan spoke while blowing smoke rings into the air.

“Well, I hate to disappoint the leaches, but it can sit in the bank for another two years until I feel like claiming it.” I spat back with venom hidden in my voice.

“With you Mother in jail, and your father waiting to be planted, your cousins are no doubt already trying to find a way to be your guardian.” Stephan spoke aloud while exhaling another ring of smoke.

“Never going to happen.” I mentioned.

With the knowledge that the title deed to everything my Grandfather once owned, it was safely hidden in the one place that even fire couldn't touch it. It was hidden inside an oilskin undeneath the woodstove bricks. I'd made sure it was safely hidden before I had spent my first night of freedom in the cabin. I'd also made sure I had signed my name beneath my Grandfather's as the heir. To have left it blank could spell disaster if anyone should be fortunate enough to discover it's hiding place. Aberdare, and its six hundred forty acres of pristine woodland situated on the North shore of gichigoomie was mine and mine alone. My Father had wanted to sell it once, but had been stopped only because my mother had hidden the title deed so carefully and blatantly refused to give up its location was reflected in the equal number of beatings my father inflicted upon her.

“Good girl, Cherish.” Stephan spoke softly as he ringed but another puff of smoke from the softly glowing bowl.

“I'll make us some dinner, Uncle Stephan.” I said with a smile.

The simple nod of his head told me everything I needed to know. The little girl with twin braids may be long gone, but the young woman standing before him was proof that a Clearwater was now home.

“Ah, where are my manners. No doubt I left them in a pile of shit from Buck and Dollar a ways back on the trail up here.” Stephan spoke aloud to his own disgust.

With his pipe in his teeth, he strode across the single room and took his boots off. He placed them neatly on floor next to the deacon's bench. He then unloaded his colt and hung the holster full of ammo in the belt, on the hook that was for it's use. He just as quickly began opening the pack bags that were previously draped over Dollar's back, and began unloading the pack bags onto the kitchen countertop.

“A gift to the house, Ma'am.” Stephan spoke.

“… and I thank you good, sir.” I responded. “But if that Colt is not locked away where it belongs, you'll be doing extra chores.”

Stephan stowed the unloaded revolver in the cubby over the Deacons Bench. Still inside the same cubby was the matching Colt that was once my Grandfather's. Stephan palmed the antique pistol then unwrapped the oilskin it was swaddled inside of.

“Ten years and still clean as a whistle, ready to be loaded again.” Stephan remarked.

“And it will be another ten years before a bullet ever fills even one cylinder.” I remarked.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Stephan stated with a quick wink.

I bussied myself with lighting a fire in the wood stove and putting on a kettle for tea, filled with stone cold water from the hand pump. It took me surprisingly little time with the tinderbox contents lighting so quickly, it almost burned out befor catching the kindling I had deposited next to it in the firebox. The dry wood wouldn't last anymore than maybe an hour, maybe two at the most, before I'd have to retrieve some more from the wood pile outside the eaves. The bucking sound of helicopter blades, sent my heart racing almost instantly, but it was too late to stop the smoke from signaling someone was in the old cabin.

Stephan stepped outside onto the covered porch as the helicopter circled overhead. He waved his hand as if to invite them to tea, but the helicopter quickly moved off, back to the search pattern kilometers away. My pulse slowly returned to normal, but it took a lot longer with the rush of adrenaline in my viens. I was visibly shaken when Stephan stepped back inside the cabin.

“Not to worry, Cherish. I left my trail plan at the station before I left, and the radio on auto-respond. They won't be coming back here anytime soon. In the mean time, you remember that old root cellar?” Stephan spoke softly.

“Yea, I remember it.” I answered back. I also remembered the bugs. Oh, how I hated bugs.

“The nice thing about that new coat of sap you put on the roof is, it'll bake hot in the sun, and hide you from their heat detectors. Smart thing to have done.” Stephan mentioned with a wink.

“But I didn't do it to camoflage myself.” I quipped back. “… Guess everything has more than one use.”

“Aye, that it does, Cherish.” Stephan continued. “When it gets cold out, you can hide in the root cellar if you need to.”

That much was also true. The only way anyone was going to find me in there was if they had ground penetrating radar, and the helicopters thankfully didn't have that.

“So, we got two days to make me a couple of hiding spots?” I asked.

“Hell, you don't need them when you got me running interference for ya.” Stephan quipped. “So long as you remember how to make your Grandfather's smoke to buy my silence.”

“Its a deal.” I quickly answered. That was one thing I did remember how to make.

“So, Miss Clearwater… what are we going to do with you now?” Stephan pondered.

“Shut up and enjoy your pipe, before I hide the stash again.” I joked with a grin.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Stephan chortled with another puff of smoke filling the cabin.

I really did not have an honest answer to his question. The only answer I could muster to myself was to survive, but in reality I needed to find a way to live. To have Retired Sergeant Stephan Boudry come back into my life was no coincidence. It was as if my Grandfather was watching over me and at long last, answering my prayers.

[Azrielle]

Chapter 2 – Secret Information

It was near twighlight's last glimmer that I sat at the desk and opened my journal. As part of my survival, at Stephan's insistence I had agreed to write my thoughts, and my hopes, and my experiences of each and everyday since I had escaped the nightmare that was my reality. The aged oil lamp sitting on the desk now had a new wick and a fresh refill of coal oil in it. It would be the only light to which to write my memories and illuminate the cabin that was now my home. Stephan had kept his promise and stopped by every month with some fresh provisions of salt, lard, sugar and flour, and yesterday he even brought me a newspaper.

The story of my Mother's trial as reported, had centered soley upon the domestic violence she received by my Father's hand. Her Lawyer had skillfully convinced a jury that she suffered from Burning Bed Syndrome and was ultimately unfit to stand trial for murder. My hand wavered and hovered over the blank page of my journal as conflicting thoughts crashed and collided in my head. I neither pittied her or felt remorse for what I helped her do. After I had made my tenth escape, I never even gave it much thought.

I finally decided it was time to confront the monster within me and the hormones that were making me into a young woman.

“Thursday, September 6.” I spoke aloud as I wrote the date.

The summer had passed, my solitude and sanctuary was a home that felt safer to me than the house my Grandfather had built with my Uncles and my father. The cabin was filled with happy memories of a little girl with twin braids and her Grandfather that she absolutely adored. But here now was a young woman of sixteen that shared her body with a monster that remained unbridled and unbroken. A monster that used sex as a weapon to break a cycle of abuse.

“Week twelve…” I spoke.

“Has it really been that long?” I asked myself.

“The monster within me tries to break free and sometimes almost succeeds.” I wrote in my own hand.

“I feel the most vulnerable when I lie awake in bed at night as my fingers walk down my skin.” I added.

It was true, oh was it ever true. I was horny all the time, but the monster within me only ever seemed to be able to break out when I was alone in my bed. I would masturbate myself to a climax almost every night. The only exception being when Mother Nature's curse made me feel too dirty to touch myself, and on a few rare occaisions even that didn't stop the monster. In the last twelve weeks the monster had allowed me to soil the sheets several times while my cycle went ahead like a clock. With each twenty eight days passing, my breasts would swell and become too tender to touch, and seemingly remained that way to swell more when my next cycle approached. I no longer had mounds topped with puffy nipples protruding from my chest. I had small globes of rounded flesh, firm and taught that proudly bounced when I walked. The monster was wanting to be fed, but there was only me.

“I thank my lucky stars that Stephan is a gentleman, and that his visits seem to coincide with my cycle.” I wrote.

This was also true. During the height of the summer's heat, I had begun to prance about naked and free. Exactly three times he had approached the cabin while I was naked, and I was quite certain that one of those times the monster had gotten out on me. I'm pretty sure that even the most chaste gentleman would have gotten a full erection, but he never let on about how my musky scented perfume hung thick in the cabin until it was covered with the smell of a freshly lit bowl of taboacco. My being naked didn't even seem to bother him, but it did seem he waited quite a while before getting out of his saddle on his last visit.

Just his presence seemed to give me the self control to keep the monster reined in during the daytime, but it didn't seem to stop my nipples from poking through even the heaviest sweatshirt I had. Finally I conceeded that my nipples where harmless when encased in a padded bra. But in truth, it was a complete case of denial as I caught him more than once staring at my chest.

“Stephan and I had a good laugh when I caught him staring again. Flashing my boobs at him most certainly didn't hurt either.” I wrote.

This was also true. The giggling fit that followed, seemed to help me to force the monster back inside the cage.

“It took a cold water swim for me to finally stop myself from wanting to masturbate.” I added to my journal.

This was definately true. Thank fully, Stephan wasn't looking when I got out of the lake because my nipples could have poked his eye out if I got too close.

“I have a suspicion my mother got through this time in her life with me inside her belly.” I wrote quickly. “Sex is all I seem to think about.”

Writing ths admission did nothing to stop the monster from making my panties wet, but I did manage to send it back to where it belonged.

“Today I found a path that appears to have not been used in some time. I'm not sure where it leads to, but I'm also pretty sure that there is no one else up here.” I wrote.

This was something to keep in mind. This was my Grandfather's land, and now mine. While I didn't mind visitors, squatters and poachers were not people I wanted around. The squatters would just be a nuisance and the poachers, well they were just plain trouble no matter how you tried to look at it.

I pondered the map pasted onto the wall. The map was as much a part of the cabin as I was. The cabin sat precisely on the 1st acre of the parcel on its south east border. Exactly eighty acres west to the next marker and following parallel lines from the lake shore due North from both markers was another pair of identical markers. The markers were old, that much was true, and to be honest I had only ever in my life seen one of the four. It was the survey marker that sprang up from the ground, but in all honesty it was nothing more than a pile of stones about two feet high topped with a brass weather vane. On top of it was the latitude and longitude of its exact location on the map. The four markers were a mile apart. But why did the map on the wall look so big when I now put it into perspective?

“Tomorrow, I've decided I am going to go for a hike to help me clear my mind and set up a trap line for the winter like Grandfather used to have. I know there are still some old rusty traps in the root cellar. Having some furs to stretch and tan will give me something to keep my fingers busy when the Witch calls out to the sailors from her ice water mansion.” I wrote in my journal.

This was something positive, I was getting bored, and that is maybe why my mind always seemed to be preoccupied with sex. By giving myself something else to think about, maybe the monster would finally be kept at bay long enough for the hormones changing my body to finally begin to subside. I began to make a list of provisions that I could carry easily. I also decided that one day would be more than enough to walk from one marker to the next, and still be back at the cabin in time for dinner. I closed my Journal and hid it where only I would find it again; under the false bottom of the cook book drawer in the kitchen, and set about to arrange everything I would need.

My jeans that I had not worn in weeks went right to the top of the list and I even tried them on to make sure they still fit me. They did, but were just a little snug across my backside than I remembered they were. Not only did I now have boobs, I also had hips, which meant I was gaining an attractive figure while losing my Tom-Boy features.

“Damm Hormones” I giggled.

Next thing was a warm shirt, and of course a fully functional matched pair of cotton undershirt and panties. A pair of cotton socks joined the small pile of clothes. Next came a water canteen and a length of rope, followed by my compass, my knife and my belt. A waterproof pack of matches was more than enough, but I added a piece of flint and steel too, just in case. I added a pedometer I found on a shelf next to the desk, just for good measure to see if the markers were in close proximity to the one mile they were supposed to be.

Next to the door was my bow. I had made it from a piece of fallen maple and had finished it with several layers of old bee's wax I found in the cellar. It was strong and very springy which made it perfect, but cutting the piece I wanted from the log, took me a lot of careful thought to drive the spliting wedges at precisely the right spacing to split the wood. My patience was also rewarded with enough straight lengths to make myself two dozen arrow shafts. Only a dozen I finished with my steel arrow heads, and the other dozen I shaped to deadly points.

I was lucky enough to find myself a raven's nest and managed to set a snare. I harvested enough feathers to make fletchings and fed her until her feathers grew back. Stupid bird didn't have enough sense after that to fly way. A small treat of maple sugar is enough to have her perch on my arm long enough to claim it before she would fly off. Birds are stupid, and I still hate bugs, but the Raven likes to eat them, so it's a win-win. I made a perch for her just outside the kitchen window, and she would peck on the new glass window Stephan brought on his second trip. She would always keep me company while I ate my breakfast before she would go and get herself a mouse for her own. On a few rare occasions she even brought me a squirrel. I guess it was her motherly instinct.

By the next morning I was excited to begin my little adventure. I packed myself a lunch consisting of some trail mix of sweet grains, rasins and nuts generously coated with maple syrup in addition to a small block of maple fudge. I added a small covered tin of rabbit stew left over from my last night's dinner and I even remembered a spoon. lastly, I grabbed what was left of the remaining loaf of bread I had baked. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for a trek to the other three markers. The last thing I decided to take was the small digital camera Stephan had brought for me, as a gift of sorts for the tobacco stashes I kept finding. That man did love a pipe, and I kinda liked it when he would fill the cabin with smoke. It always made me smile and think of happier times.

The sun was slowly starting to break over the treeline when I stepped outside wearing my Grandfather's old hunting jacket with my small backpack over my shoulders, the quiver of arrows strapped to my thigh, my knife on my belt, my boots on my feet. My compass hung around my neck on the sturdy piece of chord it came with. I was ready, but first I wanted to take a picture before I took the first step into my adventure. I wanted to record for posterity that which I had never done before. Before today, the furthest I had ever been away from the cabin into the woods was not more than a couple hundred meters in any direction. The previous nine escape attempts didn't count because I'd been stupid and got caught. I snapped a picture of the small brass plaque on the marker and was careful to include the weathered brass vane on top that included the latitude and longitude. Without so much fanfare, I began walking North with the raven flying above as if keeping watch for me.

[Azrielle]

At the edge of the first acre, which marked the edge of the boundary for the cabin property, I found a round brass tag nailed into a birch tree. Curiously I took a picture of it, before setting my compass bearing to due north once again. I also checked my pedometer. The small line of numbers read precisely sixty nine and one half yards. I was curous now about the brass tag and looked closely at it again. The tag bore nothing more than a series of numbers and three letters and appeared to be quite old. Without anymore thought to it, I began hiking along the due north bearing, but this time some fallen logs and light brush made my hike a little bit harder. I stayed on course and was able to still see the lake to the south when my pedometer clicked to indicate I had hiked another sixty five and one half yards. Curiosity got the better of me at this point, and I checked my compass back bearing. To my surprise, I found another old brass tag nailed to the west face of a tree that fell exactly in line with the first tag, and the marker where I started. Knowing I was one hundred sixty seven centimeters tall. I quickly estimated the distance to be close to a meter off the ground. I took a picture of the second brass tag with numbers and the same three letters.

“F-R-C” I spoke aloud and wondered what the letters meant. Then it hit me like a quick slap in the face.

“Franklin Richard Clearwater” I spoke. But everyone I ever remembered, just called him Dick. On the few rare occasions my Grandmother scolded my Grandfather for spoiling me so badly for being the only granddaughter, his full name came back to me with the sound of her voice.

“Grandfather, you sneaky devil.” I muttered with a giggle.

I fondly remembered the little number games we used to play. That little game was always my favorite time I spent with him and was probably why I always did so well in arithmetic in school. The game was really meant to teach me his coding system, and I remembered the notebook he always kept in the desk, when it wasn't inside his jacket pocket. It was a plain hardcover volume that fit perfectly in the inside pocket of the old jacket I wore. Excitedly, I made a direct hike back to the cabin and the book I was now missing. I now understood completely, the legacy he wanted me to learn, but was too young to understand ten years ago. Knowing exactly where the book was, was not a problem. Keeping my hands from shaking so badly when I opened it was another thing entirely different.

“My Cherish;” I read inside the cover, written in the all too familiar scrawl that was my Grandfather's hand.

“If you are reading this, then my time has passed and I have left you all alone to figure out the clues I have left for you to find. I can only hope the few years of joy you have given me are yours to hold onto. Remember my favorite numbers and how fast you are at adding and subtracting.” I read quickly and felt the tears trying to swallow me whole.

“P.S. – Ration my stash or Stephan will smoke it all.” I read after with a gleam in my eyes.

My Grandfather was a wise man, and he was right. Stephan was smoking all his stash. I held the worn book cover to my chest as a single brass tag clinked onto the floor, bringing me sharply back into the present.

“2-1-U-T-M. 4-5-4-0-B-8-E.” I spoke aloud to myself, reading the tag as I picked it up from the floor of the cabin.

“Where the hell have I seen those numbers before?” I asked myself.

It only took me a moment, and I didn't have to look far as the same numbers were the Universal Traverse Mercator Grid numbers for the map that had been pasted to the wall so many years before.

“Twenty-one, I win. Forty-Five minus Forty equals five. Five plus eight equals thirteen.” I softly spoke to remember his eyes sparkle at me for being so smart.

My first clue would be on the thirteenth tag along the Northing line. Excitedly I rushed back out of the cabin and kept going until I found the thirteenth tag, this one was not nailed to a tree as I expected to find it. This one was tied with wire, neatly spun into a sprial of thirteen turns to the top of an old fencing rod. I added another picture to the twelve tags that preceeded it in the camera's memory card. I also found another spin of wire, as neat as the one holding the brass tag. The tag was in the second hole from the top and the spun wire was in the hole above it. I quickly counted the turns.

“Twenty-one, I win. Twenty five minus thirteen equals twelve.” I rattled like the little girl with twin pigtails, but I became perplexed as there was a piece missing. Then I noticed a single steel hog ring on the seventh hole down from the tag. “Twelve plus seven equals nineteen.”

“Grandfather, I love you.” I wispered into the wind and I set out to find the next five tags.

I had no touble finding them all, and the CLUE tags were mounted on the same steel fencing rod. Inside the camera, I continued to add photographs of each marker tag. In a way it was my way of hiding my grandfather's coding system should anyone besides myself, have even the slightest idea of how to solve it. By mid morning I had traversed the one mile to find the identical pile of stones with the weather vane on top. This weather vane however, was facing the wrong way and seemed to have been done on purpose. What was supposed to be the Northing point was actually facing west.

“Grandfather, you naughty man.” I whispered once again to the wind.

It was pretty simple to figure out when I remembered the upside down and backwards game, which was always another favorite.

“What is north is west, what is west is south, what is south is east and what is east is north.” I spoke softly to myself and remembered what I needed to remember. All along the eastings line, I found each and every tag, though some were pretty difficult to find as ten years of brush and growth did their very best to obscure them. But in the end I found them, and to celebrate my small victory, I ate my lunch on a fallen log close to the North-West marker. It was early afternoon and the sound of a motor in the distance really didn't make my heart pound in my chest like it did twelve weeks ago, or ten, or even five. I glanced at my Pedometer and noticed exctly three thousand eight hundred yards. Knowing one mile was one thousand seven hundred sixty yards, I had hiked an additional two hundred eighty yards. Taking into account one hundred and thirty one yards from the second tag back to the cabin and my subsequent return, that left eighteen yards unaccounted for.

“All my dancing around must be throwing off the pedometer” I spoke to the wind, but I could see eighteen yards error being close. But was it? Something was nagging at me about it. For my next leg I would be travelling a line due south. The mile to the lake was clearly visible, but the shore was hidden by the tall trees both around me and those that were near the shore. On this leg I found all twenty five tags with ease. The rocks seemed to have resisted almost everything before I remembered the forest fire that had taken a run through the area.

“Grandfather, you sneaky devil. I remembered what you taught me.” I whispered to the wind gain.

The upside down and backwards game and with the luck of shadows in the pictures I was clearly able to deduce the direction each tag was facing when I reviewed each and every picture. It wasn't the numbers on the tags that were important, but it was the pattern the twenty five tags fell into, and the pattern was the same in both directions. I sat on the South West marker after taking a picture and took a compass shot down the shoreline. There was a single tree that blocked my view and it gave me hope that I might find at least one tag, with the shoreline erosion that stood between the two markers, and oddly what appeared to be one lone tree. I swallowed the remaining contents of my canteen and started my hike along the shore.

By the time I reached the tree, it was very easy to see why it stood alone. It appeared to be part of an old jetty made of rock that had long since been claimed by both the waves and by the forest. The single tree sprouted from the ground and did not rise straight like a lot of the trees, but instead appeared to be gnarled and twisted in some unnatural way. One large branch facing inland had been cut clean near the trunk, but if you didn't know how trees grew, you would have been hard pressed to even notice it. What remained of the stump of the branch was covered over with new bark and a slightly thinner branch that vered off in slightly the wrong direction. Aound the trunk and it was even harder to find was a single brass tag that had been overgrown with bark. If I dared to sink a tree drill into it, if I even had one with me, I would probably find more than ten closely spaced rings around where the tag was partially obsured. With just a little skill with a knife, I scraped away the bark to be able to get a clear picture of the tag.

“… Tag faces the water, the cut branch faces the land. What are you wanting me to remember, Grandfather?” I asked the gentle wind.

There was no answer. For that answer I would have to look into the past. Doing that was something I really didn't want to be doing right now as it still frieghtened me. Though they were infrequent, and becoming more so, I still had nightmares. Nightmares of the things done to me in the night, by a bootleg fueled hunger. Things I still didn't want to remember, but for some reason the monster within tried to remind me of their existence.

I sat on the long ago abandoned jetty, and stared across the water of gichigoomie. I recalled the stories of the witch below the waves, and her calls to men of the lake, from her icewater mansion. Equally important was the stories of the lady of the lake, with the wind as her wings, she'd save those whose time had not yet come to pass. Somewhere in between, the dark of the depths and the light raining down upon me, were the answers I needed.

I once again took a look at the pictures in the camera. Then it came to me. Like as I was, with my monster within me, the witch and the lady were the same. They both gave and took in perfect harmony; in balance with the land. Neither could exist without the other. They were the oposite sides of a coin. They were night and day. The were neither, nor were they the same.

“Grandfather, you wicked man.” I giggled.

What I needed to learn was nothing more than I had the strength within me to be be what I needed to be, and wanted to become. The discipline I exerted to have made it this far gave me the resolve to move forward. With my heart beating like a hammer, I got up from my perch upon the old jetty and walked away. The cabin was calling to me to come home.

With only a few more outcroppings along the shoreline, I made surprising great time covering the last half mile back to the cabin. To my horror, I found bobbing slightly in the water was a coast guard zodiak with a pair of outboard engines and a man standing nearby. His Canadian Navy crew dungarees told me more than I wanted to know. Someone had found me. When I rushed into the cabin, there was two people inside and my heart fell faster than an acorn from an oak tree.

[Azrielle]

Chapter 3 – Dirty Laundry

My entry into the Cabin seemed to not only announce my presence, but alert the uninvited men that were waiting, that the cabin's occupant had returned.

“Ah, Good Evening Miss Clearwater.” One man spoke. “I hope we didn't startle you.”

“Just who the hell do you think you are, trespassing on private property?” I accused the man who spoke.

“Oh, shut ye festering cookie hole, Cherish.” My cousin Jack spoke. “I have every right to be here as you do.”

“Not in Grandfather's lifetime, and most certainly not now.” I spat back with venom in my voice.

“Cherish, that's not a very nice way to speak to anyone.” Jack Clearwater spoke.

I knew from experience that when Jack Clearwater wanted something, he would lie and cheat and manipulate and bribe anyone he needed to, until he got it. But that never worked with Grandfather, and it wasn't going to work on me neither.

“Grandad's old will was pretty specific about a lot of things, and with your Mom locked in the loonie bin for knocking off your dad, the family had to fingure out what needed to go to who and so on.” Jack spoke calmly and rationally.

“Go fuck yourself, Jack. Now get the hell out.” I cussed.

“Now, Miss Clearwater. we're just trying to be polite, is all.” The man, sitting in my Grandfather's chair, sipping from my cup, and carrying a gun under his arm, spoke.

“And who the hell are you anyway? Take my cousin and get the fuck out.” I demanded.

“Told you she'd be unreasonable.” Jack remarked.

“I'm with Special Services. Sergeant Mathews, Canadian Rangers.” He introduced himself.

“Well, ok. A Ranger is welcome under this roof.” I spoke and shook his hand politely.

“But the piece of dog shit that trailed in here with you is not welcome, and never has been welcome under this roof, since he stole a pouch of tobacco and half of Grandfather's traps before he passed.” I spat with narrowed eyes.

Jack did nothing to indicate he was either interested in moving or even inclined to follow my wishes. He was always like that, always had been for as long as I could remember him. The tobacco and traps in question had turned up for sale at the local flea market and someone had bought the whole lot of them. Surprisingly, they all showed up back at the cabin, oiled and ready to be used without even a note to say who or why. My Grandfather was a man who was respected and everyone knew what was his, would remain his, always. But as far as Jack was concerned, just his presence was an insult to my grandfather's memory if I did nothing.

“Thirty seconds, Jack.” I stated and waited.

“Twenty Seconds, Jack.” I mentioned as I knocked an arrow into the bow in my hand.

“Ten Seconds, Jack.” I spoke clearly and calmly.

In the remaining ten seconds, I never in my life ever saw one Jonathan William Clearwater get off his ass and dive out an open window, complete with a look of terror on his face, as I slowly raised my arm and drew back the bow until the raven's feathers tickled my cheek. The last thing I saw was his fat ass and flailing feet.

“Times up, Jack.” I calmy spoke.

I slowly let the bowstring return to rest, replaced the arrow in the quiver and dropped my Bow into the rack on the wall, that at one time had been used for the enfield rifles issued to every Ranger. I hung the quiver next to it.

“Now that the trash has been taken out, we can talk.” I spoke sofly, as one would to an old friend, to Sergeant Mathews.

“Please, Miss Clearwater, call me Wally, or if you prefer a little more formal, Walter. May I call you by your given name?” He spoke like Stephan did, with manners.

“Cherish, is fine. Wash my cup please and I'll put the kettle on.” I spoke with a warm welcome to the second ranger to be welcomed into what was now my home.

From outside, there was cussing and swearing that spewd from Jack. It only further reminded me of the dire situtation I was now in, now that I had been found.

“As your cousin so politely mentioned, your Grandfather's last Will and Testament was pretty clear and he named you as the sole benificiary in the event of your Father's death.” Wally spoke to me.

“There was also a clause that if you were still a young, that as benificiary, you can name any person to be appointed your legal guardian until you turn eighteen.” He added. “That is where I come in.”

“Walter, under this roof, it is proper manners to say what you mean and mean what you say.” I spoke my Grandmother's words, and blew the ignited tinder onto the kindling after having lit it with a single match. With practiced hands I added some more wood to the firebox, then set the lid over and opened the dampers.

Yes, yes of course.” Wally replied and withdrew from his pocket an aged envelope, afixed with the monogram of the Canadian Rangers, and handed it to me, as I set the full kettle onto boil.

“This has been in our Commanding Officer's safe and since it is adressed to you, it is time for you to have it.” Wally spoke as I caressed the envelope in my hand. My Grandfather's scrawl printed my full name upon the outside of it as I continued to fondle the envelope.

I walked the few paces to the desk, as another stream of verbal diarrhea wafted into the kitchen via the open window. I ignored the verbal abuse and sliced the envelope open with the ornate letter opener, also with the Ranger Monogram on it. I gently sat myself at the desk and began unfolding the letter inside. It was adressed to me, and dated three weeks before my Grandfather had passed, ten years ago.

“Miss Clearwater;” I began reading to myself.

“In accordance with the wishes of one of our members, We the Rangers, do herby swear to safeguard the properties and possesions of Sergeant-Major Franklin Richard Clearwater CD, Retired, until his hiers and successors have reached the age of majority, and as the laws apply to the lands and treaties of our Government, do hereby remain entrusted to your well being.” I read quickly.

The letter was signed by a man I did not know, had never met, but knew what the words of their motto meant – Vigilans. Jack Clearwater took this exact moment to re-enter the cabin uninvited. I said nothing, rose from the chair at the desk, with complete hatred for him. I kicked him in the berries, like I was launching a soccer ball. He staggerd backwards outside, when his feet once again touched the floor. I witnessed him bouncing not once, but twice like an over inflated innertube, until he crumpled onto the ground and whimpered like a wounded dog.

“And stay the fuck out, asshole!” I spat out the doorway.

“No love lost between you two, is there?” Wally commented.

“None at all.” I quipped back. “Only two ways for him to leave here. In the boat you came in, which I think you could do well by dredging him behind you in a net, or he leaves on foot and I get some sport to decorate him like a pin cushion.” I spoke with a serious tone while the kettle began to gurgle with the sound of the heat doing what it needed to do.

“I kinda like the second idea as it reminds me of pin-the-tail-on-the-jack-ass.” I quipped, this time loud enough for even the sailor at the boat to have heard me.

Wally snorted and laughed while Jack moaned and whimpered. I just giggled quietly as the kettle began to boil. I bussied myself putting out the sugar bowl and a second small bowl filled with powdered creamer. Wally washed my cup and slid it across the table to me while I fetched a second cup labelled Visitor on it and set it in front of him. I dropped four tea bags into the pot and set it on the warming side of the wood stove. I filled the teapot with boiling water from the kettle and sat at the table to speak with the handsome Ranger Sergeant while the tea steeped.

“Now Walter, what do you have in mind?” I asked ardently.

“The paperwork has already been filed with the courts for you to be legaly assessed to manage your own affairs and since you're sixteen, attending school is no longer obligatory. Though we do recommend you continue your schooling. I've seen your school marks from when you did attend.” Wally spoke clearly.

This was truth, and the law. All it would take is my signature upon some fancy document and what was mine would be legally mine, and as far as school went, I had no dilusions of graduating highschool. The whole idea seemed pointless to me.

“The only possible stumbling block in this would be if your cousin decides to file assault charges.” Wally mentioned.

“Yea. I kinda figured my bad temper might get the best of me with him.” I noted as I rose from the table and poured tea for us both. “My gold digging relatives can kiss my ass, if they think I'll even consider letting them get their hands on this land… and the house.”

“It's already too late on that one, as they sold the house to pay for your Mother's legal fees, and her on going evaluations at the Center.” Wally informed me.

“Well if they didn't have her consent, it's not a legal sale… and since I own it and not my Mother, it was never their's to sell in the first place.” I concurred out loud.

“… well, a bit of bad news on that, it got stripped of anything that wasn't nailed down, then it was buldozed to make room for several new houses that the Band built.” Wally spoke.

“Gee, by default of an illegal sale, I'm now a landlord… How quaint.” I said sarcasticly.

“I like how you think, Cherish.” Wally remarked. “How about we pour your cousin into the boat and have the sailor return him. I can make arrangements to pick me up in the morning.”

“I guess I can go with you and let the leaches all know they fucked up.” I gloated. “Then be back before they can even ponder what they might do next.”

“Well, give me a hand to get rid of the trash.” Wally spoke, clearly indicating my cousin who still remained whimpering outside.

Feeling not at all sorry for what I had done, but his whimpering was becoming annoying… I rose from the table and accompanied the Sergeant, with the dam fine ass, out the door of the cabin. My Cousin remained in the exact same spot where he had bounced onto the ground. Together we picked up Jack by his belt loops and had him scuttle like a dancing cockroach to the shore, then into the boat.

“Remember Sailor, to file your incident report, that the victim was injured when a wave crashed against the boat as he was egressing.” Walter spoke clearly, probably for my benefit.

“Aye-Aye, Sergeant.” The sailor with an even more impressive ass, and pects, and a whole lot more muscles, answered.

“He's going to be a problem for me.” I mentioned.

“Yea, your cousin is a bit of a protagonist.” Wally confirmed.

“I wasn't talking about Jack.” I added to my last statement. The monster within me wanted out.

Sergeant Mathews and the sailor with the increadibly fine ass, pushed the zodiac out from the shore. Watching the sailor climb like a monkey into the boat was making me want to do more than just monkey around. Then and only then did I catch myself.

“Get a hold of yourself, Cherish.” I silently whispered to myself. “He's not for eating or drinking or anything.”

I stood on the shore with the water lapping at my boots, my arms across my chest, and just staring at a fantastic backside, pilot the boat away from me. I slowly and deliberately reeled the monster back inside me, and locked her away, before I turned back towards the cabin. Standing in the lake did not do my boots any good, and I took them off before I even stepped into the cabin. I wasted not a moment to drape my boots over the shoe horns, and hang up my Grandfather's old hunting jacket. I made sure to leave the camera, and book inside the jacket.

“Pour yourself another cup of tea and give me at least thirty minutes to myself.” I asked politely.

“Oh, yes… of course.” Wally answered me.

[Azrielle]

Like a gentleman, he did not even glance sideways at my ass, as I bent over the tub to draw myself a bath, while he exited the cabin. I could hear his boots step down the porch as I opened the window over the bathtub. From my vantage point, I could just barely see the top of his crew cut mane. My jeans hit the floor, along with my panties, shirt, undershirt and socks. I gave up trying to unhook my bra and just slid the straps off my shoulders then spun the garment around so I could see what I was doing. Now naked, I plunged myself into the bath to what felt like a thousand knives trying to cut me. Thankfully, the water did wonders to help me rein in the monster that was still trying to get the hell out. Armed with a bar of soap, I finally spoke.

“Walter, did you have any reservations for dinner?” I quipped.

I swathed the soap across my body and began pealing the dirt and sweat from my trek throught the woods off myself. To me it seemed perfectly normal to have a conversation with a man probably more than fifteen years older than me, though doing it naked did seem a little weird. Hell, I even started shaving my legs before wally spoke.

“Sorry, no idea. Did you have anything planned?” Wally asked in return.

I finished my legs and began lathering my hair in a thick layer of suds, and deliberately took my time making it clean. My bathwater turned not only cloudy, but also a tinge of grey as well. I stood up in the tub, soaked a fresh wash cloth in one gush from the pump and flopped the soaked cloth on the window sill with the bar of soap. I draped a bath towel across my front and let it hang, to at least offer myself some modesty.

“Wash my back for me, please?” I asked politely

I stood facing away from the window, clutching the towel in front of me and bare assed to the window. A quick flutter of wind through the window, reminded me of my semi-private towel and I flipped the corner of the loose end of the towel to cover my backside. I didn't look over my shoulder, but I knew from the slosh of the wet wash cloth, he had picked it up and was lathering some soap into it. The stone cold cloth was like an icicle melting against my back with the warmness of his hand meeting my bare skin from time to time. He started at the top and worked his way down, and I didn't mind at all. My arms just did not contort to those hard to reach places. When his hands were dangerously close to my ass, and turned myself around.

“Thank you.” I simply stated.

I must have been a frightful sight, as he instantly averted his gaze from me. The gentle wind coming off the lake gave me a face full of musky male scent, and it almost loosed the monster within me, but I somehow managed to control it. With one of my arms clutching the bath towel in front of me,all I could muster from myself was to notice the still dripping wash cloth and the bar of soap in his hand. I somehow managed to keep my only modesty from dropping into the cold bath water.

“Ok, Walter. Since you're already armed, you get the lake shore.” I spoke clearly as I stared into his eyes that returned to mine.

“…How about some rabbit stew? It won't take long to make.” I offered for dinner.

“Sounds good.” Wally answered, but he seemed a little confused.

With my towel hanging precariously close to exposing my chest and my rock hard nipples nailing the towel to my left forearm, I twirled my right hand in a gesture to have him turn about-face. I was so gratefull when he did and quickly wrapped the bath towel around myself then cinched it tight. Facing away from me, it was only now that I could appreciate the long-tall-drink-of-water he was. Even though his clothes hid most of his physique I could tell he had an esquisitely sculpted back and equally inpressive backside. The monster within me, dam near got out that time.

“Ok, I'm decent.” I muttered, yet almost stammered.

Outwardly, I was calm, cool and collected. But inside of me, my heart was pounding in my chest and my pulse was racing like a thoroughbred. The beast was flooding my veins with hormones at an alarming rate and I didn't know if I had the strength to resist. Though I didn't truely know what was happening, my mind managed to flash an image of a bitch in heat, before I gave the monster one last push, back into the dark recess, where it belonged.

Wally turned himself around once again, and his steel blue eyes melted me into a puddle. I felt the fabric of the bath towel become tight across my chest and threatened to come loose from the cinch I had made. My subconscious body language was screaming to him as I arched my back. My heart fluttered and released the beast. Prickling sensasions danced across my skin beneath the bath towel as I realised I was getting horny. I could feel the heat flush my face and felt it flow like rain across a rooftop down to my belly.

“Cherish?” Walter spoke. “Sorry, if I embarraced you.”

His voice brought me back from the precipice I was about to topple from. To have fallen into that abyss would have been the worst possible thing for me at that moment. To my sweet surprise, blushing felt good. Also being able to disqinguish the different heightened sensations I felt. The monster was still trying to break out, and I wasn't letting it.

“Nope, don't be sorry, Walter. I'm pretty sure you already know the effect, that thousand meter stare you have, has on a girl.” I giggled openly.

“Uhm, yea. Sorry about that. I'll be mindful not to be doing that, when you're wearing a towel.” He quipped back at me.

As if it was what was needed for me to control the monster, I continued to giggle and Wally broke into a hearty laugh. I could feel my blush starting to quickly subside, and along with it the wave of hormones the monster released during its attempted prison break. Being honest about that moment made all the difference this time. I was still horny, but able to control myself, instead of becoming the monster I despised.

“Alright. I am going to start dinner, and you get your ass down to the water and scrub up.” I chortled because I was still giggling.

“… And you may as well just drop your clothes into the bath here and I'll start scrubbing them down too.” I added.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Wally laughed.

It was a good thing I had gone to the kitchen for the next several minutes, but I did hear the barely audible sounds of clothes being dropped into my still full bath. It took me all of five, maybe six whole minutes to grab the stew pot from the dish rack, fill it half full of water, add a little salt, slice several wild turnips into even size pieces, and dice two handfuls of potatoes into the pot. I crushed in two small cloves of garlic, one teaspoon of sugar and a handfull of dried dill weed, before I dropped in the already skinned rabbit I had hanging in the pantry. I slammed the lid down over the pot to make sure it sealed and shot several more pieces of wood into the firebox. Dinner would take about an hour to cook.

My rushing about let me focus, and to not even think of the naked man I had lurking about. When I came to my senses and checked the bath tub, I was so relieved to see his clothes did not include a pair of boxers or briefs. Unfortunately, I didn't know he wasn't wearing any. When I looked up throught the open window, I saw everything I really didn't need to see, in addition to everything else. He was buck naked and his body shouted that he was definately male.

“Oh… yea… Now that's what I'm talking about.” I whispered to myself.

I didn't suppress my giggle at all and it felt good as I ducked out of sight before Wally noticed if I had been peeking.

“Excuse me Sergeant. Need a towel?” I offered.

The one I was wearing was off in a flash, and I draped it onto the open window sill. I didn't wait to find out when he got it, but I was fairly certain that if he peeked, he'd have seen me pulling a pair of plain white panties over my ass and dropping an equally plain tee-shirt over my head. Something completely naughty in me, had me half facing the open window. Had Wally been looking, he'd have gotten a completely unobstructed view of my left side profile, as I stepped into a simple jean skirt, before I pranced to grab some thing for him to wear.

“Stephan keeps a change of clothes here, and you look about the same size as him.” I lied.

Wally had a much nicer ass and from the frontal view suprise I got, just a moment before… Elephants must be jealous. Playfully, I scopped the pair of jeans and tee shirt from the shelf and walked outside to hand the clothes to him. I even diverted my eyes and made myself a blind fold with one hand. My heart was no longer pounding in my chest, and my pulse had slowed to normal. It felt good when I realised I was flirting. I stood there with the clothes held out in front of me.

“Thanks, Cherish.” Wally spoke. “… and no peeking this time.”

“Damm, he had seen me at the window.” I thought to myself.

I quickly turned myself around to face away from him. I absent mindedly crossed my arms over my chest while I waited. The sound, of a zipper moving and stopping, told me he had pants on.

“Alright, I'm decent now.” He noted.

Still in a slightly playful mood, I raised my hand over my eyes and looked over my shoulder to see close up and personal, a sculpted sign that read PLAYGROUND. My hands dropped in front of me into a shy demeanor, and it was too late to reverse my actions, as his eyes became glued to my chest and the knobs straining against the fabric.

“Walter… my eyes are up here.” I noted.

I lifted his chin, as the tee shirt hid the playground from my immediate view. When his eyes met mine again, it was as if he'd taken a mental picture that included my other hand with my index finger pointing up to my face. We both broke out in husterical laughter right there.

“Chores before dinner, Walter.” I mused.

“God, you're worse than a den mother.” Wally returned.

“… and don't you forget it.” I stated back quickly with a sly smile.

“Wood pile, stove box.” I added, indicating the need for the box next to stove to be filled.

I got myself down on my knees with a wash board at the bathtub, and started to scrub the clothes. I had absolutely no idea the effect that would have on Wally, and quite honestly I never even paid it any attention until I heard him drop an armful of split wood on the floor instead of into the stove box. I was pretty sure he was staring at my ass, when I looked behind me to see him looking back.

“Walter, stop staring at my butt.” I mentioned, then returned to scrubbing the laundry.

“I wasn't staring…” He returned.

“Yes… you were.” I interupted.

“More wood, less staring.” I added.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Wally mentioned and when he stood I noticed the front of the jeans he had on were strained from beneath.

“More scrubbing, less staring.” Wally added.

“Dammit! Caught!” I noted to myself.

“Yes, sir!” I retorted, and got back to scrubbing.

When wally came back in with the second load of wood, I made sure I was bent over the tub to give him a perfect view. I did it on purpose. This time it felt good knowing the monster was safely locked away. It felt fantastic to know the man I had watching me from across the room was watching. It felt fabulous to know I could flirt and be playful. I felt more like a woman than I ever had before, knowing he must be liking what he saw. It felt soothing to know I was safe. When I had finished scrubbing the last piece, I pulled the plug on the tub and let it empty. With the laundry in a basket, I headed outside to hang it all on the clothes line. I passed Wally on the way out as his eyes followed me.

“Tub, soap ring, Scrub.” I mentioned.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Wally sighed loudly and got busy.

I took my time at the clothes line. Something seemed to make me want to continue flirting with Wally. My body seemed to be doing things of its own volition. A slight sway as I stretched my leg and pointed my toes as I reached to peg one end, then the other of his pants, his shirt, his socks, my socks, my panties, my bra, my undershirt, my shirt and finally my jeans on the clothes line. I stood back with the sun in my face, to see our clothes seeming to mimick what my body was wanting, but my mind was saying not to be doing.

I turned around to see Wally staring at me through the bath window.

“All done?” I asked.

“All done, Ma'am.” Wally answered me back.

“Smoke 'em, if ya got 'em.” I stammered slightly.

I watched as he stretched as if for my benefit and teased me right back. Our eyes locked and he knew I was watching. It felt good to feel the way I did. I felt happy. It made me feel that I had made the right decision to leave on that tenth morning. It made all the bad things I had done, to enslave my Father's mind to my weapon, were but a shard of broken glass. I felt like that same shattered bottle was whole once again. I felt freedom at last.

[Azrielle]

Chapter 4 – Simple Things

“Dinner Time!” I proclaimed to Wally.

He did not need a second invitation to sit his fine ass at the table. He'd been hovering around both me, and the stew pot, like a hound dog after a bone. The rich smell of the stew wafted through the cabin unrestrained. The fresh baking powder biscuits, still hot from the wood stove's oven, were piping hot and melting rich butter that I had pasted with a pastry brush. If there was one thing my Mother did teach me, it was how to make a simple meal into something extravagant with just a few deliberate details.

The table was set for two. While the settings were both identical, I had made sure to set my cup at what was mine. It was pleasing to know this little detail had not escaped Wally, as I ladled two full measures into what was to be his bowl. A hungry man needed to be fed, and fed well. I gingerly picked up both bowls and turned myself about from the stove, to find Wally eagerly waiting. His expression reminded me of a little boy, but his eyes spoke of more than that. There was only the slight clink of each bowl against the plate that was now beneath them. The sound of silence was deafening. I began to fuss with the knot of the wet towel I was using as an apron.

“Walter, can you help with this. I tied it, and now the knot is stuck.” I asked him while facing away.

“Cherish, if there's one thing I already know about you… deliberately tying a knot, you can't undo, is not one of them.” He mentioned.

I just grinned while looking over my shoulder to find his fingers in full compliance. The knot fell apart, in what seemed to me was an eternity. There was equally no doubt he got a close up look at the subtle curves hidden beneath the simple skirt I was wearing. I stepped forward, freeing myself from the wet towel, like I had done a striptease act. I pranced the long way around the table, as if on purpose, but was really to see his reaction more clearly. I realised once again I was flirting. Wally playfully tossed the towel at me, and I spun to avoid it. It landed gracefully, directly on top of the hand pump at the sink, as if he intended to do it on purpose.

“Kiss the cook.” I stated.

I leaned over towards Wally slightly, as I stood half sitting at my table setting. He planted a quick kiss on my exposed cheek before I sat down. I realised much too late for my own modesty, that Wally had gotten a lot more than just a peck on my cheek.

“You did that on purpose, Cherish.” Wally noted to me.

“Did what?” I lied.

“You know exactly.” Wally retorted.

“The Cook always gets a kiss.” I stated innocently.

I knew, full well, he had gotten an ample view inside the top of my shirt. It felt good to be like this. To be playful, without any expectations. My nipples however, felt like a couple of nails to hang a picture on a wall. Trying to hide them, would only draw even more attention to them.

“You haven't tried the stew, yet.” I mentioned, to desperately and quickly change the subject.

I watched Wally palm a tablespoon, then dip it into his bowl. I watched his fingers cradle the stem of the spoon, as I desperately avoided meeting his eyes. Like a stop motion photographer, my eyes captured every detail when I blinked. The roughness of his calloused hands spoke volumes to me, yet also told me they had the potential for being gentle. Only when the spoon in his hand finally raised to his lips, did I fix my own stare into his eyes. Those same eyes, that made me melt earlier, did nothing to make the pegs of taught flesh beneath my shirt do anything but strain against the thin fabric.

“Walter, you promised me…” I started to say.

“… when you were wearing a towel.” He finished.

He'd kept his promise. I wasn't wearing a towel, but it was so unfair. His gaze was doing things to me, again.

“How's the stew?” I managed to ask him.

“Delicious.” He noted.

I averted my eyes from his, just in the nick of time. The monster within me had flooded my viens with a rush of hormones. My skin felt flushed. I felt it burning me. Wetness between my legs, soaked through my already damp panties. A gentle breeze through the open window did nothing but fan the flames of desire.

“Try a biscuit too.” I almost stammered.

I was trying desperately to rein myself back. Thank fully, my mention of the biscuits diverted his eyes just long enough, for me to regain some composure. My left hand found my own spoon, and I repeated the same thing Wally had done and managed to taste the stew. It wasn't easy to accomplish with my hand shaking, but I managed it.

“Damm, that's still hot.” Wally stated, as he dropped the biscuit held by the hand not holding his spoon, into his bowl of stew.

“Dummy, they just came out of the oven.” I giggled.

It was what was needed, right at that moment. What was so desperately needed. It was what was needed, to bring everything clearly back into sharp focus. It was what I needed to remember, that I was only sixteen, and not ready for a man like him. I was not ready for a man, to make love to me. I was not ready. It was what I now wanted. While the evidence of the passing seconds remained, my mind once again took control. I had once again locked the monster within me, back into the deep recess where it belonged, but my heart pounded inside my chest.

“Cherish…” Wally spoke.

The sound of his voice made my heart skip a beat.

“… This is simply wonderful.” I heard him finish.

“I'm glad you like it.” I answered.

I met his eyes. This time, his eyes did not melt me into a bigger puddle, like the dampness of my panties. This time, we both spoke through our eyes and not our lips. This time we both sat apart, with the cutlery in each of our hands shielding us both from moving forward. This time his eyes told me “no” and I understood what it meant. This time, I had the strength not to lock myself away in my mental cage and whimper. This time I knew how to control the beast, and my heart began to slow. My pulse returned to normal, albiet agonisingly slowly.

“Where does the love of God go, when the Waves turn the minutes to Hours?” I whispered within my own mind, as I remembered an old folk song.

The seconds, with each tick of his wrist watch, sounded off like the burst of a cannonade in my ears. The clink of his spoon against his bowl brought me back, to normal. We ate our dinner, together. It was only now, did I have myself in focus and perspective. I could now be myself with him. I could now be a young woman with no expectations of anything further happening, whether by design or by accident. I now knew I had a gentleman sitting with me.

“Walter… what is going to happen tomorrow?” I asked him, as I managed another spoonful of stew.

“That is best left to be answered tomorrow.” He responded.

“Sergeant Boudry will keep you safe. He's made that very clear.” Wally added.

“I miss him.” I mentioned.

I took another spoonful of stew and helped myself to a slightly cooler biscuit than the one Wally had dropped into his bowl, but a minute before.

“He's done a fine job, keeping you safe from your relatives.” Wally noted, as I watched him enjoy another spoonful of stew.

“… But somone noticed the supplies he'd been hoarding, were more than just what one person needed to live on.” Wally finished when he'd taken his spoon from his mouth.

“… Jack…” I concluded.

“.. Yea.” Wally confirmed. “We'd been keeping a close eye on him.”

“He's not to be trusted.” I stated honestly. “He'd steal the spoon out of your mouth, if you're not watching.”

“Noted.” Wally spoke.

“Tomorrow, you'll be meeting your court appointed legal counsel, and the people representing Family Services.” Wally stated openly.

“… Just keep your temper, Cherish, and everything will work out for the best.” I heard Stphan's voice from the cabin's doorway.

I dropped my spoon into my stew, and almost tripped over my own feet getting my ass into his open arms.

“… Nice to see you too, Cherish.” Stephan spoke softly to me as I sunk my face into his duster. The rich smell of the aged leather filled my nostrils as I gulped in my breath. I stood on my toes to give him a huge hug before I remembered once again he wasn't big on hugs, and that I'd maybe held my arms around him too tightly.

“Sergeant Mathews.” Stephan spoke to Wally in greeting, as I sunk my face deeper into the duster.

“Sergeant Boudry.” I heard Wally return his greeting in kind. There was an air of respect these two men held. A resect that only came from being both Rangers, though one was in active service, and the other, long ago retired.

“… How about some of that stew I've been smelling for the last mile, Cherish?” Stephan asked in his usual manner.

“Get your butt to the table, Sergeant.” I giggled, and let him go.

I was sure the smile on my face was wider than the doorway he stood in. He remembered his manners and removed his duster and his boots. He hung his pistol belt where it belonged, and stowed an unloaded colt next to the one that hadn't been chambered a single bullet in over ten years. In the time it took Stephan to mind his manners, I'd set another place at the table, and ladled another double portion of stew into a bowl. It finally felt like the little girl with twin braids was back, with two Rangers, having their dinner at the table I'd set. Happy memories became new ones.

“I am so amiss with my own manners. My apologies to the Mistress.” Wally stated.

Without so much as even a backwards glance, Wally got up from the table. He picked up the 9mm automatic, that sat on the seat of the deacon's bench in a shoulder holster. The sound of the magazine being released, followed with a sharp slide of the bolt to confirm the chamber was empty, followed. He stowed the much more modern Browning Service Pistol, alongside the pair of antique colts, within the storage cubby. Only then, did he return to his seat at the table.

“Good thing you remembered, or there'd be no desert for you, Sergeant.” Stephan quipped, as he shoveled both a spoonful of stew and took a large bite out of a still warm biscuit.

“Sir, yes sir.” Wally responded, as I gave him a gentle kick with my foot under the table.

“… and don't you be forgeting again.” I spoke sternly, with a grin, and a wink.

“Yes Ma'am… I mean no, Ma'am.” Wally corrected himself.

“The stew is as good as always, Cherish.” Stephan complimented.

“There's more in the pot.” I noted, knowing he'd have at least one more bowl, and probably at least two more biscuits, before he'd want a bowl of tobacco.

[Azrielle]

I had my own fill of stew, and grabbed a biscuit from the plate. I savoured each mouthful as I watched the two hungry men polish off pretty much everything else. When they were finally both done, I started to get up from my chair to begin clearing the table.

“I'll wash, you dry.” Stephan commanded to Wally, and gave me a look that told me I'd better plant my ass back in my chair at the table.

“The cook doesn't do dishes in this house.” Stephan added.

“Noted.” Wally spoke, and began stacking dishes and cutlery.

I sat myself, with one foot on my chair, the other on the floor. I rested my head in my hands upon my knee, while both Stephan and Wally cleaned the dishes and neatly stacked them on the side board.

“… I got your message… Came as quick as I could.” I overheard Stephan speak quietly to Wally.

“… Jack knows she's here.” I heard Wally answer back.

“… That'll be a problem.” Stephan noted, and then he looked straight at me.

“While we're at the Courthouse tomorrow, Jack will probably be back.” Stephan spoke to me. “The boys will be here to keep him off the property.”

“Do we need them all, or should we keep some of them back, in reserve?” Wally mentioned.

“Nope, all of them…” Stephan remarked. “… It'll be the only thing Jack Clearwater undertands.”

I was now a little scared. I knew my cousin was a complete asshole, but what could he do? Then the realisation set in. If there was no one here to stop him, he'd burn everything to the ground, so there'd be nothing for me to come back to. That was what Jack Clearwater did. If he couldn't have something, then he'd make it so there was nothing for anyone else to have either. He'd scorch the ground and leave nothing, making it worthless.

“The boys will be here before first light, and make themselves at home.” Stephan spoke.

While it was comforting to know I had guardian angels watching over me, Jack was like the angel of death. I knew what he'd be doing. If he wasn't in the hospital recovering from the swift kick I'd given him, then he'd be loading a quad with extra cans of gasoline, and a hunting rifle. I looked at everything within the cabin, and as if to protect it from harm, I began to collect everything I wanted to spare from an inferno.

“Whoa there, Cherish.” Stephan spoke softly as he grabbed me.

“… But…” I began to speak.

“Don't you be worrying about anything.” Stephan stated.

“You just be getting Buck and Dollar bedded down, and Sergeant Mathews and I will worry about what needs to be done.” He added.

Stephan gave me a playful swat on my ass, and I giggled. I left the two rangers inside the cabin and walked outside barefoot. Both Buck and Dollar were standing alongside each other and looked up, as I came towards them.

“Howdy, girls.” I spoke softly as I rubbed Dollar's snout.

Buck playfully pushed her neck into my back, as if to ask me to uncinch her saddle. I ran my hand across the space above her ears and she snorted with a wriggle of her neck. It took me but a few minutes to quickly stow Buck's saddle and tack across the rail of the porch, before I walked her with my hand on her bridle to the water trough. I cranked several times on the pump to begin filling it. I noted the heavy layer of sweat on her coat, and knew immediately that Stephan had rode them both hard to get here.

Dollar's burden of cargo bags, I managed to lift off, but not without some difficulty. They were heavier than they normally were. I didn't stop to look inside, but from the sound of a chink of heavy metal against the porch planks, I didn't want to know either. Dollar followed behind me, perhaps thankful I'd taken the load off her back. She followed me to where Buck was drinking deeply from the trough, and joined her sister. I cranked several more times on the pump, and completely filled the trough this time. Dollar sank her snout into the cold water, as if to thank me.

I quickly gathered a bucket, two hand brushes and a bar of soap from the tack bin next to the shed. Stephan had brought all these supplies with his first visit, with no doubt he'd be needing them for Buck and Dollar. Buck waited patiently for me to lather Dollar's coat, then took her turn in stride before both mares had an even coating of suds. With both my hands having a brush strapped on to them, the mares let me alternate between them, until the sweat from their hard ride was nothing but foam on them. The splash of cold water from the bucket dipped into the trough, then onto each other in turn, was repaid to me with them both shaking water onto me too. By the time I was done, I was as equally soaked to the skin as they both were.

The drying time took considerably longer, but both mares seemed to be enjoying the attention I gave them. I took my time brushing their coats evenly, with a wee bit of flaxseed oil on the brushes. When I was finally done, both Buck and Dollar's coats shone like wet paint. I put the soap, brushes, bucket and bottle of flaxseed oil back in the tack bin and retrieved their blankets. Both mares playfully wriggled their necks in turn, as I draped the blankets over them.

The last thing to do, which I never really liked to do, but was a task that needed to be done, was run the hook and files on their hooves. The last time I had ever done this, I was but a little girl with twin braids, and the mare had kicked me in the shin for my efforts. This time though, both Buck and Dollar were gratefull to have the mud and small pebbles from the trail cleaned from their hooves. Neither of them even flinched as I ran the hook against their steel shoes, and scraped the muck off. Buck gave me a swat with her tail accross my shoulders, when I finally finished her hind hooves.

Buck and Dollar just snorted to each other, as I stowed the hook and file where they belonged. I left them together at the water trough and walked slowly back to the cabin. From inside, there was the sound of both Stephan and Wally talking about what needed to be done, and it made me smile to myself. They had their work to do, and I had mine to do. The cargo packs still needed to be emptied, and the horses needed to be fed.

I wasted no time considering the contents of the one cargo pack that made that sound of metal inside it. The other cargo pack contained what I needed to find. A large bag of mixed barley and oats, along with Buck and Dollar's monogramed feed bags. If nothing, Stephan was a man of habit and always packed the cargo bags the same way. I also found a small jar of liquid honey that both mares would eat like it was candy. I took my time preparing their feed bags. I decided they both deserved the treat of the honey after they had both worked hard bringing Stephan here. They deserved it.

With the feed bags in my hands, each having an equal measure of the barley and oats, sprinkled with each an equal measure of honey, I found Buck and Dollar waiting for me. With their ears pulled back and their eyes on the feed bags, I giggled as they both stuck their snouts inside in turn. Like greedy little pigs, they both finished their feed at almost the same time. I took off their bags, and rinsed them in the trough before hanging them inside out, inside the shed. Both mares had their eyes on me when I returned.

“Now, you girls have a good sleep tonight. I'll seee you both tomorrow.” I spoke softly to them both.

I stopped myself barely halfway from the shed. I looked at the cabin, standing there in my barefeet. It was my home. I had made it my home. I was determined right then and there, that it was going to remain my home. I left the second cargo bag where it was, but I scooped the remaining contents of the other into my arms and went inside. I found Stephan and Wally looking at the map on the wall. My entry made them both stop talking. I really didn't want to know what it was they had been discussing.

“The other cargo bag is your's, Uncle Stephan.” I mentioned.

Stephan gave me a look, that I knew what it was inside the cargo bag. The sound of metal against the wooden planks of the porch was distinctive. It was a heavy sound, which meant what was inside that cargo bag was meant for only one purpose.

“I'm going to bed now.” I spoke.

My announcemt came as no surprise to either Rangers. They both kissed me on opposite cheeks and headed outside. The cabin was my home, not theirs. My bed was a welcome sight as the setting sun bathed it in a glow of copper and crimson. My wet clothes, I hung over the end rail of the bed before I climbed naked between the sheets. The only sound I heard when I closed my eyes, was the sound that brass made when fitted into feed pawls, and the quick snap of a breach cover being shut. Tomorrow was only going to be the beginning.

Asleep, a so very restlessly asleep. Images haunted me. They were explicit in detail. The snap of a heavy belt, and the sting that immediately followed. Tears flowed. Tears like a river of endless sorrow. Tears without ending, only another beginning. Then, the tears stopped. The last beating stopped with them. This time, something else gave rise to pain. The blood flowed and I wept. What was taken, was now lost, forever. In its place, remained shame. I fled into the small closet and wept. Like snapshots from a camera, they filled my slumbering mind. I wept in silent dispair.

Then I remembered. The daisies. The water lilies, and the smell of the air after an early morning rain. I remembered the cold water washing away my shame. I remembered the single sharp stab that preceded the blood. I remembered everything. Everything I had shut away, and it all came back to me in a flood. The blood, it flowed, and my tears joined them. I shouted a silent scream.

I awoke covered in sweat. My bedding was soaked. This time I remembered. This time I didn't shut them away in the place where I had forgotten them. This time I felt the courage to shred them to pieces. To remember, a thick poker vibrating inside of me. I remembered, and the monster within me stood beside me, to breathe fire. I slumped back down, my breath struggling to find my lungs. I stared at the rafters above me as the first glimmer of the morning approached.

[Azrielle]

Today, Cherish Emery Clearwater was alive. Today the real battle would begin. Today I would reclaim what had been stolen from me. Today I would fight. This was to be the last time the nightmare of my reality would invade both my home, and my dreams. Today I knew what to do. The witch, in her icewater mansion, would not be claiming me but instead treat me as kin.

The sun had barely broken the horizon when I noted the subtle difference between yesterday and today. The sound of the raven pecking at the window was absent. The sound of silence took its place. The air was still outside, as the sunrise tried to push aside the fog enveloping the ground. I covered myself with a robe that barely hid anything, and less than that below mid thigh. The air outside the cabin was like a ghost, swirling mist about with the gentle sway of the breaze.

I paddled my feet outside, barefoot. I listened to the sound of nothing. The cool fog raised goose bumps on my skin and I whistled. Just like Stephan had taught me. Buck and Dollar snorted through the fog and came to me. They were as equally happy to see me, as I saw them. I grasped Dollar's mane, and whisked my ass onto her back. My robe fell open, and I didnt give a dam. I bent over her neck, and clipped my heels into her flanks. She took off at a gallop, with my open robe billowing behind me. She was fast, and Buck remained close behind her.

The robe slipped from my arms and I rode her back, completely naked. The flight of her hooves shod with steel rang out. I felt alive. The wind wipped my face as I ducked under a low branch at the last minute. I began to race against the wind, and it felt good. I slowly and gently nuzzled my face into Dollar's neck. She slowed to a trot, then a walk, then stopped. Buck was right beside us. Both mares snorted loudly with the sound of the waves gently lapping upon the shore. I dropped from Dollars back and stood between them. The heat from their flanks warmed me while my legs felt the wind whip up. I let my feet stand in the water before I stepped further in. The icewater of gichigoomie washed away the sweat on my skin before I began a slow liesurely walk back to the cabin.

I was grateful for the fog. It hid the fact I was naked, from prying eyes. I was grateful for not having explain why my hair was wet, or how it happened. When I finally stepped onto the porch of the cabin, it was only Buck and Dollar who saw me. I wrung out the water from my hair onto the planks underneath my bare feet. It was Buck who gave me a forceful push with her snout, before I stepped into the cabin, and got myself dressed.

I chose my clothes with deliberate purpose. I chose them to both hide my femininity and display it at the same time. I made sure my brassier firmly held in place the globes that protruded from my chest. I hid it all beneath a sweater that gently hinted at the curves. Below my waist, I encased myself with denim that fit loosely, yet also gave no doubt about what being a woman was about. I had hips. Upon my feet, I unrolled warm wool socks that I slipped into my boots. I had only finished tying my laces when I heard the rap of knuckles on the doorway.

“Good Morning, Cherish.” I heard Wally's voice say.

“C'mon in. I'm decent.” I remarked.

I was bent over, with one foot perched on the seat of the deacon's bench, as I released my fingers from my boot laces. There was no mistaking the bulge in Wally's jeans when I stood up and faced him. He noticed my eyes had dropped, when I finally looked back up. Neither of us said anything. We didn't need to at that point. He'd seen and liked what he saw, as I had seen and equally liked what I saw. I then reminded myself, that I was still only sixteen. The monster that stood beside me earlier, retreated back inside to find the place that was her's. It was all I could do, to keep myself from planting a big kiss on him, and not stop until we were both completely naked on my bed. The monster silently roared inside of me and fell silent.

“Uhm, breakfast?” I asked innocently.

“Erm, yea. Breakfast.” Wally replied.

I looked down again. I couldn't help myself. For that brief instant, I saw again what I liked and I looked away. I didn't dare myself to look into his eyes. I'd be so guilty of anything he wanted to playfully accuse me of.

“Chores. Wood Pile, Stove Box.” I demmanded… no, commanded.

His lips fell against mine an instant later. There was no mistaking it. I wasn't dreaming. My hands snaked to behind his neck. His hands wove around my waist.

“First, and last time, Cherish.” Wally spoke to me, as he broke away.

“Not when you kiss like that, Walter.” I whispered and kissed him right back, before he could get away.

I pushed myself away, before my clothes ended up on the floor along with his. Being this alive had begun to change me. I no longer wanted to hide. I wanted to shower his lips with kisses, until they turned blue from lack of oxygen. I wanted to run my fingers across the playground beneath his shirt. I wanted to feel his hands against my bare skin. I wanted to feel his breath against my neck while we made love. But my mind shouted at me to behave myself. It was going to be the only kiss I would ever want from him and give back to him, for a long time, and I knew it was true. My heart raced, it collided head on with reality, it shuddered to a stop, then died at the scene of the wreckage. We both looked at each other and we both knew. Not today. No, not today. Definately not today, but there was always the promise of tomorrow. Tomorrow was going to be a long time before it became today again.

“Right, Breakfast.” I noted.

“Wood, Stove Box.” Wally noted.

I noticed his bulge was bigger and I giggled silently to myself. I made a mental note to put some salt peter in his scrambled eggs, or we'd both be in a lot more trouble than I already was. The clock had ticked barely sixty seconds from when Wally had rapped his knuckes on the cabin doorframe. I gently ran my finger tips across my lips as I finished walking in a daze towards the wood stove. The sound of his boots told me he'd gone back outside. The strike of a match, the drop of the flame onto a patch of tinder in the firebox. The heat smouldering against the kindling, before it ignited into flames. Finally the roar of dry wood before my hands opened the dampers. Then I felt his breath on my neck behind me. I shuddered involountarily.

I turned myself around and pressed my ass against the stone cold iron that began to draw heat from the flames inside the firebox. I kept my head and my eyes upon the floor, as I regained my sense of composure and modesty. I heard the wood being dropped into the stove box. I stepped away from the slowly heating stove, and I purposely averted my eyes from meeting his.

“Don't do this, Cherish.” I spoke within my head. “Don't do this.”

I blinked my eyes, and finally looked up. His eyes looked like he was a wounded puppy. I had done that to him and it wounded me too. My heart leapt into my throat and caught my voice.

“Walter?” My voice stammered.

“Don't do this, Cherish.” Wally faltered.

“How do you want your scrambled eggs?” I asked, playfully. There was a pause… a long, distinct pause.

“… Cooked, preferably.” Wally chortled.

We both laughed. It felt so good. I felt alive, and back in control of myself. The monster within me, roared once, then again, and again. With each roar, I laughed. I laughed louder, and so did Wally. It was perhaps the best medicine we could give to each other. By the time Stephan walked into the cabin, the stove was hot enough to start cooking breakfast. I was giggling happily to Wally, when Stephan gave me a good morning peck on the cheek.

“How many want Coffee?” I asked as I reached for the coffee perk.

“Better make it an urn, Cherish.”

In the roughly twenty minutes it took for the wood stove to be heated enough, the fog had lifted and showed how many to be expecting for breakfast. There were no fewer than perhaps thirty trail bikes and quads parked outside the kitchen window, at the rear of the cabin. Each of them equalled a single rider.

“Then you gents had best be organising the lads to wash up and make themselves presentable at my table.” I quipped.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Stephan quipped right back.

I got myself busy and shooed both Stephan and Wally out of the cabin. I found the biggest pot I had on hand and pumped the crank at the sink until it was just over half full. The pot sizzled when it met the hot stove iron. I dumped an entire bag of coffee grounds into the water and topped the pot with a half teaspoon of salt. I then walked outside and began directing the troops to do my bidding.

“I want the path cleared between the cabin and the kiln. You have thirty minutes, Gentlemen.” I shouted to no one in particular.

Moments later the sound of a chainsaw, and the topple of sapplings, along with small trees began to reverberate in the air. There continued to be the sounds of directions and compliance between the men as the work progressed. There was over ten years of dead fall and grass, interspaced with new growth that hid the stone path I remembered as the little girl with twin braids. But these men found it, and finally scraped the moss and lichen from atop the smooth stones I used to walk in barefeet upon. By the time they were done, I had mixed enough biscuit dough for more than six dozen biscuits and the baking trays all took alternating turns in the small oven inside the cabin.

I glanced sideways at the clock above the desk and noted almost a full hour had transpired. But it didn't matter to me. Happy memories were being made into new ones, as I ladled fresh coffee into a sieve that dripped into the coffee perk and another jug I had found in the cupboards.

I looked outside to see the lads had erected a wash station which I gratefully whispered silent thank you's that it faced away from the cabin. Thirty or more naked men outside my kitchen window might be too much entertainment for me to handle after having shared that solitary pair of kisses with Wally. The raw materials for this simple erection of wood, had been transplanted from what previously hid the path to the kiln.

“Alright Gents. Wash-up!” I shouted out the window.

By the time I got outside armed with a cooled baking pan of biscuits and the larger urn of coffee, there was a single file of the lads with canteen cups and clean hands waiting for the simple breakfast I had made. The old picnic table that had been previously overgrown within the old path, appeared as their breakfast table. I ran back inside to get the pot of scrambled eggs I had made, in addition to the second large pan of biscuits. When I came back out, I found the tray and coffee urn equally empty.

“There's more biscuits and coffee.” I giggled.

I ran back inside with the empty tray and urn to get them refilled. While I was ladeling more coffee through the sieve, I looked out the window to see Wally staring at me. I blew him a kiss, which was a fatal mistake on my part. The lads had been watching and made no bones as they transplanted Wally, with his hands behind his back, in front of the kitchen window. They demanded a kiss from the Cook. I looked at Wally for a stay of proceedings, but my eyes failed to convince the jury. With both my hands busy juggling the final load of biscuits, and the refilled urn of hot black coffee, I planted a single kiss on his lips. While my lips were busy, greedy hands absconded with my burden leaving my hands now free to fondle his neck.

“Cherish…” Wally began to say.

“You're not wearing a towel either.” I quipped and released him.

The lads carted Wally away from me and were in the process of embarracing him further when I heard Stephan behind me in the Kitchen, seated at his spot at the table, eating his breakfast.

“You'd best be taming that down a knotch, Cherish.” He noted.

I was now so busted, and I didn't care. Not one single bit.

“I may not be able to much longer.” I admitted openly.

“For your own sake, Cherish… You'd better.” He warned me.

His affectionate warning reminded me once again, that I was only sixteen. I bit my lip where Wally's lips had touched mine. I didn't feel embarraced, but I knew that there would be others who would speak lies to lawyers, who could spin it into whatever was needed, to make a judge see their point of view, and render my wishes invalid. I had seen it happen before. It had happened to me before. It wasn't going to happen again. Not now, not ever. Never again.

The sound of high powered twin outboard engines began in the distance, and signalled what today was going to be. I was now determined to make it the end of my old life, and the begining of the first day of the rest of my life.

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