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"I swear I thought Danny was going to burst something he was laughing so hard," Jim remarked as Blair chuckled over the tale Jim had shared with him. They were three days away from his former house, camped for the night beside the flowing Prospect River. A fire crackled between them, and the men were relaxing with cups of hot coffee after dinner. Jim had thoughtfully packed a fishing rod, one of those handy dandy fold-up kind that were remarkably effective despite their being sold en masse by traveling salesmen. Blair, on the other hand, had whittled a tree branch and demonstrated to Jim the way the Maori tribe in his world's New Zealand caught their fish. Despite the many claims of each mechanism's superiority over the other, both fishermen had been successful, and with bellies full, they were enjoying the starry night together.

The easy camaraderie they had established at their first meeting had continued, deepened in fact, as they swapped stories of their lives. Blair had pressed Jim to relate any sensory-related tales, and this latest one had them both in stitches. The story brought back the feelings of loss he got every time Jim thought of his former partner, Danny Choi, but the pain had lessened over the past year, and the good memories were now to be cherished. Sharing them with his new partner seemed the right thing to do.

"How long before you could smell again?" Blair asked him, still snickering at the story of the routine traffic stop to which he and Danny had responded. The furious driver of the sports car had thrown a roundhouse punch at the Sentinel, and in the process of pulling the man's arms behind his back and cuffing him, Jim had caught a scent of the man's overwhelming cologne. For some reason, his senses had chosen that moment to heighten dangerously and the peace officer had reacted badly. He had flung the scent-soaked man away from him and proceeded to gag. He ran into an alley to throw up his breakfast, and attempt to get control of himself. The smell had lingered in his nasal passages, though, which brought about a round of choking coughs. His eyes and nose were running like crazy, and his hysterically laughing partner, having dispatched the care of the enraged driver to a passing squad car, had been of no help whatsoever. The next time they went into the station, bottles upon bottles of skunk oil and noxious perfumes had been piled on his desk.

"Weeks," answered Jim, still chuckling himself. "It's like my body shut down the whole smelling function because it had been so spooked by that one clown with the toxic aftershave."

Blair's laughter slowed, although his eyes maintained their animated twinkle.

"That's something we can work on tomorrow. You'll have to tell me when you catch a whiff of something gross, and I can walk you through the process of canceling that scent out. Just like we did today with your hearing." He bent to scribble something in his ever-present notebook while Jim sipped at his cooling coffee.

The anthropologist had helped him purposely ignore the sound of the rushing river in order to better scan their surrounding for other sounds. The tests had resulted in several zone-outs, but none as severe as those he had experienced in the past. Jim's confidence in his abilities, and his belief in them as gifts -- as Blair called them -- was growing. As was his belief in the bundle of energy who walked at his side.

Jim's instinctual desire to trust the young man had not been proved wrong. Each time he proposed trying something new, he carefully explained the idea from as many different angles as it took before Jim agreed to try it. He never pushed the Sentinel when Jim said he had had enough, but the enthusiasm he displayed when they reached a breakthrough was motivation enough to keep the older man interested in continuing the experiments. His sight had always been the trickiest of his senses to control, as evidenced by the easy zone-out he experienced just prior to their first meeting. Blair had worked on that sense slowly, barely challenging Jim's abilities throughout the first and second days of their journey. Today, however, Jim had sighted a farm house in vivid detail which he knew to be over two miles away. The encouraging hand on his back had eliminated his fear of a zone out, and his gift had confidently asserted itself, zooming in to gaze longingly at a cooling pie on a windowsill before a soft command from the man behind him had eased his sight back to normal parameters.

All in all, Jim was damn impressed with his new friend. He figured he was correct in his earlier assumption that he was in the presence of a genius, but the kid never acted all high and mighty like the professors Jim had known back in school. His intelligence was Blair's own gift, Jim surmised, a gift that was tempered with humility and a desire to share his intelligence, not lord it over those who did not know what he did. Jim knew the young man was an excellent teacher. His students would be missing him, as would his mysterious friend, who Blair only recalled vaguely, but whose presence he missed deeply. He had never come right out and said it, but the Sentinel often caught the anthropologist with a wistful expression on his face. When questioned, Blair would claim he had been thinking about what to cook for dinner that night or some other mundane thing, but Jim knew that some of the foggy memories were clearing up.

He shifted slightly to a more comfortable position by the fire, silently vowing to get the kid safely to the sorceress in Owz, and barring that, making sure he knew he was welcome in the peace officer's life for as long as he wanted.

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Blair finished his latest entry in his journal, then turned back the pages to skim over what he had already recorded. He was hugely impressed with the progress Jim had made in controlling his senses, and allowed himself a silent chuckle over the various funny stories the man had shared about his past troubles. He felt badly about the time the poor peace officer had been waylaid for days by a druggist's cold remedy, and the water incident when he had gone for dinner at a lady friend's house whose family preferred imported bottled water.

*Way to make an impression on a date, Jim,* he thought with a smile. If he had enough time here in Owz, he would try to compose a list of substances for Jim to avoid at all costs, and try to figure out a way for him to compensate for any uncontrollable or absent senses, like the time when his hearing had been souped up by a routine physical, or when his sight had deserted him while on the designer drug case. Ideally, Jim needed a partner who understood his senses, and who would watch out for these things for him. The peace officer was busy enough solving crime without having to document his reactions and sensitivities to certain things. Blair imagined there would be someone on the campus of the university at Uni who might be able to help him. There were certainly enough students milling about, and if taught to dress a bit less flamboyantly, they just might get along well with the Sentinel.

Jim's stories had revealed his weaknesses in terms of his wavering control over the heightened senses he possessed. What they also revealed to Blair was the Sentinel's strengths. The man had a strong sense of morality, and was totally dedicated to being a peace officer. Blair understood better now why Jim had been so upset when they had first met. His inability to do the job he was clearly born for was a heavy burden for the peace officer to bear.

Blair skimmed through the notes he had jotted down on the accomplishments of the man who sat across the fire from him. He had traveled down to the jungles of southern Owz to rescue his boss from drug runners, had tracked down a ring of smugglers who were trading a substance Blair figured was similar to plutonium and helped a young girl who had lain in a coma for eight years regain her memories and solve the mystery of her parents' murders.

Why such a valuable and talented man was allowed to be shuttled off to a remote farm to waste away to nothing was inexplicable to the anthropologist. Jim bore no ill will towards his former colleagues, and had simply accepted that he was a freak and gone without too much of a fight. Jim was an extraordinary man, and Blair considered himself lucky to have met him. The strength of his character matched the strength in his muscles. The grad student was determined to rebuild the man's confidence in his gifts -- not afflictions, *gifts* -- before he even thought about going home to Cascade.

Cascade. So much he didn't know about was waiting for him back there. Every once in a while, something Jim said would bring back a stab of memory, but nothing concrete. The familiarity Blair felt with the many experiments he administered to Jim gave him an idea of what was waiting for him back home -- Sentinel research. He was so lucky to have come across a research subject here. He wasn't sure how he was going to fit any of this into his dissertation back home, but the thrill of discovering just how talented his new friend was energized him. His eagerness to return had not abated, but the pleasure he was getting from spending time with the Owz peace officer had taken the edge off his loneliness and fear. Lash was still a viable menace, but the terror he instilled had lessened. It was not every day that Blair had a living breathing Sentinel to protect him.

Looking up at the object of this thoughts, he smiled tiredly and wished him a good night before settling into his sleeping bag.

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The men were up early and walking steadily onward the next day. They had abandoned the practice of starting each morning with the dance, instead they simply shouldered their packs and headed out. Blair spent the first few hours on the road reviewing the lessons Jim had mastered the previous day before conjuring up new ways to test and strengthen Jim's abilities. It was in the middle of a long range hearing test in which he had Jim listen for animal's heartbeats -- Jim privately thought the anthropologist was still spooked by his predator comment -- that the Sentinel heard the unmistakable sound of a human heart.

The sound emanated from a cottage which lay a few hundred yards off the golden brick road. He and Blair approached the structure cautiously, not wanting to appear threatening, but curious to know who lived in such a remote part of the kingdom. Larry hung back away from the other men, preferring for some simian reason to remain near the road. As he approached the front door, intending to knock, the Sentinel focused his hearing again, and detected the too-close heartbeat moments before he felt the press of cold metal against the back of his neck.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing trespassing on my property?" the tall stranger boomed. Jim risked a sideways glance and saw that Blair stood motionless at his side, facing the man, a second pistol held in the man's other hand pointed straight at his forehead. The anthropologist was the one to answer.

"We're traveling by the golden brick road to the city of Owz and were surprised that someone was living here. We didn't mean. . ."

"Quiet!" their captor ordered. "Why don't you start by telling me who you are."

Jim was unable to get a good look at the man behind him, but the voice was familiar to him, as was the bad ass attitude. He tried to catch Blair's eye to telegraph his plan, but the younger man was still transfixed by the gun barrel so close to his face. The wide-eyed look of fear in his eyes was setting off warning bells in the Sentinel, and he wanted to defuse this situation quickly. Instead of identifying himself, as the man had asked, he twisted his body quickly and grabbed both of the guns by the barrels, jerking them up to face the sky while at the same time sweeping a leg out to topple the threatening man to the ground. As he fell, the stranger reflexively let go of the guns, and within moments, Jim had one tucked into his waistband and the other pointed down to where the man lay sprawled.

"Still a cranky pain in the ass, aren't you, Simon?" he drawled, lifting the weapon away from the angry man but not releasing it. The man blinked up at Jim for a moment before a long-suffering look appeared on his face. He sighed mightily as he got to his feet.

"Only you, Jim Ellison, could pull a move like that on me and not get yourself killed. Do you disrespect Pendergrast like this?"

"Nope, you're the only lucky one, sir."

"Gee, I'm flattered. Now give me back my damn guns and tell me what the hell you're doing here. And who's your friend?" The tall black man looked Blair up and down as he secured the guns in his shoulder holster and in his waistband.

"Simon Banks, meet Blair Sandburg. Blair, this is Captain Simon Banks, an old friend of mine."

"Hey, watch who you're calling old, I'm only a few years older than you," he joked as he reached for the anthropologist's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, son. Sorry about scaring you like that. If I had known it was Jim out here I would have just shot him and left you out of it."

Blair laughed nervously, not certain if this guy was joking, but shook his hand anyway. He glanced over to Jim, who seemed at ease around the brusque captain, so decided that although the man was rude, he posed no threat. The Sentinel was grinning hugely, genuinely pleased to have come across Simon.

The tall captain ushered them into the house and began brewing some coffee, all the while demanding an explanation as to why the 'unlikely pair' were in his neck of the woods. Blair seated himself in a comfortable chair and began a close examination of his shoes, waiting for Jim to respond. He was well aware that he was nothing like the people Jim seemed to have hung around with before, and an unexpected stab of insecurity struck him. How *did* the Sentinel view him? How would he describe their non-traditional partnership to a friend of his? They had engaged in a few lively arguments over the course of their travels, usually ending with Blair winning the chance to try a new test on him. Their evenings had seemed peaceful enough, and Jim had had ample opportunities to put an end to the tests and simply get the wayward Cascadian to the city like he intended to do. He had apologized repeatedly for mixing up Larry's food with the dried jerky Jim had packed for himself, and swore not to practice taste tests for the next few days. He unconsciously leaned forward as the peace officer began to speak.

"This young man, Simon, is the best thing to happen to me in years," he declared, grinning hugely in Blair's direction. The grad student had no choice but to return the blinding smile, mentally kicking himself for the earlier self-doubt. Every inch of his body was warmed by the thankful, accepting, brilliant smile on the face of the man he hadn't even known four days ago.

The captain moved slowly from the kitchen into the living area, a guarded look on his face.

"Uh, Jim, I know we go back a long way, but you don't have to tell, and I'll pretend I didn't ask, if that's okay with you two. Um, congratulations, though." He turned quickly back to the coffee preparations, leaving Jim and Blair to stare at each other incredulously. They burst into laughter simultaneously. The captain soon returned with the coffee, shaking his head at the still-hysterical men as he lay the tray on the table at the center of the room.

"What's so funny? I'm an enlightened man here. I don’t have to like it, but if it's your thing, I ain't gonna rain on your parade."

"You think. . . you thought I meant. . . oh, God, Simon, you're killing me here!" Jim bent over, resting his head in his hands as his shoulders shook with laughter.

"Would you care to explain what he is saying, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Call me Blair, please," the young man said as he calmed his own mirth. "We aren't, um, you know, like *that*," he explained with several hand gestures.

The undiluted look of relief on Simon's face caused Blair to rock back into the chair, laughter renewed. The captain rolled his eyes -- something he seemed to do quite a bit, the anthropologist noted -- and picked up his mug of coffee, patiently waiting for the other men to calm themselves.

Blair recovered before Jim did and calmly sipped from his own cup, exclaiming happily to Simon about the quality of the brew. The two men talked inanely about coffee until Jim finally gained control of himself and reached for his own mug. After a few sips and the declaration that Simon still made the best coffee known to man, Jim was ready to talk to his old friend.

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The Sentinel gave Simon an abbreviated version of the story he had told to Blair about what had been happening with his senses. Blair grinned sappily and lowered his face to his mug when Jim expounded the virtues of his new friend and the progress they had made in harnessing his abilities. Simon interrupted occasionally to inquire about mutual acquaintances and remark on the control his old friend had developed, but for the most part remained silent throughout Jim's monologue. Once Jim had finished, the tall man fixed him with a solemn gaze.

"I never knew it had gotten that bad for you, Jim. I know we've drifted apart, but I wish you had come to me for help. I might not have been as useful as Sandburg here, but I would not have let them ship you off to the middle of nowhere."

"I know, Simon. I wasn't thinking too clearly when all that shit went down. First Danny's death, then my senses going crazy. Hell, when my other friends didn't do a thing to help me, I thought -- wrongly, mind you -- that you would be no different. I was pissed off at the whole world. That's why I said Blair was the best thing to happen to me in years. He's helped me more in three and a half days than all my so-called friends and family did in three years."

Blair looked up to see the same look of gratitude shining in the Sentinel's eyes as he had earlier. He returned it then looked over at the tall captain, who was nodding thoughtfully at him. He had been right in condemning Jim's former colleagues for their neglect of him, but was glad that this man had not been a part of the ostracism of Jim Ellison. He didn't have much to go on, but sort of liked the big guy so far.

"So what's your story, kid?"

*Well, except for the 'kid' part,* he thought. Yeah, he was younger and shorter than they were, but he was by no means a kid. Pushing down his irritation at the propensity of the citizens of Owz to use nicknames, he began his own tale, leaving nothing out. Jim trusted this guy, so he would, too. This time, Simon did not hold his tongue.

"Son of a bitch, kid, *you* killed Garrett Kincaid?" he shouted out when that bit of news was revealed. Blair blushed furiously and stammered out that his crime was only alleged, since he had no knowledge of the deed whatsoever. He had realized too late that he was speaking to another member of the law enforcement community.

"Alleged, my ass," Simon replied. "I know Dan, and if he declared the bastard dead, then the son of a bitch is dead. Good job, Sandburg. Damn good job!" As he rose to pour himself more coffee, the big man clapped him so hard on the back, Blair began choking on the sip he had been taking.

Jim moved over to take the mug out of his hands while Simon strode to the kitchen for a towel. After cleaning the anthropologist up and pouring fresh coffee for each of them, the two peace officers resumed their seats and Blair resumed his tale.

Simon scowled as murderously as Jim had at the mention of Lash and his threats, and stopped Blair's story to examine the Nike Severes closely. Blair described meeting Jim and made a cursory explanation of his tests and their results. Again, he ended his story before he got to the part where a new friend assaulted him at their first meeting. Finished, he sat back further in his chair and waited for Simon's reaction.

Like Jim, the man seemed to have taken everything Blair said in stride, furthering the grad student's notion that the extraordinary was commonplace here in Owz. So after an overly long, silent appraisal from the black captain, Blair was a bit surprised when the man abruptly stood up, walked to the kitchen and began rifling through his cabinets. He glanced over to Jim, who shrugged, then watched Simon return from the kitchen with a bottle and three short glasses. He poured a small portion of dark amber liquid into each glass then passed one each to Jim and Blair before resuming his seat.

"Kid," he began, and Blair accepted that he had earned yet another nickname. "After the service you've done to the kingdom of Owz and for my friend Jim, the least I can do is offer you a real drink. Bottoms up, gentlemen." He tossed back the contents of his glass in one quick swallow, and Blair followed suit.

Once the coughing and burning pain had subsided and his eyes stopped watering, he looked over to see two amused faces staring back at him. He smiled weakly and declined a refill, preferring instead to hunt down a tall glass of cold water from the kitchen. By the time he returned, Jim was encouraging Simon to tell him how he had ended up living alone in the middle of the woods.

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For Blair's sake, Simon explained that he and Jim had both been in Owz's version of the military together, their service ending nearly five years ago. The main continent was quite peaceful, but there were outlying territories which were constantly in danger of attack from their less than hospitable neighbors, Valentia and Nunnantum. The two men had served together for six years, with Simon attaining the rank of captain after a stunning victory over the combined armies of their two foes at a place called Paragh's Mounte. The men had remained friends after they returned to the city, but had steadily drifted apart as they each embraced married life, and held separate jobs in the peace officer force in the large city of Owz.

Simon, like Jim, was divorced, but he had a son attending college in Uni. From the likeness, Blair imagined that the Daryl who had first greeted him and who had taught him the funky dance was the same Daryl Simon spoke of so lovingly.

It was a few years after his divorce that things had started going wrong for him. His division of the peace officers handled the most violent and disturbing crimes that took place in the city. From his service record in the military, it was assumed that the man would make a good peace officer captain, and he was offered the rank and the position within the division immediately upon his acceptance into the law enforcement community. His people, however, were not the loyal, brave crew he had fought with in the wars. They were tough, disillusioned men and women who saw the worst that mankind could dish out on a daily basis, and Simon found himself floundering in his efforts to keep them productive. His superiors were not interested in maintaining morale, they were only interested in arrests which garnered convictions. The burned out Major Crime unit frequently mishandled evidence, violated prisoner's rights and destroyed cases with their ineptitude. Simon's reaction was to clamp down hard, and since courtesy and kindness had not worked, he tried to frighten his people into doing their jobs properly with threats of pay cuts, suspensions, and even an ass kicking or two.

The technique gained results, but distanced him from the people he had hoped would one day respect him. Crime, especially major crime, increased with the arrival of the warlock brothers, and any chance Simon might have had of repairing his relationship with his unit faded quickly as several of his men were killed while following his orders to get an arrest or don’t bother coming in to work. A therapist had helped him deal with the residual guilt over the death of his men, but was of no help whatsoever in handling his anger, which seemed to have taken control of his life.

New recruits were warned instantly of the captain's mean streak, council members hid in bathrooms rather than be confronted by the man at social functions and reporters visibly trembled when interviewing him. His bad attitude had become legendary in the city of Owz. No one messed with Simon Banks or they would live to regret it. Simon's only actual contribution to the legend was his imperious bellow, and a penchant for threatening people when they got out of line. His men and women jumped when he said to, and did their jobs well. The statistics for his department were excellent, and with the exception of the warlocks, most crimes found speedy resolution under his command. But the captain's reputation eventually got him into trouble. After a while, Simon began believing the rumors that he was the baddest captain in town, and his behavior became more and more hostile. His ex-wife Joan finally refused to let his precious son visit him on weekends when the tales of Simon's twisting criminal's heads off and spitting down their necks began circulating at Daryl's high school.

Eventually, when a new upper management was interred after some bad politics threw out the current regime, Simon's career was held under a microscope and dissected. The conviction rate could not be argued with, but the tales of Simon's legendary temper, told not only by the criminals but by his own men could not be ignored any longer. Two and a half months ago, the new commissioner had called Simon into his office and informed him, point blank, that he was on a three month leave of absence in which he was to "find a goddamned heart" or don't bother coming back.

The commissioner had put in his place some 'flower loving woman' named Finkleman who made his people call her ma'am, and who made them dress in suits. Like any peace officer could do their job dressed like a money handler!

So here he was, living alone for the past month in a peaceful little patch of the woods, attempting to 'get in touch with his inner calm' -- as directed by the last shrink he had seen to help him revamp his attitude. Personally, he found nothing wrong with being a hard ass. It got the job done, and it had never been his aim to get cozy with his subordinates. The council members were all a bunch of wimps, and the reporters were pissed because they never got any gossip out of him.

He was trying to reform himself only because of his estrangement from his son. His bitch of an ex-wife could drop into a hole and never come out and he wouldn't bat an eyelash, but Daryl and he had always had a strong relationship. Being kept from his own flesh and blood was a hard trial, one that hurt worse than anything he had ever endured in the military or law enforcement. He would suffer meditation, thought journals, communing with nature and similar new age mumbo jumbo if it meant he could have his job and especially his son back.

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After Simon finished his story, Blair sat quietly while Jim and the captain talked of what had been going on since Jim's departure ten months ago and before Simon, too, had left the city. The conversation interested the anthropologist, but he sensed the men needed some time alone to reconnect after their long absence. With the announcement that he was going to go find Larry, he pulled on his jacket and headed out into the woods surrounding Simon's home.

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Jim stared at the closed door for a long time after his friend had closed it. When he looked back at Simon, he caught the thoughtful expression which had taken over his friend's face.

"He sure is something, that friend of yours," the captain murmured, still lost in thought.

"That he is Simon."

"I can't believe I told you so much about what had been happening with me. I mean, you know me, Jim, when have I ever been the talkative type?"

Jim simply smiled, waiting for Simon to draw his own conclusions. He didn’t have to wait long.

"I just kept looking at those damn eyes of his, and something about them made me want to get all this crap out of my system. And you know what? I feel a hell of a lot better than I did this morning. Can you believe it?"

"I only knew the kid a half hour tops before I was spilling my guts to him. He has that sort of affect on people."

"Damn. What I wouldn't give to have him in an interrogation room. One concerned look from him and I'd have confessions flying right and left." The men enjoyed a chuckle over that image before they grew pensive once more.

"That business with Lash has me a little spooked, Simon," Jim began.

"I'll be the first to admit that son of a bitch scares the crap out of me."

"I'm not sure I can protect him if Lash does decide to show up and exact his revenge. The kid is an anthropologist, Simon, not a peace officer. He said Kincaid's death was a fluke, and I'm more inclined to believe that than think that young man killed someone on purpose."

"I know what you mean. We're going to have to keep a close watch on him 'til we can get him to the city and in to see the sorceress."

"We, sir?"

"You don’t think I'd leave you to take on that filth on your own, do you? Besides, this communing with nature has only made me more pissed off than I was before. You can't get decent reception on the radio for borderball games, and I'm starting to miss the big city."

"It might get dangerous."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but who dragged your sorry ass out of the fire when that gorgeous lady assassin, who happened to be your ex-girlfriend, wanted your head for a trophy? And I believe it was me who led our troops out of the worst of the fighting when the Valentian forces ordered our cancellation? Dangerous doesn't scare me, Jim, you know that. I can handle dangerous."

"He's a warlock."

"You’re a Sentinel."

"He's not stupid."

"We're traveling with a bonafide genius for heaven's sake. Give it up, Ellison, I'm with you on this one and that's final. I haven't felt this paternal since Daryl was living with me, and it'll be good to get to know my friend all over again. Even if he decided to turn into a superhero without telling me."

Jim finally laughed at Simon's teasing. Truth be told, he was overjoyed that his trusted friend would be accompanying them. He would never have asked him, knowing how dangerous it might get, but was more hopeful of their success on the journey with Simon traveling with them. He tried to picture how Sandburg and Banks would get along, and found himself chuckling at the vast differences in his two friends.

"You'd better be careful of Blair, Simon. I have a feeling that if you call meditation and thought journals mumbo jumbo again, you'll get a lecture on the good of getting in touch with your inner child or something."

"It is too late to change my mind about going with you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid you’re stuck with superman and hippie boy for the foreseeable future."

Simon's answering groan was cut off abruptly when the two men clearly heard the sound of a small explosion coming from outside the house. Grabbing their guns, they raced out the door and into the woods.

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When Jim and Simon rushed into the clearing not far from the back of the captain's home, they found one extremely astonished anthropologist sitting on his butt at the base of what looked like a small oak tree, a veil of white smoke dissipating around him. His hands were bunched up and crossed over his chest as though protecting himself. His eyes were wide and fixed on a point a few feet away from his shoes.

The Sentinel could see Simon, his gun drawn, checking the perimeter of the clearing, so Jim knelt down next to Blair and gently pulled at the frightened young man's chin until their eyes met. He extended his senses and heard Blair's racing heart slowly calming. His breath came in short pants, and he was shaking.

"Are you okay, kid?" he asked worriedly while re-holstering his gun. "What happened? Was it Lash?"

"No," Blair replied. "At least I don't think so. Wrong color smoke." The grad student relaxed marginally, and Jim was able to ease him back to lean against a tree. "I was just walking around, looking for Larry when I saw all the plants that grow around here. I thought I found some that I could blend into a breakfast shake -- full of vitamins and protein, you know? Breakfast shakes are really good for you, man. I have one every morning back home."

Jim thought the idea of ground up plant bits for breakfast sounded revolting, as a matter of fact, but he nodded encouragingly at the spooked young man to keep him talking.

"So I had a bunch of them gathered up when I saw this tree with acorns hanging off the low branches. I know this great recipe for fish where you take the fish, wrap it in leaves and add nuts and herbs to it before you slowly bake it under hot rocks. I thought the acorn meat might do the trick for the nuts ingredient in case we catch some more fish on the way to Owz. But these aren't like any acorns I ever saw." Blair cautiously pulled his hands away from his chest so Jim could see that he had been cradling several of the hard objects in his hands. "These acorns explode, man!"

"What?" Jim exclaimed.

"I can hardly believe it myself. I sort of stumbled on one of those big roots over there and one of the acorns dropped onto the ground. Then, BAM! I was startled so badly by the smoke and the noise I tripped over the same damn root again but made sure I didn't drop any more. Five seconds later, you and Simon showed up."

"Dammit!" Simon exploded from behind them. Blair jumped at the shouted word and pulled the volatile acorns closer to his chest.

"What is it, Simon?" Jim asked, keeping one hand on the anthropologist's shoulder.

"I have talked to this stupid tree I don't know how many times, but she just keeps making her damned acorns into explosives." He shook a fist at the seemingly harmless tree. "If I were a woodsman, I would've taken an ax to you and turned you into kindling weeks ago."

Blair gaped as Jim nodded thoughtfully to the apparently delusional captain as the tall man railed against the tree. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Simon Banks that discussing things with the forestry would not make any difference, but realized abruptly there was very little that was ordinary in this land, and if Simon claimed he had had conversations with an oak tree, it was entirely possible that said discussion had taken place. He held his hands out to Simon.

"Is the tree mad because I gathered these?" he asked, indicating the acorns, while wondering if he would get used to Owz' oddity before he left. He held the remaining nuts carefully as Jim pulled him to his feet.

"Nope, she's just a cranky old tree who likes to play jokes on unsuspecting strangers," Simon replied. "I should have warned you about the acorns. They're loud and smoky, but quite harmless otherwise. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

"Only my pride," Blair admitted, rubbing at his sore backside and ignoring the laughter his comment brought from the other two men. He pocketed the acorns, fascinated by the idea of a tree having a defensive mechanism, and imagining that a loud boom and a cloud of smoke might come in handy at some point should he need to make a quick escape from an angry sorcerer.

"So, this recipe for fish," Simon began, as they walked back towards his cabin. "Would pine nuts work? I have a whole bunch of those and a fair amount of spices lying around. Since you guys interrupted my morning of fishing, the least you can do is cook supper for me."

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The following morning found the three men and the little ape on their way towards the city. Simon's cabin had been much better stocked than Jim's so the men now carried canned foods and snacks that would keep them fed throughout the journey that lay ahead. After declaring Blair's fish recipe to be excellent, Simon had packed all his spices and his own fishing rod after getting a promise from the younger man to recreate his dinner from the night before.

As they walked, Blair encouraged Simon to open up a bit more about what had gone on at his precinct to bring about his suspension. The hour-long rant which ensued had Blair's ears ringing. Simon had apparently not let go of a single bit of his anger in the two and a half months he had spent away from Owz. While that made Blair feel a bit safer that this very angry man was on his side, he also decided that Simon needed to learn to manage that rage, so he could return to his job and be allowed to see his son again.

After a supper of beef stew and a cup of Simon's superb coffee afterwards, Blair lay in his sleeping bag, contemplating the best way to approach the dilemma of 'rehabilitating' Simon. His peace officer instincts were excellent, and in the army, his commandeering style had saved lives. But in the civilian world, his harsh attitude, while understandable to Blair, was not acceptable to the brass and most certainly unwelcomed by the men and women in his command. By morning, he had devised a plan and followed Jim down to the river after breakfast to discuss it with him away from their surly new companion. Citing his minor in psychology and his own vast experience with therapists, he laid out his strategy.

Jim was not entirely pleased with his role in Blair's proposed scheme, but admitted that it just might work and agreed, making Blair promise to confess all should Simon react badly.

As soon as they got back to camp, the plan was set in motion.