Disclaimer: Neither the characters of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, nor the quotes from The Odyssey belong to me, but I appreciate the creators of both.

The Shroud Unwoven

Prologue

-"Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy"-

May 1872

Two hawks, swept the heights of the heavens, falling and rising along the waves of the cool morning breeze. Their journey was intricate, twisting and turning with wings stretched out. Just as one would fly ahead, responding to the motions of its own path, looking as if it had finally broken from his mate to fly solo, the other bird would come soaring into view, reminding her companion that he never truly was alone, though it may appear that way.

The cry of the two hawks could be heard all the way in the valley below, piercing the stillness of a spring morning.

Michaela could hear the guttural song faintly in the recesses of her mind, but the sound failed to register with her as she moved around the kitchen. Instead, she bent intently over the stack of soiled breakfast dishes, slowly scrapping the leftovers from the plate in her hand before placing it into the wash bucket sitting to her right. It was all she could do to ignore the half pack haversack sitting on the table behind her like an uninvited guest waiting for the right moment to drop a horrible secret.

It was ridiculous, it really was, Michaela thought to herself. She had never before had such an aversion to Sully leaving for a few days. In fact, she had always done her best to accept his trips, work or otherwise, to make it easier for him. Yet, from the very moment he told her what it was he wanted to do, she found herself fighting the urge to beg him to stay. Now, her stomach fluttered as though she were performing a surgery she wasn't familiar with. She couldn't name her nervousness, and the fact that she couldn't manage a single reason that she should feel this way, worried her even more.

"Bababa… bababammm." A constant strand of babble filtered through the homestead, preceding the sound of the door shutting and announcing to Michaela that she was no longer alone in the homestead. Sully turned the corner.

Michaela glanced up at him between her scrapping, and had to smile. He stood in the corner of the kitchen with a happily humming Katie balanced firmly on his forearm. She sat, tugging on the strand of beads that her pa wore around his neck, as he tried to coax them gently out of her hand. She had a bright grin on her face that told him she wasn't giving them up anytime soon. This game was fun.

"Ya want 'em so much? Why don' ya keep 'em for me?" Sully chuckled, lifting the ring of red beads from around his neck and draping them over Katie. It was only now that he looked up at Michaela, as if realizing that she had yet to speak to them since they had entered. He moved to put Katie on the floor, where she sat eagerly playing with her new won treasure.

"Breakfast was good this mornin'." Sully said as he straightened, turning to consider Michaela's silent form.

She glanced at him quickly, a half smile forcing its way across her face. "Thank you." Her hands reached for the last of the dishes, a plate that looked as though nothing had been eaten off it at all. It still sat filled with the original portion of eggs and sausage- minus a few bites.

Sully moved gingerly to the counter, as if he were on one of his tracks through the forest and had spotted a creature both beautiful and precious and he desired to see it closer without scaring the animal away. He knew his way around Michaela well enough to know what steps not to take. He leaned against the edge of the counter at her side, taking the same position he often did while she was working in the kitchen.

"Ya didn' eat much." The inquiry was simple, with a casual hand moved out to gesture at the plate in Michaela's hand. She blushed, and he knew she wasn't angry.

"I don't suppose I was that hungry." In a swift motion, she emptied the plate of its contents and dropped it into the bucket at her side.

"What's wrong?" A raised look from Michaela was enough to answer his question, "Michaela," he breathed, not knowing what else to do. They had been over this many times, and yet she still wasn't able to let this go. It had been two weeks and her opinion on this trip hadn't changed; he had no idea why. Everything was going to be perfectly fine, he told her, and yet at each night, he knew that she was still anxious over something unnamed. Reaching out with his hand, he ran it down her back, pausing to add a gentle pressure just below her shoulder blades. His voice lowered to a compassionate tone. "Look, if ya don' want me ta go jus say it. Tell me ta stay an' I'll stay."

Michaela shook her head violently. "I don't want you to stay. This is what you want, and it's good. You're going will be the best thing that happens to those Cheyenne."

"But ya're upset."

"Over nothing!" This perhaps is what bothered her the most, that her fear was completely irrational. "There's absolutely no reason for you not to go." Reaching for a dishcloth, she turned to move from his embrace, but his hand dropped to her waist, holding her firmly in place as he stepped closer, eliminating all space between them.

"Michaela…" he breathed her name; the blueness of his eyes was like ice, freezing the fear and anxiety that flipped in the pit of Michaela's stomach.

She sighed. "It's a feeling," she admitted, sagging her shoulders slightly under the weight of it all, "I just have a feeling that something will go wrong, that this isn't as simple as we think it will be. It's… it's just a bad feeling."

A childlike smile tugged at a corner of Sully's mouth, "ya know I'm a big boy, right? I can take care a myself." The understatement was enough to make Michaela giggle as the memories of all the things she'd seen him do flashed before her; crawling down a collapsed mining cave, fighting off dog soldiers, stopping a runaway train. He most certainly could take care of himself. He'd proven that many times.

Sully was relieved to see the inklings of a smile spread across his wife's face, enough so that he leaned back a little, adding, "'sides, 'fore ya know it the week's gonna be over an' I'm gonna be home an' we'll be celebratin' a birthday." Sully leaned back enough to see Katie, who was still playing contently with the beads, though now she had resorted to pushing them across the floor and then scooting after them. When he turned back to Michaela, he realized she had been watching the same scene. Their eyes locked and her smile widened.

Michaela thrust the uneasiness aside, Sully was absolutely right. There wasn't any reason to be concerned, and he'd be home before she hardly even noticed he were gone. The tingling settled into a thick hum at the bottom of her stomach. Sully smiled at her, watching as her emotions clearly danced across her face. Her body relaxed under his palm. Leaning toward her, he placed an adoring kiss to her temple, as if sealing his words in truth. The kiss moved from her temple, to her cheek, before finding a place at her lips, pausing only long enough to taste the sweetness there before pulling away.

"Hey Sully, I got the wood stacked behind the barn. Would ya like me to saddle Mags, for you?" Michaela and Sully could hear Brian chattering away before he even turned into the kitchen. The boy was dressed in his dark work clothes, his hair was windswept, and his shirtsleeves were already rolled to his forearms, making him look older than he was. Michaela had to remind herself every day that he wasn't the same little boy that she had adopted so long ago, he was nearly taller than she was now, and exhibited wisdom beyond his years.

Michaela grabbed the scraps plate that had been sitting forgotten on the counter. "While you're doing that, would you put this in the scrap bin, please?" She passed the plate to Sully, who moved around the table and handed it to Brian.

"Thanks, Brian. I'll be there in a bit."

The door shut behind Brian, and Sully turned his attention back to Katie. "Hey, Kates ya wanna help me finish packin'?" Reaching down, he scooped his little girl up under her arms and swung her into the air; her giggle crackled like a warm fire in the winter hearth. Michaela couldn't help herself; there was no way she could keep herself from laughing as well, and what was left of her tension completely faded.

"Sully?" she spoke, not turning from the dishes she was still trying to finish. Instead she just waited for his reply, as he moved to the little kitchen table.

"Yea?" He sat Katie before him, and she instantly grabbed for a folded shirt and pulled it over her head.

"Tell me again what you're going to be doing."

Sully reached for a different shirt and shoved it to the bottom of the haversack. "Well, General Madison is transferring 'bout twenty Cheyenne men to the Wilm's Creek reservation in south western South Dakota."

"Is it a large reservation?"

"It ain't huge, but it's growin'."

"Why do they want to move the Cheyenne?"

"To break up an alliance that formed on the reservation. They're afraid of a potential insurrection an' they wanna make sure there ain't any chance a that happenin'." A silence fell between them, as Sully continued to pack, smiling occasionally at a blissfully happy Katie, but unable to remove his mind from the situation he was walking into. Finally, Michaela's voice came quietly.

"Are you ok with that?"

"Not really, but there ain't much I can do. That's why when Ed McCook asked me if I'd travel with 'em ta make sure that the Cheyenne were treated fairly, I didn't wanna say no."

Finishing the last plate Michaela sat it on the top of her stack and turned toward him, "they're fortunate they have someone like you to speak for them." Sully dropped his head, watching his hands as he tied the haversack shut.

Two small hands grasped his arm, pulling and tugging on his sleeve. With a tremendous amount of effort, Katie stood, stably on her feet, grasping tightly to her pa's shirt for stability. She grinned a toothy smile, lifting her feet as fast as she could get them in the air.

"Look at ya!" Sully laughed, pulling his Kates to a loose embrace. He lowered his head so that they were at eye level. "Ya're gonna be walkin' in no time."

"You better be careful, she might just decide to take those steps this week, and you won't even be here to see them." Michaela teased lightly, moving to stand next to her family.

"Na, ya ain't gonna do that are ya? Ya're gonna wait for me ta get back, then ya'll be running all over the homestead." Katie, simply happy to have the undivided attention of both her parents, giggled and nodded, as if agreeing to Sully's words. She bounced excitedly once she realized that both Michaela and Sully were smiling at her.

Michaela reached out and pulled Katie to her, settling the little girl on her hip. "I think it's getting about time for you to be leaving." She absentmindedly smoothed at Katie's soft curls as she watched Sully gather the last of his things.

Outside, Sully pulled on the strap that securely fastened his pack and bed role to Mags' back before turning back to his family. Brian met him halfway to the porch, and Sully greeted the boy with a casual hand at his back. Together, they walked back to where Michaela stood with Katie at the base of the steps.

"I want ya to take care of your Ma and sister while I'm gone." Sully's voice was low, a father releasing responsibilities to his only son. Brian relished in his adopted father's faith to think that he could be the man of the house for the next week. Michaela could tell by the bright crooked smile that spilt the boy's face.

"I can do that."

Sully smiled, "Ya're gonna do a good job." His voice rose as they approached Michaela and Katie, "when I get back we'll go fishin' at the new crook in the Yellow Creek."

"Sure." With a firm pat on the back Sully turned his attention to Katie who was wiggling in her mother's arms.

"Don't forget your promise now." He tapped her on the nose, "no walkin' til I get back." Katie, unconcerned with what her pa was telling her, mimicked his motion, reaching out with her own tiny finger to tap him on the nose. Sully laughed a light and carefree laugh before leaning in to kiss her.

Then he turned to Michaela. "Only one week?" She asked, eyes raised, seeking reconfirmation.

"Only a week. It'll be over 'fore ya know it." A gentle hand ran the length of her back. He leaned in for a kiss, pausing against her skin to relish her closeness. He could smell the flowery scent of her skin and feel the feathery softness of her hair as it brushed against his hand.

"I love ya."

"I love you too."

Sully turned from them, swinging himself onto his mount, with a single glance over his shoulder, he lifting his hand, a silent good buy. Brian returned the gesture, as Michaela hugged Katie closer to herself. As Sully galloped further away from the homestead, she felt the uneasiness return once more. Above, two hawks could be seen flying their dance through the sky.

The caravan could be spotted sitting stationary from the top of Reservation Hill. They had barely traveled a mile when Sully caught up, trotting aimlessly beside the cluster of wagon, horses, and men until he made it to the front of the grouping and slid from his horse, landing with both feet securely on the ground.

"General Madison?" A dark headed man turned around to face Sully with curious and somewhat annoyed eyes. Madison was a small built man, shorter in stature than Sully, and yet, the double buttoned breast of his uniform, closed pristinely to his neck made him look broader about the shoulders than he really was.

"I'm sorry, but I'm very busy at the moment…"

Sully stopped the man before he could go any farther. He offered his hand, a subtle gesture meant to diffuse any tension that his next words may bring. "I'm Byron Sully." The General's face instantly fell.

"Mr. Sully… to what do I owe this honor of our meeting. As you can see, I have my hands busy and I believe we need to be departing rather soon."

Sully shot a glance to the long caravan out of the corner of his eye. "That's just the thing," reaching into the folds of his leather belt, he produced a folded piece of paper. With an outstretched hand, he offered it to the General. "Governor McCook asked me ta go with ya an' make sure nothin' happens outta the ordinary."

Madison took the letter, a little forcefully, and glanced it quickly. Folding it hap hazardly, he glanced up frustrated. "Isn't it a break of promise for you to be dealing with the Indians?"

"I promised I'd never be on the reservation. Reservation's 'bout a mile to our south," he said, tossing his head in that direction. For a moment, Madison looked like a trout, opening his mouth, then closing it, and opening it again.

"The only reason McCook wants you here is to cover his back. He doesn't need any more trouble from back east." Sully said nothing. "Fine, you'll come along, but stay out of my way." Wadding the letter in his hand, he shoved it back to Sully.

"I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine."

Madison's eyes narrowed. "You can travel in the rear."

Sully turned, needing nothing more from the commanding officer. Walking Mags to the designated area, Sully took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. The first six riders were army, the general, his aides de camp, and a few other ranking officers. Behind them were four Cheyenne, hands tied before them as they sat upon individual mounts. It was obvious that these were the most trusted of the men. Behind the individual riders, were two wagons that sat six men each. The men were seated on the bottom of the wagon bed, facing one another. They were silent, hands clasped before them and eyes bowed to their laps, except one. As Sully traveled toward the back, gazing at the wagonloads, his eyes locked with a single warrior who gazed at him with what seemed to be no emotions at all, but behind the darkened eyes raged a quiet fire, waiting to burst free. The warrior did not care who Sully was or why he was there. He did not know that Sully cared for his people and wanted to help. To him, Sully was another white man, like all the others who road alongside him on their horses.

"His name's Raging River." Sully turned to see a uniformed man standing behind him. The man seemed young, no older than Matthew did, with feathery red hair and a naïve smile. "He seems to be the angriest of them all." Sully turned to glance at the Cheyenne one last time before turning his full attention to the boy.

"You must have been with these men a while."

"I've been here the past six months." Then offering his hand, "I'm James Finnegan, the camp Chaplain." Sully had to admit the he was slightly surprise, not only because a man so young was allowed to be chaplain, but that there was even one on this convoy. Accepting the gesture in a firm grasp, Sully nodded.

"Byron Sully." The boy's eyes widened.

"Sully? You mean the Sully?" Sully just gave the boy a questioning look. "You're like a legend out here."

Sully smirked, his hand tightening on the reins as he began to drive the conversation, further to the back of the convoy. "I didn' realize people talked."

"Really? Everyone that comes up to Colorado either has a story or he's heard of one. Like you making Custer let all those captives go right when he was about to hang them all? And the time that you saw the renegades attack some soldiers and covered it up with that lady doctor. They said she lied right to Custer's face. Course, I never rightly believed that story much because I don't know a soul who's met Custer who actually have the courage to say more than a couple of sentences to him, much less lie. Oh and what about the time the two of you ran in front of Chivington's charging cavalry?" He whistled through his teeth. "You must have some guts, and that doctor… she must be a spitfire."

The wagons in front of them screeched into motion.

Sully chuckled, "Ya better be careful, that lady doctor's my wife now."

The sun was hanging high in the sky, dissipating the cool breeze of the morning and replacing it with the harsh radiating heat of its rays. The caravan travelled in silence, with only the steady rhythm of the wagon wheels spinning across the rocky path and the steady clop clop of horse hoofs against the earth. Each man traveled in silence, lost in his own thought or observation. The Cheyenne in the back of the wagon stared intently on the tightly coiled ropes that spoke of their immobility and helplessness. They were tied to the whim of the white man in charge, and that white man hadn't found it necessary to stop for anything.

Sully rode at the back of the group, quietly watching everything around him. He had sat patiently as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, but now that the yellow bulb began to sink toward the west, he found he wouldn't be patient any longer. Pulling out from the line, he rode alongside the formation until he caught sight of General Madison.

"Don't ya think it's time to stop?" The General threw an exacerbated glance to Sully from the corner of his eye. He didn't bother to turn his head.

"There's no time. We have three days to get these men to Wilm's Creek."

"Ya got time ta spend twenty minutes letting these men have some water."

Madison slung his head to the side, a sudden movement that spoke something to the mixture of frustration and fear. "No… we…"

"Yea, ya do." Sully voice was quiet and strong, reminding Madison of what his presence on the journey was there for. He reminded Madison of the power that he possessed- an unfavorable report would not be tolerated.

A sudden movement on the reigns stopped the general in his tracks, his eyes conveying a warning to Sully that his words dare not speak. "All right! Prepare to break rank at the next stream crossing." He yelled behind him, not bothering to turn around to look at the men he was addressing.

The water break was quick, less than the twenty minutes that Sully had suggested, but he was only concerned with being certain that each man obtained enough water to fight the hours of riding under the hot sun. He walked toward the creek, to stand amid the crouching figures of men, scooping water into their mouth, struggling to catch enough to quench their thirst. Tapping the closest man to him, he handed him a corroded cup, motioning for him to pass it along when he was done.

Behind the Cheyenne, soldiers in blue paced back and forth, some resaddling horses, others standing in a circle talking among themselves, while some watched with contempt, the men at the creek. From the mass of blue, Finnegan emerged, a tin canteen swinging loosely at his side.

"He not showing any interest?" Finnegan spoke when he got close enough to be heard. Sully followed the young man's eyesight. Raging River sat against a tree, his elbows resting across the top of his bent knees. Dark strands of black hair hug in front of his lower face. It appeared as though he were staring at the river smoothed pebble laying before him, but the piercing white of his eyes as they peered between the dark strings gave away his true interest. His eyes locked with Sully's.

"No." Sully said, not adding and it's not a good idea to push him, while gratefully accepting the canteen offered to him.

It was late at night on the second day. Sully had long given up sleeping; there was an intense feeling of uneasiness that he found impossible to ignore. He watched Raging River through the day, quietly, and saw only that as the day progressed the Cheyenne became more alert and conscious. He moved more, looking around at his surroundings. He even dared to look several of the soldiers in the eye- and received in payment a threat from several of the men in blue. The soldiers laughed at the way the Indians submitted to their authority without question, and they did not notice as Raging River became bolder, but Sully noticed.

Sully sat leaning against a large stone, methodically stripping the bark off a limb he had found near their campsite. The entire camp was asleep, save two armed guards standing in the darkness. Raging River sat across the campfire, staring into the tree line as if there were somebody, something, that could be seen through the fluttering leaves. Sully wondered exactly what it was Raging River could see.

"Hénová'e tsé-vóohtomo?" What do you see? Sully asked, wondering if the man were to answer him or not. Did the Cheyenne know that he was there to help? The words hung suspended above the dancing flames of the campfire. There seemed to be no answer, not even a register that his words were even heard or understood.

"Netse Ôhvó'komaestse-htseho'a'ó'tov-vése-atová" The eagle will come with fire. The answer came when Sully's eyes lowered back to his hands, leaving no sign of the speaker, but in reality, there was no question of who made the prediction. Sully involuntarily felt his hands tighten on the stick he held, not knowing what the words meant, but feeling as though they needed no explanation. His eyes lifted to the tree line, what was it that could be seen in the darkness? In that instant, Sully knew that it was not an answer of whom he could see, but who could see him.

The next morning Sully sat erect in his saddle, his entire body so tense that he barely swayed with the motion of Mags' footsteps beneath him. He was painfully alert to everything around him, all the sounds of the forest, the early morning sights. The hair on the back of his neck seemed to stand on end as the first few minutes of the journey turned into hours. The eagle will come with fire. The words echoed through his mind. He had yet to determine what the Cheyenne meant, and that added even more to his sense of dread.

"Is everything alright?" Finnegan asked, though slow, he had finally begun to realize the anxiety that held Sully's body solidly in place. The answer came in a whisper, as if afraid to speak to loudly for the unknown consequences.

"Something's not right."

"What?"

"I don't know."

The caravan started that morning at the bottom of Pine Valley, next to the creek they had been following for the last two days, but as they reached the end of their journey, they separated from the safety of the creek at the base of Bear Mountain. A delicate trail of pressed dirt lined with dead logs and rocks rose from the ground, wrapping itself around the side of the mountain. It would have to be traveled in order to reach the reservation.

At first, the journey wasn't any different from the days before. The path was at a low enough gradient that they could move independently. However, the higher they got, the slower they moved. Some of the soldiers had to dismount in order to help the wagon over inclines, forcing those who were riding in the wagon to line behind the horses. As they got to the wide places on the path, they allowed the horses to rest.

Two-thirds of the way up, Sully found himself standing on a rock facing, jutting out of the sturdy ground. From his position, he could see through a clearing in the trees. He could see the arching curves of the mountains, rising and falling along the earth like a serpent coiling through the water. In the far distance, where the base of three mountains converged, he could see the glistening shimmer of a lake, fed by the creek that they had followed so long. Sully knew, though he couldn't see it, that the creek slithered wits way from the lake, cutting through the lowest part of the valley and ran somewhere along the base of the mountain on which he was standing. In moments of silence, when there was no talking from the men or moaning of horse he could hear the crisp water flow over the rocks. The anxiety from the morning coursed through his body, emerging in the simple tick of his thumbnail, strumming against the seam of his buckskins. He had brief moments, when his mind wandered to Michaela and Brian. He could hear Katie's laughter and see her bright smile, but the sound of crumbling rocks and the abruptness of a cool breeze against his skin, brought him back to the present.

"Mr. Sully, are you ready?" James Finnegan asked. He seemed to bounce with the pent up energy that seemed to spark in his mass of bright red hair and travel through his body. In the past few days, Sully realized that the boy never settled down, he seemed to stare at the world around him with an amazed awe. Sully wondered if this was the first time the boy had ever been away from home at all. 'Did you see that Mr. Sully?' 'What's that used for?' 'How long did it take you to learn Cheyenne?' Finnegan's questions seemed endless, and Sully patiently answered each one of them.

Turning from his view, he forced a smile, eyes not neglecting to scan the horizon of the mountain. Finnegan swung on top of his mount, "They said the next stop is the last before we cross. They have enough water to do us, 'til we get to the reservation. I heard we'll be there by five." While Finnegan spoke, Sully strolled toward Mags, and, picking up the saddle packs from the ground, began to load the packs once more. His hand, after finishing the last adjustment to the saddle, lingered along the course hair of Mags' neck, soothingly stroking at her mane, a comforting motion more for him than the horse.

"That's good, the sooner we get…" Sully stopped suddenly, his head shifting to the side. It looked as though his ears had visibly perked and he stood now listening intently as a wolf listens to the footsteps of an enemy.

"Mr…" Sully cut Finnegan off with the wave of his hand. Had he imagined it? Yet, as soon as he began to doubt, the clear sharpened call rang through the trees and he knew that he wasn't imagining at all. In the far distance, Sully could hear an eagle call, strong and steady. Now the only question was if the call were real or…

Sully didn't have the chance to process what was happening as the sound of rustling leaves zipping closer and stopping ended with the sudden gasp of a nearby soldier on horseback. Slouching forward, Sully watched as the man tumbled from his horse, making no effort to catch himself as he hit the ground. He felt the jerk of Mags under his hand as she reacted to another soldier falling from his mount and landing in a heap at her feet. Sheer instinct made Sully reach up, and grabbing the young man by the collar, pulled Finnegan from his horse, dragging him between their animals and throwing him against the side of the mountain, crouching in the shelter of the horses.

"What was that?" Finnegan gasped suddenly, struggling to stand from their cover.

"Don't move." Sully spat, yanking the chaplain back to the ground, his eyes never lifted from their fierce gaze, searching between the legs of the beasts for any sign of movement. Two shots had been fired and in the seconds following there was nothing but the intense stillness that descended on the men as they waited and watched for what would come next. They knew nothing. They had no idea who it was attacking them or what direction they were hiding. As the seconds grew into minutes several of the soldier began to relax; it was an angry statement, they said. The enemy must be gone. Finnegan tried to rise with the rest of them, but the tightening fist around his arm prevented him from moving far. Only Sully knew that the moments of silence were not empty. They were pregnant with the intention of the seconds that lay ahead.

Swiftly, Sully's hand shot out, fumbling through the overcoat of the fallen man lying before him, slipping into the holster strapped to the dead man's hip. Sully pressed the retrieved pistol into Finnegan's chest. "Ya stay low; don't let 'em see where ya are. Only use it if ya need to. Don't try ta aim at any of 'em. Don't waist ya bullets. When there's an openin', slip up the mountain an' run, don' stop." Finnegan sat speechless, quietly absorbing his orders. The quiet tension that pulled taunt through Sully's voice seeped into his own person, sending chills running over his body. His hand shakily cradled the pistol in his hand, and Sully did not miss the terror in the boy's eyes. "I'll be followin' ya," he said with a quick nod of his head. For the second time that day, his mind flashed back to the family he left at home with the promise to return in a week. For the first time, he considered the fact that he might not be able to keep his word.

The war cry screeched through the air as if on cue, not surprising Sully at all as the retaliation jolted back against the charging enemy as they rushed the edge of the mountain from below. The instantaneous crackle of gunfire rippled through the valley as man met man in a clash of gunpowder and blades.

Sliding against the side of the rock facing, Sully could get glimpses of the painted faces, twisted into vicious cries and he knew instantly that the men were dog soldier, a blend of tribes once considered enemies of one another. Now, they combined their force to battle the enemy common to them all, the white man. They were here to set the white man's prisoners free.

Man by man threw down their ropes and slid from their confinement, reaching for the weapons closest to them. One of the Cheyenne reached behind a soldier who had just killed another prisoner and cracked his skull with a rock. Another soldier was locked in an physical battle with a dog soldier that sent them both rolling across the rocky dirt until the Indian was pitched over the side of the cliff, leaving the soldier to be shot by his enemy's comrade.

As Sully moved further down the path, protected between the mountain on his right and horses on his left (and ever conscious of Finnegan's shaking body, following, clutching the pistol to his chest as his only means of survival) he became aware of a pair clothed feet, following along the opposite side. Step-by-step the Indian match Sully's movements, waiting for the moment to pounce. He found it in a break between the beasts. Jutting his rifle into the gap at the last minute and preparing to fire, he was surprised to find the rifle wrenched from his grasp. Sully, gripping the weapon around the muzzle, jerked it away at such an angle that propelled the butt of the gun around, turning it into a weapon of a different kind. Wood hit skull and the dog soldier dropped to the ground.

"Now!" Sully cried, and James Finnegan shot up through the trees of the forest, his hair blazing like fire.

Finnegan had never experienced anything like this before. He had moved straight from his training to the field. He had never heard gunfire before today, and now it seemed impossible to believe that he was running through the trees, dodging twigs and logs- running for his life when he never realized that he was truly putting it at stake. He was the chaplain for Heaven's sake! He was suppose to preach the Good Word and save lives, not find himself between the choice of taking a life or losing his own.

A bullet ripped through the trees, lodging itself into a tree near him and shocking him into a stumble. He tripped over a log. Struggling to his feet, he looked something like a young fawn trying to learn how to walk for the first time. His legs sprawled wide, seeking traction against the dewy leaves.

Not far away, two feet came to plant, spread apart as if ready for motion, but knowing that no motion was necessary. Finnegan struggled to calm his feet long enough to raise his head from where his face was buried in the earth. Raging River stood, watching, saying nothing but not needing words to speak his mind for him. James Finnegan knew that he was going to die soon.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, he grasped the pistol tightly in his palm and, squeezing the trigger, sent two bullets flying in the Indian's direction. As the Cheyenne recovered, Finnegan recaptured his footing and found himself once more tearing through the trees, no longer caring if the branches slashed him in the face. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Finnegan burst through to a clearing and fell to his knees. His hands came into contact with solid sandstone, flesh on rock. There was no longer any forest; there was no longer any earth, and mere inches from his hands, there was no longer any rock. He could see to the valley below and the peaks above; he was standing on the open side of the mountain and there was nowhere to go.

In shear disbelief, Finnegan turned over, facing his opponent who halted mere feet from him. There was no running or hiding.

"Our Father which art in Heaven…" Finnegan's rhythmic muttering sounded under his breath as Raging River, knife in hand, prepared for the final blow…, and was stopped.

A hand on the Indian's shoulder forced him to turn, moving into contact with a fist that sent him hurtling to the ground. Sully stood in the place of the Cheyenne, shoulders hunched forward, crouching low. His eyes trained on the Indian as Raging River reclaimed his feet and matched his opponent's pose.

"Get outta here." Sully order, refusing to lift his eyes from Raging River's fiery stare. Not needing any more provocation, Finnegan shot to his feet and disappeared into the green brush leaving Raging River and Sully alone.

"Do you feel that?" The precise syllables of the Indian's English came crisp and clear, betraying his knowledge of the language. "It is the heat of the fire." He sneered, and running forward crashed into Sully's body, sending them both crumpling to the ground.

Sully felt pain spread across his face, and he retaliated, sending every ounce of his strength surging upward through his fist and coming into contact with the Indian's jaw. He kneed the Cheyenne in the gut, buying him time to roll out from underneath his enemy and struggling to his feet, but he wasn't quick enough and Raging River caught him in the back, dragging them both down once more. An arm snuck around his neck, and in the struggle to breathe Sully could see dots of yellow blurring his eyes. Bucking forward he managed to flip Raging River over his shoulder, and directly into arms reach of the rifle.

Sully never knew what hit him. He never realized that the object swinging toward him was the butt of a rifle, and he never registered that he needed to duck. What he did see was the vibrant strands of Michaela's hair, glistening in the May sun, flying along the wind as she raced down the trail to their home. He heard her laughter, and then he heard the crack of the rifle against his own skull before all went black.

It would be another day before the men were missed and another two before anyone decided to search for them. Toward the bottom of the mountain, far below where he should have been, lay Sully, but no one would come for him. No one would find him like the others. The leaves and the logs of the forest would cover his body. No one would ever be able to discover what happened to him.

There's the prologue. I hope you enjoy the story. I'm really looking forward to writing it for you. If you haven't seen it, my friend Gemma made an amazing trailer for this fic. You can see it here: .com/watch?v=o2UgZjp-LKU&feature=channel_page Let me know if you have problems with the link!