So here goes the next installment in my odd compilation of one shots.

In many ways, this one is a lot like the "Land of Confusion" chapter, yet a little more contextually random; (not getting autobiographical, historical and science fiction characters all thrown together). This too is probably one of the more "lemony" or maybe even "PWP" (taken either way, a lot of randomness and not much easily noticeable plot maybe) pieces I've ever written. (The plot in some of these tends to be the characters internal conflicts between thoughts, actions and conscience.) Though I have written "love scenes" in Jangette Diaries, "UST – unresolved sexual tension" scenes in Cloned in the Image of God, and some very sad tragedy ("Little Charlie" and "Jonathan Friend of David"), this one is an attempt at writing descriptions of "love scenes" in a more gritty, yet comical play on words context. My sense of humor tends to be rather dry and in some contexts probably even down right stupid. Even so, I do notice improvement in the ease in which writing is coming, since just like any practiced art, it gets better with time and dedication.

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness?

Well, for whatever fears of war and bad dreams meant? All Paul really had the energy to do was sit and tend the fire while the evening ruckus of life in family berthing swirled around him. Mathias was accompanying a few other soldiers hauling firewood, while several of the women sat at their spinning wheels tittering and giggling the hour away, periodically calling after the wee ones to stay out of the path of the incoming wood. Everyone seemed relatively happy, despite the somber circumstances of full scale war that were ever encroaching upon this typical evening.

Paul hated to admit that he liked this life better than living in single soldier barracks, even though he sorely missed some of the other fellows. He wondered how they were doing; the young guys who were still trying to figure out where their place was in this army; stranded across the ocean, far away from home and family. Some of the younger lads could be heard sniffling in the middle of the night, crying for mum and dad. Their cantankerous versions of "Yankee Doodle" all but disappearing after what happened in Concord. Paul thought about that for a moment or two. At 21 years old himself, shaken by lack of actual combat experience, how else would he be expecting to deal with juvenile light infantry soldiers who'd barely left childhood? According to "Prince Kahlid", at least for as much could be said about their physical maturation. In any way, just like Chief Grey Wolf, Paul had to admit the old Negro slave was right. How far behind the body could one expect a 15 or 16 year old mind to be?

Well, "So as it is". Paul pondered Samuel's quote of the French Canadian settlers he'd met while passing through on expedition with one of Chief Grey Wolf's Indian parties. Many who needed and/or wanted escorts through a vast unknown wilderness, often hired these Indian guides. Paul had traveled with them himself upon several occasions, most of which were just officer messaging parties. Paul had run some trade route interchanges, as well as medicine too and although he liked Chief Grey Wolf, Paul hated to admit that the primitiveness of these natives' existence made him uncomfortable.

This was one of those things that was hard to pinpoint, Paul thought to himself a minute. Was it their lack of sophistication as he viewed through the looking glass of his own English customs, or was it just that they were so…. different from him? Paul certainly wasn't arrogant enough to miss the genius and ingenuity of how these people survived in their own element; he just couldn't see how that lifestyle made them feel connected to anything, since it didn't make him feel connected to anything? Maybe that was it though, Paul mused another moment. What if each of his own, of what he'd grown up with in his culture, is what "connected" him? Such a seemingly simple answer? Paul chuckled to himself. Could it actually be true?

Paul thought about that a moment as he picked up the fire iron and tussled the wood around a bit. He recollected one account of traveling with these Indians when they took his uniform and seemingly somewhat ceremonially dressed him as one of them. Paul seemed to think it had something to do with the territories they would be passing, that they wouldn't want others in the area to see what looked to be a few English soldiers running with a bunch of natives? Not that Paul thought he made nothing better than a rather pasty Indian, who seemed to be mute on top of that? He found their response to him a bit peculiar. They seemed rather fascinated by him personally? Paul couldn't really make heads or tails out of this, since he knew he certainly wasn't the first European they'd ever encountered.

The odyssey of this very early spring, commenced with a rather informal exchange of a few soldiers for a few Indians. Paul and the others were told they'd be brought back in a month or so, along with some medicine and other trade goods. The first day's activity primarily consisted of a lot of hiking. When late afternoon came, the party stopped at a river, it seemed, to get cleaned up, rest and eventually, they'd eat. Paul followed the cue of the Indians and waded into the cold river to splash around a bit. He'd taken off everything but his shirt and breeches, of which he rolled up the sleeves and legs as far as he could manage and began to wash his face and arms. The fellows in the water snickered at Paul as they began to venture closer and closer. Paul wasn't sure if he should make a hasty dash to the shore, for it seemed quite probable that he was about to get dunked. The other three soldiers had gathered there on the bank, with a curious eye as to what was about to happen to their comrade in arms. Much to his surprise though, the Indians didn't dunk Paul. Instead they hustled him out of the water and indicated that he should do so much as they, and take off the rest of his clothes to go splash them in the river.

"That is not our custom." Paul tried to be polite as he attempted to explain that soldiers didn't usually venture into the water if it was too cold to walk around in wet clothes. The Indians though, only seemed to find his logic amusing.

"Too much shame." One of the men replied as he waved haphazardly at Paul. "Jesus Christ crucify…" He indicated with his hands in the air as he looked down at his own nude body. "Right!" He nodded.

"Well, yes." Paul had to agree, Jesus had been crucified without any clothing.

"Naked soldier not offend Great Spirit." The Indian laughed as he leaned over toward Paul, sniffed a bit and then plugged his nose.

"O.K." Paul conceded. "Not as much as smelly soldier offends Indian."

Paul then took a deep breath and proceeded to remove the rest of his clothing. The Indians cheered, their chief laughed and the other three soldiers standing across from Paul, looked absolutely and utterly horrified; (and likely at the probability that they were next).

Sure enough, a fight ensued upon the bank as three other hapless British soldiers got thrown into the river in various stages of undress. They all followed Paul back out of the water; one compliant, one enraged, and the third somewhere between humiliated and relieved; but all just bare as everyone else standing on the shore.

"We all same now." The chief muttered as he was the last to emerge from the river.

Paul looked briefly at the various faces around him, finally bursting out in laughter when his eyes met those of his raging comrade. The absurdity of 20 cold and naked men standing on a river bank as it was just beginning to snow, on some obscure late afternoon day in the course of human history. This really wasn't worth getting angry over. Let's all just get dressed again and be on with our lives. Paul giggled as he followed several others over to the fire. A couple of the men, who were already warm and dressed had been busy offloading clothes and supplies for the others. Another few souls were off cooking something to eat. In the end, Paul was the only one who'd had the choice to wear either his uniform (since it was the only one that was still dry) or whatever the Indians had to offer. Paul chose a deer hide outfit.

Later that evening Paul walked over to the only other soldier who was still wearing an angry scowl. "What's your name?" Paul asked. The man just glared at him a bit.

"Mills." He finally answered. "Joules Mills."

"O.K." Paul acknowledged as he took another moment or so to think. "Joules?" He asked point blank. "Why are you so angry?"

"I don't know." Finally came a growled response. "Look, just leave me alone."

"O.K." Paul shrugged as he walked away.

Two days later, Joules Mills went missing. One of the Indians did find a few of his things near the ledge of a rather deep gorge. Paul remembered peering down the steep canyon into the river the Indians called "Zinochsaa" in a place they called "Big Tree". None had found any indication that Joules had actually gone over the ledge, but having not found any other trace of him, it seemed a reasonable conclusion. Paul stared into the fire, wondering if Joules body had eventually washed up on the shores of the great Lake Ontario.

What a trip that was. Paul sighed. They'd traveled up this river, with its multiple stunningly beautiful waterfalls, all the way to the lake shore and then traveled east until they hit an area dubbed by his own fellow Englishmen as "the Adirondack." Paul wasn't exactly sure where this name had come from, other than he'd learned the area had been taken from the Dutch, who'd purchased parts of it from the Indians and the whole colony was renamed New York.

The Haudenosaunee, who were the natives of that area, which the English and French called "Iroquois", had an abundance of oral legends about the land and its peoples. Paul had listened to several of their story tellers as their party steadily passed through the region. They'd always been welcomed by particular clans that Chief Grey Wolf seemed to know. Paul had surmised that Chief Grey Wolf was not a member of any of these tribes, since he looked markedly different to Paul than the rest of them; yet for whatever reason, he'd been adopted by them?

Many of the story tellers had recounted what they called "the dark times"; where the nations of "the long house" (the one long house that stretched from Lake Erie to the ambiguous and vaguely defined Massachusetts boarder) were in a constant brutal and bloody war that was said to have lasted for a hundred years. The story went that the evil perpetrated upon the land was perpetuated by a wicked chief who'd bewitched his people into this constant battle. He was eventually confronted by a brave warrior his people called Hiawatha, which means peace maker. Paul found the various details of this story interesting in that Hiawatha so closely resembled Jesus Christ in his multitudes of merits and deeds. Amazing how the attributes of God often find their way into human legends of heroes both real and imagined in all corners of the world. Paul thought of King Arthur and Robin Hood of his own culture and how in that moment, the truth dawned upon him in a newly profound manner, that here is one of the evidences of how we are all created in the image of the same God.

Paul's thoughts drifted back to the present on account of the several rambunctious lads (and a young drummer who should have known better) who were now sitting sullenly in a corner, after having been sternly hollered upon by the Sargent. Family berthing housed a different sort of ruckus, (yet a ruckus none the less) than single soldier barracks. Another old adage from the Negro slave of how it takes a village (or in this case a regiment) to raise a child, filtered through Paul's mind. Such small differences in one respect, yet so loomed large in others. Paul thought of the fellows from the barracks he'd just recently left.

Paul had liked being the mentor, the "older brother", who made life a little easier and one whom the sergeants relied upon to make things run a bit more smoothly. As much as he didn't want to think of things this way, he missed being 'the big fish in a little pond'. Now he was the little fish in a big pond, amongst many others who had so much more experience than he. I guess that's alright though? Paul heard his own voice mumbling to him in his head. We all run the course of phases in life and we have to start somewhere, he chuckled as one of the small boys ran over and flapped his dress at the fire.

"You fanning our flames?" Paul snickered a bit as the tot looked at him a second, screamed and ran back to momma.

"Eey, you're such an ogre." One of the firewood haulers laughed as he tossed a new and un-brandished fire poker at Paul.

"Hey?" Paul dodged the branch while the other fellow just laughed at him.

"Scarein the kiddies again?" He shook his head at Paul.

"Aw, shut up." Paul waved him away, while the other soldier just turned on his heels and headed back outside snickering to himself.

Paul thought about Abigail, who'd gone off to meet her brother, who'd come back into Boston to help a friend move away to Canada too. He wondered how the trip went, as Samuel had traveled with one of Chief Grey Wolf's hunting parties to get back down the coast. He'd heard rumor that the chief himself had come and that Major Mims was planning on meeting him at some point later in the week. The major had promised to come get Paul, once he'd finished his "visiting dignitaries" duties, or whatever he'd been assigned too. Paul remembered the previous "visiting dignitaries… visit", although it was the last thing he'd have rather remembered, since he'd invariably figured out that was the "visit" that had to do with little Charlie. Paul shuttered: and even David, the boy which whom it had never been quite determined if his death was self-inflicted or… murder.

Paul turned back toward the fire and sunk his chin down into his hand as he pretended to poke at the coals a bit. The whole thing disgusted him and he still secretly wondered who and how many really knew of these twisted events? So many thoughts were swimming through his mind, and even Abigail and Miles? What was wrong with the people in this town and now, what about himself?

Paul's consternation digressed into fear as he tried not to worry about the choices he had made too. Although Abigail had proved to be faithful and diligent, (as well as making many friends around the regiment) Paul was having trouble shaking off his convictions about his own behavior. Although he loved Abigail and had no doubts over her feelings for him; Paul was still plagued by the truth that he had not gone about doing any of this in a proper and orderly manner. What had gotten into him? He tried not to fret. This was so unlike anything he'd ever done in the past and so far from the seemingly silly romantic notions he himself had of how he thought his life would unfold. Silly fantasies are for little girls planning their own royal weddings, not terrified soldiers who are wondering when the next musket ball will take them down. Paul found himself wiping a tear away.

The door swung open and Abigail came scurrying in along with two other women.

"Oh you're back!" Paul announced with surprise.

"Yes." Abigail smiled as Paul got up to greet her. "We can't stay though, we have to take some things to two other families who are leaving too." She said as they gathered up a bit of children's clothing that was tucked away under a bunk. Paul went over to help, but was only left with a quick kiss as they stuffed a few extra items into a basket and made a hasty exit, seemingly only preoccupied with not tripping over the children on the floor. Paul stood a few feet from the fire with one hand raised in a half good-bye.

"Don't worry!" One of the other soldier's voices broke in as Paul suddenly found himself encumbered with a cooking caldron half full of water. "They'll be back soon enough and then you can…." The other soldier whispered as he twirled his finger in the air between them and then pointed to the fire, with indication of that's where Paul should put this pot.

"Yeah." Paul haplessly nodded as he peered down into the water and back at the smirking soldier (who was now gesturing to a pile of baby clothes that had been left behind). He picked them up and less than discretely consigned them to Paul, carefully and neatly hanging them over his arms and then tucking some in and around the pockets of his firewood apron until Paul resembled an overstuffed washer woman. Paul only flashed this soldier a peculiar look.

"Well… Now, you're ready!" The soldier laughed as he gave Paul a hearty slap on the back.

"Zechariah, I recon he's figured out by now, and… many times over, where babies come from." Another smirked as Paul rather meekly (as well as defenselessly) received the tiny dresses.

"Thanks." Paul said dryly, after just standing still and watching Zechariah 'dress' him; all the while wondering if they'd really been less than…. Uh, that obvious? The others just began to laugh. Paul tried not to think about it as he turned around to put the pot down. Here appeared to be the foundations of dinner, as it was half filled with Indian corn and dried peas. Paul let out a sigh as he set the pot over the fire and tried to contain his emotions. He'd wished Abigail was back for good, but that was OK too though, as Paul did not want to contend with the embarrassment of why he'd suddenly gotten so weepy. He paused a minute and then stooped down to pick up the scattered baby clothes which had fallen off him. Paul spent those moments pondering such things as he sincerely and deliberately arranged the clothes in neat piles at the end of the nearest table; remembering the last time he cried. Oh how that had turned into something so unexpected.

Tears of grief, terror, panic, frustration, and anger congealed into some sort of animalistic display of….. What-ever that was? Some might have called it passion, but to Paul it felt more like sheer desperation. He'd never been wracked by such want of here, now and as fast as possible (buried under a pile of hay in the dark corner of some unsuspecting famer's barn). Paul sneered silently in morose self-abated laughter. At least the only tenants to bear witness to the bizarre display of these crazed redcoats were a couple of local bovines (who seemed to be mooing in amusement none the less).

Several soldiers were on patrol just outside of Boston to retrieve the remnants of a lost squad being chased down by Yankee Doodles, when they'd happened upon some farm. They'd passed the farmer in one of the fields who'd just thrown his hands up in the air muttering what sounded like some form of unintelligible Dutch. They'd left him there and went running for the woods after some blue forms who were swishing through the wheat in the outer field. Shots rang out and Paul jumped behind a fence when he saw the two soldiers in front of him go down in a hail of lead (from which not he knew whence it had come). Everyone else seemed to scatter. He ran toward the barn.

A moment or two of silence had passed and Paul sucked in a deep breath to try and pull himself together. He knew the fellows who'd been in front of him moments before and from the geyser of splatter, pools of red and silence of both, he also knew their lives were now no more. Paul pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind as he listened for voices. When he heard a noise inside the barn, he went to investigate. He discovered a particular soldier hiding there whom he was familiar with. Out of some desperate sense of relief it seems, the reckless impulse simultaneously grabbed them both.

Without a thought for anything else, the scene drifted through Paul's imagination in some sort of distorted sense of time. It felt like meandering through the pages of one of those odd adventure novels where one thinks they know what's going on, but can never be quite too sure. Somewhere in their giddy abandon, they'd left the war strewn across two animal pens as they sunk down into a mixed array of straw, hay and horse blankets, rather crudely tugging at each other's clothing, only half concerned about possibly getting shot. Was it excitement, danger or just plain fear that drove such aggressive instincts? All Paul could remember was being planted on his hands and knees and dutifully working diligently to elicit Abigail's approval. They both stared each other down, daring the other to yield up the first verbal gasp. Neither seemed willing, although both could see the other's increasing struggle for composure. Abigail tried not to laugh as she made some half garbled comment about the circumstances of her first child's conception. Paul started to giggle as she momentarily disrupted his determination, only to be renewed by the involuntary encouragement of her own contractions. They both began to buckle.

Paul couldn't remember who ended up giving in first, but he did remember the strange intensity that crept up his spine and seemingly into his brain. Everything came undone after that and neither seemed to care if they were the one they could hear howling in their own ears. It was suddenly dead silent and all Paul could vaguely sense was the dull clatter of the occasional cow bell. He instinctively picked his head up and cautiously peered around him. Yes, and sure enough, they were all staring.

Paul jumped to his feet and quickly pulled Abigail out of the straw. "Let's get out of here before our audience starts clapping." He muttered. Abigail began to giggle as she tauntingly pulled her miscellaneous pieces of uniform back on, seemingly totally oblivious to animals around them. Paul glanced warily at her as the revelation that she wasn't exactly… done, arrested his sense of accomplishment. Paul paused and let out a sigh, before in a moment of hasty decision he mumbled "later" and slovenly redressed himself. Despite the poignancy of 'apparently that's just the way life is down on the farm', Paul still struggled mightily to push the impulses away, as he slung the bayonet and cartridge box over his shoulder and sauntered in his disquieted…. uh stickiness, toward the door. No one was around, so he motioned to Abigail to come along, as she picked up her musket and scurried out after him.

Naomi crouched low as she scampered across the forest floor just like the Indians she'd so frequently witnessed maneuver through the woods. She knew there were all sorts of folk on the prowl, including several of the crown's regulars they'd been running from, two of which they'd shot earlier that day. Suddenly a familiar call rang through the air. Gabriel! She gasped in relief as she followed the nearly perfect bird call to a tall pine. She slung her musket over her shoulder and after taking a quick look around, sprang up from the ground and began to scale this tree.

Her brother Gabriel was nearly to the top, hugging the trunk while surveying the surrounding forest for friend and foe alike. She gave his ankle a shake as she ascended the branches behind him. Gabriel gestured with several hand signals and a couple of bird calls to indicate what he'd found. They could see Loyalist Indian scouts on the crest of the river bank, regular Dragoons on the road, a farmer with a wagon, several seemingly lost and meandering militia, and their father with his group of soldiers in the distance behind them. Nearly directly below them, was some lone and nervous redcoat plucking berries from the brambles by the creek bank.

Naomi was busy looking around when her brother began poking her for their father's field glass. She rather mindlessly handed it to him while she was absorbed in watching the Indians who'd managed to snare a deer for food. Gabriel began to snicker. Naomi quickly hushed him as her eyes darted around to make sure they had not been spotted. She shot him a strange look as he pointed to the field glass which was directed toward the base of a tree that was only a few feet from them. He pulled her shoulder to have her look through the field scope.

"Uh…Yeah?" She whispered as she peered through the lens at the redcoat she'd just seen picking berries a moment ago. Her brother shooed her away to take another peek for himself. Two! He held up the appropriate number of fingers to indicate there was more than one soldier down there, as he eagerly pointed at the eye piece. Naomi peered through the glass again. Yeah, two soldiers apparently half hidden under the root bowl of a tree with their arms around each other. Naomi gave her brother a stupid look and grabbed her own lapel with indication that she understood that "uniformed soldier" didn't necessarily mean "boy soldier".

The shy polite young lady Paul had encountered in the mercantile just a few short weeks prior had receded into the dainties of some past chivalrous society and the person who'd emerged was the hardened, circumspect, sober and often temperamental soldier who was the same as every other soldier in this army: frightened, aggressive and…. needy!

"I know that!" Gabriel whispered through clenched teeth and wide saucer eyes, before indicating what he (at least appeared to be hoping) to see with an obscene hand gesture.

"You're vile." Naomi rolled her eyes at him.

Paul did miss the gentle lovey who'd smiled so delightedly at him; but at the same time, he felt a bit discomforted and even guilty to admit that the audacity of the primordial warrior excited him intensely: now being suddenly grabbed by the flash of awareness that they were hunkered down in enemy territory entangled together, defenselessly groping each other.

Gabriel only continued to smirk and silently giggle as he watched through the field glass, trying to contain his sound effects, when his eyes got really big and he slapped his hand over his mouth. He shot his sister a sly look, leaned over and whispered. "You wanna see one lobster mount another?" He winked.

"You wanna see me knock you out of this tree?" She whispered back.

"What?" He gave her a stupid shrug. "The regulars are out." He smirked as he held an inviting hand to the field scope indicating Naomi too should be a good soldier and diligently watch the enemy.

Just like on the literal battlefield, the revelation began to unfold, that no matter he be the victor or vanquished, elated or nigh on humiliated, Paul found he liked the vulnerability the contest of conquest exposed him against. Abigail, who'd once walked so elegantly through the upper side of Boston: now pushing audaciously, so urgently whined for him.

"Alright fine." Naomi sighed as she let out a grumble and took a peek. "Woah." She muttered. "The regulars sure are….. out."

"What, what did I miss?" Gabriel excitedly gasped as he shoved Naomi out of the way. "Wait, where'd they go?"

"I don't know?" Naomi dryly mumbled. "But that was more of the British army than I ever wanted to see."

"Come on …. You, you bloody backed…. biscuit bottomed …..." Gabriel let out an exasperated mutter. "Roll back over here."

Bloody backed biscuit bottomed? Naomi raised one eyebrow toward Gabriel, now sure the image of what she'd just witnessed would be seared in her memory for the rest of her life. Thanks bro. She thought for a moment. Yeah, tell that to my grandkids. 'Hey grandma, what do you remember about the revolution?' 'Ah, other than watching the conception of the next generation of British soldiers? Uh, yeah. What else do you want to know?'

Abigail had spent about a month marching, drilling, hauling around accoutrements and performing menial labor. Only being a few inches shorter than Paul, he quickly ascertained that she was stronger than he realized, when she planted one foot under herself and heaved the both of them over until she was now sitting triumphantly on top of him. This sort of skirmish went on a bit as the next thing Paul realized was that Abigail also had an abundance of stamina. If she was going to give up the field before he did, he was going to have to work for it.

"Oooh Yeah!" Gabriel panted under his breath. "Come on scream, I like it when they scream."

"And when do tell, did you make some redcoat scream?" Naomi smirked tauntingly as she struck out and nabbed the field scope from his hands. "Not in the heat of any battle I've ever seen."

Gabriel shot her a glare. "Shut up and give that back to me." He muttered in post script. "It's just gettin good."

Naomi only blew kisses at him as she quickly absconded with the scope and repositioned herself in another part of the tree. She gingerly peered through it at the scene below them. Naomi's face twisted into a confused array of amusement and disgust. The heaving moans and sweaty labor of exchanging body fluids in God's mandate to be fruitful and multiply. This is sort of like watching my cat give birth. She thought to herself. Yum. Yum.

Well, the sun was now setting and it was not like there was much more to actually be seen, even if Naomi cared to watch. She mused to herself, while snickering at Gabriel as she tucked the field glass into her pouch and began to descend the tree. It frankly might have been more entertaining if they'd been on opposite sides of the war. Some native chieftain fumbling around with mother England trying to negotiate a colony; or better yet…. France! Now that thought was almost amusing considering the diverging reputations and no loss of love between these two countries. And we colonies being the brats they conceived. Naomi laughed to herself as she peered up at her clueless brother.

Where you going? Gabriel shrugged dumbly as she silently dropped down into the brush and began to scamper away. He had no choice but to follow her, for not only was she the one who knew where she was going, she'd also taken the access to his entertainment away.

Finally Abigail relinquished; freely enticing Paul with all the encouragement she could conger and…. eventually, both of them made it to the summit (despite the fact that their colonial assembly had already adjourned – making the record of this passing act rather anticlimactic).

The darkness passed in fretful pondering; along with several vacillations between sleep and two soldiers' erotic service to each other. Daybreak seeped in with Paul's apologies for Abigail's complaints of sore discomfort. Paul concluded that desperation was never intended to make us feel good, so he just put his arm around his tearful love and held her next to his own sorrowful heart. It would not be long before they had to find their way out of these woods and Paul now being assailed by the fear of whatever of these rebels they may encounter, being viler than the rabble in Boston.

Much to Paul's consternation, (as well as utter surprise) that was exactly what they ran into, (in an odd paradoxical way so to speak). They'd been keeping watch on and successfully evading a group of blue coated Yankees when several members of some militia sprung upon them. Abigail's screaming brought these Continental soldiers running, when they'd come upon this odd spectacle of two redcoats cleaved together, one of whom was being mercilessly beaten while trying to pry them apart.

Well having pretty quickly figured out the situation, came a young blond soldier with a fiery temper who took the butt of a musket to one of the militiamen's head. A screaming match erupted between the two parties with someone eventually laying shot dead next to Paul. The few left of the militia party scattered into the woods. Both Paul and Abigail finally peered up from the mayhem that had been swirling around them. Paul struggled to his feet, pulling Abigail up beside him.

"Thank you." Paul said soberly.

The five or so of them looked coolly upon their captives, as if they were deciding what the best way to be rid of them was. Paul could tell by their demeanor that they had no intention of killing either Abigail or himself, but were just trying to scheme the best way of not being considered traitors to their own cause.

"They your children?" Paul asked the elder as he paced about a bit after telling the two youngest to stand watch a minute.

"Yeah." The man muttered. "He's my nephew and she's my sister." He commented as he gestured to the two who were still standing in their presence. "The one with the temper is my daughter." He cracked a sober laugh.

"She's a noble girl." Abigail commented.

"Well, she wasn't going to stand for that after she witnessed the likes of them rape and murder some 12 year old Tory girl." He sighed. "She'd killed them too. Said that aint the cause of freedom we fight for. And…. She's right." His words hung silently in the air for a few moments.

"Well, whose king does it really matter so long as there is order?" Paul finally muttered the first question that came to mind.

The man glared at Paul a minute. "It's the principle of the thing." He gruffed. "But I guess you wouldn't understand that; living in an army that beats you senseless for the most menial indiscretion."

"But at least I know where the boundaries are." Paul answered.

"Point well taken; that obviously can't be said of everyone in this cause." The man answered as he folded his arms and peered at the two corpses on the ground before he gave one of them a swift and angry kick.

"Where's your wife." Paul whispered.

"Died in a fire." The man heaved. "Fire set by a couple of loyalists who were trying to smoke out some bandits. The wind picked up. Stupid, senseless, nearly set the whole damn town ablaze."

"I'm sorry." Paul said.

"Aren't we all?" The man replied.

The other lass and lad returned to announce that the militiamen were long gone. Not another word was said as this motley group with its two new additional captives ventured deeper into the thick woods. They'd confiscated Paul and Abigail's weapons as they continued to walk about an hour's journey or so toward the noon day sun. They'd stopped momentarily as three or so scouted around. They returned moments later.

"Its clear father." The girl reported.

"Their own Indian scouts will pick them up on the other side of the river." The boy added.

"All right." The man nodded as he bid Paul and Abigail to follow his two children.

The four of them crawled through the underbrush until they got to the ledge just above a small river. The boy pointed to the opposite ledge with a gesture that Paul and Abigail should carry on across the river to safety. He looked at these two a moment as the boy was struggling heartily to contain a smirk. The girl punched him in the arm.

"My vile brother." She rolled her eyes before she waved Paul and Abigail away. "Get out of here."

Paul only looked at the two of them another moment and then at Abigail. Not too sure if this was to end up to be some sort of trap? He didn't say a word as he and Abigail slowly made their way down the embankment. Five minutes later, upon the opposite bank of the river, as the tribal scouts were pulling them to safety; Paul finally breathed a sigh of relief. He now knew the "enemy" left behind were at least humane souls.

Paul and Abigail followed the Indian scouts back into Boston. Although he did not recognize any of them personally, the tribal symbols on the clothing they wore were familiar to Paul. Strange as it seemed he felt more comfortable with these savages than he did with those who were supposed to be his colonial kinsmen? This made him wonder a bit as he knew Indians rarely ever trusted Europeans. It's no wonder when you don't know what they will do next? Paul thought about this for a bit.

'My vile brother.' The thought kept turning over in Paul's mind. I wonder what she meant by that? He began to question himself, trying to evade the creeping suspicion of what whom may have witnessed. Our behavior has gotten way out of hand. Paul sighed as the creeping fingers of guilt began crawling across his conscience. Neither of us have used each other to a noble end. Paul began to ponder. Why? Why is this even when there is no doubt in our minds that we care for the other? Paul stopped a minute to wait for Abigail who seemed to be struggling a bit.

"What's wrong?" He asked as one of the Indians was encouraging her to keep moving, they were almost back to Boston.

"My feet hurt." Abigail made a half-hearted remark (of which Paul wasn't even sure if it was the truth – or at least he knew it wasn't the whole truth). He held his arm out to help her as they trudged along. Paul knew they must have been getting close since the verbal exchanges between the Indian scouts were getting more relaxed and more frequent. He wondered what they were saying as they chuckled back and forth.

[Yes, it was early morning and Silver Fox was following some rebels. They were talking of keeping soldiers away from animals in the woods.]

[Yes, mating season they called it. I heard them too.]

[Boisterous….. animals.]

Paul peered behind him as the scouts all laughed.

[No, Silver Fox told them: Only cowards kill frightened English soldiers learning the way of nature.]

[You think they've learned yet?]

[When they stand strait, look you in the eye unashamed; then you'll know they've learned.]