River was the first one to notice Ian was gone. Mainly because the Californian had seen him caught by a little girl and had planned on mocking him for it when the two teams met at the middle of the gym for their next rock paper scissors competition. When he hadn't seen him line up, however, he looked over at the walls to see if he was leaning against one, pouting or something. Ian wasn't really a pouter, River knew, but he did brood – and besides, being caught by a 7-year old was definitely reason to pout.

He wasn't there, though. He wasn't anywhere in the gym. River was so distracted by this that he was tagged only moments later by the same girl that had caught Ian. Now she was definitely crowing her success, and she dragged him by the hand back to her team's wall – much to the amusement of those who were watching.

Since Shawn was on this team, however, it was fine with River. He went over to his friend, only listening with half his attention at what they were going to be the next time they went to the line.

"Where'd Ian go?"

Shawn looked around, which told River that he hadn't known Ian was going anywhere.

"I don't know."

"Off sulking? He looked pretty pissed earlier…"

"He's a bit angry," Shawn acknowledged.

"Why?"

The two of them were speaking softly, and moved to the side of the gym, against the wall, so that they wouldn't get trampled in the game.

"The other counselors are upset at him for his Wraith story. Their kids didn't sleep last night, either."

"And they told him off?" River asked.

Shawn shrugged.

"I guess. All I know is he's not happy about it."

"It was a pretty bad story…"

"And he did try to tell them he didn't know any good ones."

"Yeah, I know."

"Maybe next time he tells someone something is a bad idea, they'll listen to him."

River snorted.

"Which doesn't answer the question where he is…"

"He's probably off trying to figure out how to make it better…"

"Or in the bathroom…"

Shawn shrugged again.

"Maybe."

Since neither was inclined to go look for him, it didn't really matter where they thought he was. They both knew he'd turn up eventually (where else was he going to go, after all?), so they put it – more or less – out of their minds for the moment, and concentrated on playing the games with their kids.

OOOOOOOOOO

He didn't reappear during the activities in the gym, however. Although the games lasted all morning – and they were diverse and exciting enough to keep the kids from going stir crazy at being stuck inside – even though it was pouring outside and no one should be out in that anyways – the kids passed the time away enjoying themselves. As did the counselors.

When they were sent up to their cabins to get ready for lunch, Shawn and River half expected to find him there, taking a nap or something. Maybe his sunburn – or one of his bruises or something – was bothering him and he'd decided he'd had enough for the morning. But they didn't find him there, either. His bed was neatly made – it was the only one in the room that was – and empty.

"Where's Ian?" Sammy asked, noticing for the first time that his favorite counselor was gone.

The other kids looked around, realizing the same thing.

"He's off taking care of something," Shawn answered. He didn't have a clue where Ian was, but he'd seen the convertible when they'd walked up the hill, so he hadn't left the camp. He'd show up eventually.

"Taking care of what?" Sammy asked.

"Something."

"Something what?"

"A secret something," River said, rescuing Shawn – who really didn't have that much more experience with little kids than Ian did. He just had a lot more patience. River, of course, had experience and patience, and it showed.

"Ooooo…"

Now, of course, the kids were curious what Ian was doing, but at least they weren't nagging about where he was. Let Ian come up with a story about where he was when he finally showed up. Not a scary story, though.

"Come on guys, let's get down to the dining room. I'm starving."

Of course, one of them should have gone down and saved their table, but they hadn't thought of it. With Ian gone they were a little short-handed, and neither wanted to leave the other with all the boys.

There was a mad rush to the door.

"Jackets!"

The mad rush stopped just long enough for everyone to grab their jackets – it was still pouring – and then they headed down the hill at a mad run, joining the others coming from their cabins.

"Where do you think he is?" River asked Shawn as they walked a little slower, following the crowd. They weren't worried about the boys not finding their table – they'd had the same table for the last few days, and the kids thought of it as 'theirs'.

"Beats me."

That particular question was answered when they entered the dining room, however. Ian was sitting at their table, now surrounded by the boys of Australia. All of who were looking at something on the table in front of the dark-haired New Yorker.

"What is it?" Shawn heard Sammy ask. The little boy was standing beside where Ian was sitting, his little body pressed right up against him as he looked at it. He wasn't the only one who was waiting for an answer, though, and as Shawn and River got closer, more kids from other tables had noticed something was up and were coming over for a look, too.

"Hey… what's that?" One of the eight year old girls asked.

"None of your business," Chad said, defensively. It was on their table right? So it had to be for them. Not for everyone else.

"Chad…"

Shawn wasn't going to let him get away with being rude, although he, too, was curious what was going on.

Sitting on the table in front of Ian – where his plate would have been if he hadn't moved it – was a rock. About the size of Ian's clenched fist, it was the usual grayish brown color most of the rocks Shawn had ever seen were. Right up until you looked at the front of it. On the front of the rock – the part turned toward Ian, and everyone else – was a face, painted in bright colors. It was vicious looking, with sharp teeth drawn coming out of a gaping red mouth, and with tiny ears and a small nose. Its eyes were squinted, as if it were scowling, but the eyebrows painted above them weren't pointed downward in an angry slant; they were up, like it was simply guarding, not mad.

"What is it, Ian?" Chance asked from the other side of the New Yorker. He was practically sitting in Ian's lap he was so close, but his eyes – and that of everyone else's – were on the table.

"It's my pet rock," Ian told him, leaning back a little in his chair. "The only thing in the world that a Wraith is afraid of."