A/N: Hope this gets to you all sooner than the last chapter.

Ch. 10

Life in the Wilds

John and Gidel did a brief musical chairs deal by shifting seats, with John moving one seat over and Gidel taking the now unoccupied chair. John took small bites of his cooling mash as he listened to the tense conversation beyond the kitchen.

" Yes he's awake, yes he's on the mend, but it's still my say when you can speak to him and as of the moment I'd rather you didn't."

John paused guiltily before his next bite.

" A few simple questions Maj, that's all. Wouldn't it be better just to get this all out of the way sooner than later?" came the reply of an uneasy male's voice. " We only wish to know where he has been, his occupation, and his future plans."

John looked to the big man Gidel. Gidel, however, kept his eyes toward the front entrance, seemingly with bored interest by the slack look on his face, but John had the feeling that Gidel's attention was exceedingly focused. John shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Carson was right about him. He didn't bloody well ever listen to the people who knew better. He hadn't thought anything about taking a peek out the window. Apparently, this village was the kind of place where one probably had to be cautious just in the way they sneezed.

" And my acting as mediator wasn't good enough? I told you he had no intentions of staying. He wants to go back to his own world. His occupation is as a soldier on that world, a protector, which is also how he became injured. If that's all you need to know then there you have it. His life's story in a culk shell."

" He needs to be the one to answer," said a persistent female with a smug tenor to her voice, " to assess his character. You know this, Maj."

" Then all the more reason to wait. The boy isn't up to being himself at the moment and your presence making him nervous would only condemn him. Wait until he's more healthy, then you'll have a more accurate character to base your judgments on."

The voices multiplied to argue, with Maj's rising above them all like a tidal wave.

" I said not now and I mean not now so just be patient! You can make your assurances all you want, but I will not risk his health with the stress I know you'll put him under so..." The rest became lost when Maj took the argument outside, shutting the door behind her. John stared into his bowl, making swirling designs in the mush that melted away when it congealed.

" Sorry," he muttered. This was the first time in his life that he felt like a burden, and to him it was a hell of a lot worse than being simply useless.

Gidel's upper body jerked in silent, breathy laughter. " Don't be. Maj lives for this kind of confrontation. The committee used to give my cousin Fiel a hard time for all his hunting. Thought his wandering out into the deep wilds would attract beasts of the likes never heard of before. But when the winters got bad, it was always Maj's door they were knocking on ready to barter for a little chunk off Fiel's kill. Even now they still come knocking – my door now. I normally hunt for the skins but that meat really does come in handy. At any rate, the committee has always had it share of hypocrites and paranoids. Nothing but these days."

Gidel's words didn't exactly banish the guilt, but they were amusing to hear.

Gidel turned around in his seat to face John. " They're not all bad folk here." He lifted his thick hand to display two meaty fingers. " You see, you've got two modes of existence here – the settler, and the settled. Not always easy to tell apart unless you know what to look for. The settler is one who'll forever cling to feeling as though they've been forced to survive here against their will, whether booted out here by the government or born here. They don't just hold to the mindset of the city, they clutch it like a life-line. Fear of off-worlders, fear of the unknown – they've been forced to live out here, and have no intentions of dying out here. So, yeah, they're paranoid, worse than the folks in the city since all the city folk have to contend with is eachother. Out here," Gidel slapped the table with his palm, making John jump, " you get a lot of surprises. The settlers'll only raise animals provided by the city, and grow crops from seeds bought in the city. They won't go for eating anything wild until they're blasted near starving."

" Now, the settled – me and aunt Maj and a few others – we haven't really accepted the prospect that we're stuck out here, but we've excepted the fact that we have to live her. What I mean by that is we rely on the city for a few things – like access to the ring – but we depend mostly on ourselves and eachother. If the city were to crumble tomorrow, it'd be no skin off our teeth. We'd keep on existing as we've always had. But we tend to be a few lot, and the settlers have more say in matters. Bit of a pain, really. Means too much government interference than we'd like. Even now some government lackey is supposed to be hustling his way here to head the 'official investigation' they call it, of the disappearances. Maj tell you about those?"

John nodded, pushing his bowl aside to fold his hands on the table-top. " Yeah she did. Pretty freaky, especially after hearing that howl last night."

Gidel snapped his fingers and pointed at John. " You heard it too, then. You've got good ears, and a good head since you didn't ignore it. Most folk are too wrapped up in blaming it all on the brigands. Easier to handle them than some unknown wild animal."

" But Maj said the brigands usually leave behind signs of themselves, and they haven't," John said.

Gidel's lips pursed in a straight line. " Right you are. The brigands are like beasts, like to mark their territory by branding their mark on trees. But me and my hunting partners have been all over these woods even to the ruins and haven't spotted one new mark since last winter. We're always gouging any marks we come across, you see, so the fresh ones can tell us if the brigands are about. But no marks, and even stranger, no remains. Not even any tracks, and that's down right blood-freezing."

John narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. " Have you searched the ruins?"

Gidel eased back in his chair and waved a dismissive hand. " Oh no. No way in 'em. The entrance is sealed by a mountain of rubble." Then he shrugged, narrowing his own eyes. " Although, if there were some other way to enter... but we've yet to find any. Buddy of mine has a theory that whatever it is, it can fly. But here's the thing," Gidel leaned forward with both arms on his knees. " If it were something with wings, it'd have to be bigger than an iaret, and something that big doesn't heave their wings down and not leave a patch of bare ground to show for it. When iarets land or take off, the wind created by their wings always blows away ground debris, leaving a bald spot as it were, and we haven't found any such signs in the areas where the people vanished. So whatever it is making folk vanish, it doesn't have wings, doesn't leave tracks (so could be some kind of tree dweller), and devours its prey bones and all. It's got people extra spooked." Gidel sat back in his chair causing it to creak under his heavy frame. " We even got a few starting to point fingers." He shook his head. " It's getting bad. Real bad."

John smiled tightly, and a little nervously. " Of course it is." And aren't I just the lucky bastard to get here just in time to be the scapegoat. Maj had said that his timing – coming after the fact – would definitely keep him from being suspect, but somehow John doubted that. People tended to get stupid when they got scared – stupid and yet clever about that stupidity. Should these people get desperate enough, they'd find a way to start placing the blame on those who should have been blatantly blameless. It was a naive form of sacrifice to pay for a few moments peace of mind.

The door swung open on whiny hinges and Maj hurried in, slamming it shut behind her. She seemed slightly harried, but it melted from her as soon as she entered the kitchen.

" You done with your mash then?" she asked John. He nodded and she took the bowl to place it in the sink. " Then back upstairs with you. We need to change the bandages and apply more of the pulp. Gidel, could you be a dear and help?"

Gidel rose and took John's arm as support for John to get back on his feet. John pointed a shaky finger toward the front door. " Sorry about the trouble."

Maj took John's other arm, and aunt and nephew kept him upright as they headed out the kitchen and up the stairs. " It's no trouble, John. So don't worry yourself about it. You get better, let them have their questions, then they'll lay off long enough for my pass to come so we can get you home."

John's legs trembled as though threatening him that they would give out if he didn't sit down soon. On reaching the top of the stairs, they finally buckled, and Maj and Gidel were forced to handle the majority of John's weight.

Maj tsked. " Too much excitement for one day." Once they got him back into bed, Maj left to fetch her needed materials, leaving John with Gidel.

John watched her go, sinking back into his discomfort. " You know, I don't know how I'd be able to repay you guys for this..."

Gidel, leaning the small of his back against the work table, shrugged. " This is mostly aunt Maj's doing and she never expects repayment."

That didn't make John feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. " Why'd she do it, then? Save me, I mean. She didn't even know me. I could have been some kind of... I don't know – serial killer or something. I know most people are generally good-hearted but they aren't quick with the good Samaritan act unless they know what they're getting into."

Gidel squinted at him. " Sa-mary-tun?"

John shook his head. " Good deed doing. Stopping by the side of the road to help the hurt guy. I'm grateful beyond ever being able to pay you guys back, but can't get over that she would just up and help me like that, especially on this world. No offense, but your people are kind of the antithesis of the welcoming committee. Until your aunt came, I had two choices – get to the gate or die. I couldn't even get anyone to give me damn directions, then out of the blue here comes your aunt and I'm saved."

Gidel nodded. " It's her way... Well," he shrugged, " more the way of our family. We've been world travelers for generations. I wasn't even born on this world. Conceived here, but not born. In fact it's Maj's belief that somewhere down the family road we didn't even originate on this world. Taking to traveling through the ring has kept us plenty open minded, you might say. For aunt Maj, it's more like a sixth sense concerning people. But you were easy. She witnessed you helping someone, and that was enough for her. You don't see that much on this world, and she wasn't going to stand by and let you get killed for doing the right thing. She's done it before – helping folks. Not on this world, though. She's of the kind that refuses to stand by while others are being hurt. She's always been that way, but it's gotten a bit bigger since Fiel's death. She practically looks for it now, just for a chance to intercede."

John looked over and up at Gidel. " If you don't mind my asking, how did her son die?"

" Off world, from an injury. I wasn't there, and Maj doesn't like to talk about it much. You could ask her, but I doubt she'd tell you."

John looked away, back to his hands. " Oh." He had no intentions of asking Maj. His own tight-lipped nature would make it hypocritical of him.

Maj returned with her tray of bandages and bowls of concoction. Had Rodney been present for this, he would have started seeing Carson as a fellow doctor rather than a practitioner of the dark healing arts. Not that Maj gave John the impression of a back-woods witch – more like a physician turned vegan hippy with her medicinal herbs. Although he'd take herbs any day over whatever passed as medicine in the Iothian capital.

Gidel left to make space in the tiny room. Maj slipped the over-sized shirt from John, crumpled it, and let it drop to the floor.

" Next time you feel the need to move about," She said as she began unwinding the bandages, " might I suggest making a route to the washroom. Not to insult you, but you could use a good scrub."

When she finished replacing bandages and pulp, she gave him a new shirt to wear, one with a collar that didn't keep trying to slip down his shoulder, though it still went well below his collarbones.

" You're such a slender one," She said, adjusting the blankets up to his chest. " Most of the male population around these parts tend to be more thickly built in the upper body."

John shrugged. " I do a lot more running than lifting," he said.

Maj tucked the blanket around him. " And you're tall – stretched. You'll be nothing but lean all your life. But you could still stand to get some more flesh back on you. You've got far too much bone trying to poke through your skin than what's considered healthy."

John didn't reply, just smiled. He wasn't sure why, but he found Maj's fussing more tolerable than Carson's. Most likely because it was just the two of them, with no mouthy physicist trying to squeeze in his condescending comments. John knew Rodney always meant well; but when ill, invalid, weak, and embarrassed about it, less than flattering remarks weren't conducive to helping John's state of mind. And he was pretty sure the stress they caused didn't aid in the healing process any either.

Maj's matter-of-fact tone was neither condescending, heavy with warning, or sopping with pity. She was telling it like it was, and as though it were no big deal, which it wasn't. Strength could be regained, and he was already taking a walk down that road.

After Maj finished her fussing, she went to the stove and picked up the poker to stir the embers. John saw small tongues of flame spiral up to lick the air surrounded by flecks of bright orange and dead-gray ash. Maj tossed in logs one at a time until those glowing tongues latched on, writhing and flickering, filling the room with warmth and the smokey-sweet scent of burning wood. Maj clapped her hands to rid them of the wood-dust, then closed the grate on the stove. She ordered John to get some rest, gathered the bowls and old bandages, and left, balancing the tray in one hand so she could click off the light with the other.

John slid his arms beneath the covers to pull them up to his neck. He stared at the bright , rumpled square of light cast down by the window onto his covered body. He wasn't thinking, just listening to the small bell-chiming of a single chime until it lulled him to sleep. When he got home, he would have to talk Carson into investing in some wind chimes. Far more superior than sedatives.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

John took Maj's advice. The next day, rather than risking his neck for another trip downstairs, he went into the washroom, and stood staring at the large, round metal tub until he believed he had it figured out. Not much different from an earth tub with two knobs and a curved spigot where the water came out. No shower for him, just a bath. But the warm water felt good when he emerged himself into it up to his neck after pulling the curtain closed for privacy. On a dish hooked to the tub was what appeared to be a green bar of soap. He stared at it, contemplating whether it would be worth scrubbing his bony, bruised, cut-up body with something he imagined would be coarse as sandpaper and slightly acidic. When he grabbed the soap, the smooth, velvety texture of it surprised him, as did the flowery but not too flowery scent.

John took the cloth that had been present hanging on the rim of the tub (courtesy of Maj, he was sure), and rubbed the soap into the cloth until the cloth foamed with suds. He scrubbed himself down, lightly around the ribs, ankle, and cuts, then lathered up his hands to wash his hair since he had yet to see anything resembling some kind of shampoo. He scrubbed his head with more zeal than he had his body until soap dripped down his face and he was fairly confident any insect that might be crawling around his scalp obtained during his stay in the city was dead. He submerged his head into the water and shook his head back and forth to get the soap out. He dunked three times until soap stopped dripping into his eyes.

He was finished, and on completing the bath by rinsing out the cloth and setting it on the rim, peered around the curtain to make sure he was alone. He found it almost laughable that he was starting to take precautions now after being spooked nearly clean out of his skin from either Carson or Rodney waiting outside the infirmary shower with his clothes. The washroom was empty, but there was a set of neatly folded clean clothes sitting on the toilet lid. Maj was really starting to give Carson a run for his money.

There was also a towel hanging on the rod by the toilet. John hadn't even thought about finding a towel, being too preoccupied with how the tub worked. He yanked back the curtains, pulled the drain plug chain with his toes, and slid from the tub onto the cold tiled floor. He dried quickly starting with his hair and working down. The clothes consisted of another broad-collared shirt, pants with a leather string to tighten around his waist, and to John's pleasant surprise, his now clean boxer shorts. He pulled on the shorts, then the pants, but left the shirt on the toilet. He turned to the sink where a small box sat on the edge. Inside was a razor blade, almost earth-like in appearance, but with a carved bone handle like ivory rather than cheap plastic. Also within the box were replacement blades and a small dark stone like a whet stone. Obviously, these blades weren't meant to be chucked the moment they started to dull. Waste not, want not out here.

John used to the green soap to lather his face, and took his cautious time in passing the blade over his face, and especially down his throat. The blade cut close, and the soap must have been heavy on the moisturizer because his skin didn't sting. He splashed the soap off and straightened for a good look at himself from the face down.

The Ioth razor did a better job than his electric razor. John's eyes roved over the rest of himself – his pale, bruised, scrawny self. Not too bad in retrospect. He'd been through worse involving complete emaciation. But that was just him thinking positively. In truth, what he saw made him uncomfortable. Such physical states always did. The visibility of his ribs extended from spine to sternum, his collarbones from shoulders to sternum. But it wasn't as though he were some skeletal stick man, with toothpick arms and legs. Muscles still had a presence, more noticeably in his arms. Nothing spectacular, and though he knew he'd never be as bulgy as Ronon (not that he wanted to), they still needed plenty of increase. He'd gone from wiry to stringy, and needed to get back to wiry.

John finally finished dressing, pulling the large, gray brown shirt over his head. He frowned as he looked down at himself. The shirt still didn't cut it in hiding his skinny frame. It hung off him like an old rag on a scarecrow, and the collar still sagged below his collarbones. But at least he was clean now, no longer being assaulted by the sour scent of his own sweat. Being clean was like finding a candy-bar; a simple, momentary pleasure that could never stop being enjoyed each time around. It gave John a more energized feeling, and he was able to head back to the guest room without his legs trying to give out.

Maj was waiting for him, leaning against the table with the tray of bandages and concoctions beside her, and grinning.

" A very nice improvement," she said. " My nose thanks you."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Two more days of moving around did the trick. John was able to extend from bathroom trips to more trips downstairs, wandering the house that was devoid much of the time of Maj as she was usually always outside running errands or doing chores. Ris had taken to following John around more than Maj, as though John were the pet, a new pet, that Ris couldn't get enough of. John gave it a few more days before the little winged lizard finally lost interest.

Exploring the house made for a good distraction for only so long. It wasn't big, and there were certain rooms John felt obligated not to enter. Maj's room, and the room at the other end of the hall. Maj's room was a given. The room at the end of the hall just felt as though it needed to be left alone. John had seen Maj enter it a few times, and when she came back out, her face was always wet.

John had studied the pictures on the walls of the living room enough times to have them memorized. Pictures of Maj and her son, her husband and son, and other people that might have been siblings or friends. He wandered the kitchen, looking into the cupboard, pantry, and ice-box until he knew what was where. The stove and sink were easy to figure out, like earth stoves and sinks, but a heck of a lot less sophisticated. The stove, like any earth-based electric stove, used electricity to heat coils.

John now knew the house from top to bottom, which gave room for boredom to start creeping up on him. Also in the kitchen was a narrow closet stuffed with fur-lined skin coats, like buckskin only thicker and soft, with silk-like gray material on the inside. John took a dark tan coat, and the material slid easily over his arms. The coat was heavy, and gave the illusion of a little more bulk to his skinny body. He only had the coat on for about five seconds when he already started to sweat. He found boots – and of all things his boots – in the closet as well and slipped them onto his bare feet. Ris watched with twitchy curiosity, and chirped.

John gave the iaret a momentary glance. " It's not like I'm going for a walk or anything. Just a step out the back door for a little fresh air, then a step back in." In truth, he wanted to go out to test the heat retaining capabilities of the coat. He tied off the laces to his boots, stood, and headed to the back door. He peered through the window, saw no one around, so grabbed the handle and pulled. Cold, nipping air puffed in his face and against his hand, brushing his neck in an attempt to slide down the fur-lined collar. It seeped through the loose material of his trousers, but the rest of his body was completely off limits because of the coat.

John inhaled a slow, deep breath through his nose to keep the cold from stinging his lungs, and exhaled sharply through his mouth. He stepped out onto the small wooden porch, and shut the door behind him to lean back against it, sticking his gradually numbing hands into the pockets of the coat. Maj's backyard was nothing fancy in this weather, though she seemed the type of woman who would have a mess of flowers and vegetables sprouting up all over the place in spring. On the left and a little ways from the house, closer to the woods, were rectangular patches of plant stubble fenced off by something like chicken wire – Maj's gardens, five in all. On either side of the small wooden porch were the dried carcasses of flowers going to dust and fertilizer for next spring's plants. Across from the porch was Maj's wood pile and a stump that the ax was leaning against. On the right, two more fenced off patches and a tree probably of the fruit-bearing kind.

Finally, so close to the forest that John barely noticed it, was a shed near flushed color-wise with the trees. He only saw it due to the bleached white skulls and horns tacked to the side. A knacker's shed, where animals were taken to be butchered, skinned, their meat cured, smoked, and salted. John shuddered. He recalled seeing a similar structure in a horror movie. Plus those sheds tended to stink when a fresh kill was brought in. John's uncle was big into hunting. Tracking animals was all fun and games for him, but he seemed to relish the after-kill part, gutting and skinning the dead beasts while standing in a mess of gore and blood. It had tended to get both freaky and nauseating, which was why John had never gotten into hunting.

Kill it if it's gonna kill you, or you're starving – that was John's motto.

" I really don't think it's wise for you to be out and about this soon."

John's bones tried to leap from his skin and his heart with them. He whipped his head to the right to see Maj heading toward the wood pile pulling a small wagon of logs behind her, huffing and puffing with the effort. She glanced at John and shook her head. " You are incorrigible. If someone from the committee had seen you, they'd have been all over you with their blasted questions in a heartbeat.

Guilt twinged like a knife-prick in John's chest. His initial instinct was go slinking back inside and back to his room, where he would sit idly as the guilt gnawed on him and Maj gave him the silent treatment. She seemed the type who used silence as a punishment.

Except John wasn't a child, and neither could he be locked away from the committee forever. He stepped off of the porch, moving toward Maj. " I'll take my chances."

Maj took a log from the pile in the wagon and set it on the stump. " And the consequences?" She picked up the ax, raised it high over her shoulder, then brought it down with a heave and a grunt. The ax split the wood neatly in two, both halves thumping on the ground. John paused, both impressed by the woman's strength and a little disconcerted. He snapped from his tiny stupor and went the rest of the way to pick up the halves and place them on the pile.

" Consequences?"

Maj took another log and set it on the stump. " I had to weave a falsehood to get you pass the watch. A falsehood we need to maintain together if we're to keep the committee off our backs." She raised the ax, it fell, and another log was sliced in two. John grabbed the halves and added them to the pile.

" I'm you're long-lost son, I'm a soldier, I was wounded in battle. If you think about it, there's not much more to add seeing as how you haven't seen me since I was a baby. Anything I make up you wouldn't have to vouch for. I mean, we did just find each other and have yet to really swap our life's story." John grinned, wiping his hands off on the side of his trousers. " I think this is one of those instances where what you don't know won't hurt you."

Maj halted on raising the ax, and gave John a suspicious look. " You seem to slip quite easily into a lying state of mind."

John's heart stuttered, his mouth moved, but he had no words to respond with to that accusation. Then Maj grinned, winked, raised the ax and let it fall. " Guess I was worrying for nothing, then."

John grabbed up the wood and tossed them onto the pile. " I've had a lot of practice." He pointed at Maj. " Doesn't mean I like it. Although it does get kind of fun when you get to tell someone you're Mickey Mouse and they haven't got a clue what the hell you're talking about."

Maj wrinkled her brow at John as she set another log down. " Mickey Mouse?"

" Never mind. It's just that, where I come from, when you've got a whole crap-load of people to protect and a bunch of creeps tenderizing your kidneys for the keys into your domain, lying becomes both an act of survival and a means of defiance. So, yeah, I've gotten pretty good at it."

The ax fell with a thwack, and the wood fell with a thump. John grabbed the pieces to put on the pile. Maj grabbed another log. She set the log on the stump, but kept her hand on its top as though trying to keep it upright.

" Your position in life sounds... hard," she said.

John stuck his hands back into his pockets to hide them from the cold and shrugged. " It's not always easy."

Maj started moving her hand, rotating the log on the edge of its unevenly round base. " And it does not bother you, all this pain you suffer protecting your people?"

John looked at the ground, scuffing the heel of his boot into the soft cocktail of dirt, wood chips, and sun-browned needles. " Well... it's not exactly like I forget about it once it's over. There are nightmares, sometimes... phantom pains, a little anxiety for a short while, maybe a panic attack or two after the dreams." He stopped scuffing to look back up at Maj. She didn't look shocked, not like most people did when he mentioned his little after-torture quirks. She did look worried. He never understood why people worried so much over what never lasted. The dreams, the fears, they all went away, diminishing like something shrinking away from the light to hide in the shadows of his mind.

People never understood.

" The thing is," he explained, " they don't last. They don't matter, not in the long run. The people I protect, they're good people – great people. People I'm willing to die for, except I never do because they're always there to get me out. It doesn't matter what happens to me as long as in the end they're all right. And as long as I focus on that, and on what I need to do, everything else just goes away."

Maj pressed her lips together for a thoughtful moment. Then, slowly, a smile lit up her face. She lifted her hand to shake her finger at John. " I knew I had a good reason for saving you."

John smiled back.

They continued the rhythm of Maj chopping wood and John adding the pieces to the stack. He told her what he could about earth, and what he used to do there. Most of it was over her head, but she understood the concept of flying machines. She was a ring traveler, after all, and had encountered the wraith and their flying machines.

John ended up talking himself into a corner and had to admit to being black-marked for rescuing some men against orders to explain why he ended up in the wintry wastes of Antarctica. Maj's gaze seemed to darken, and the ax split the wood with some extra force that sent splinters flying.

" No good deed goes unpunished," she said.

They didn't finish splitting all of the logs. The cold clutching John's legs had crept up into the rest of his body through them, and he started shivering. Moving back and forth from the split wood to the pile had also made him short of breath and his arms shaky. Maj called it a day, setting the ax against the stump then wiping her brow with her sleeve. They headed inside, with Maj ushering John in ahead of her, then to the kitchen table. The warm air made John's muscles melt, and he eased his head toward the table to rest on his folded arms. Maj busied herself whipping up a meal. Meat instead of mash, saying she felt John was ready for it, and that this meat was tender enough to be gentle on his digestion. She boiled it instead of fried it, along with a vegetable like orange squash, adding in a few herbs and spices.

As they dined, they talked, Maj mostly, telling John about her travels. She knew of the Athosians, and had wondered why they could no longer be found on Athos. She would have assumed them all culled, but had managed to run into a few who said only that they'd had to be 'relocated'. She also knew of the Genii, and John smiled on hearing that she didn't really care for them all that much.

" I know they raise prices just for me, being from Ioth. They've never forgiven us for turning them away. And that had been over seven decades ago!"

The meat was good, very tender as Maj had said, and not overwhelming with the flavor. The orange squash tasted like squash, although somewhat sweeter. Maj went on about the difficulties of being a trader from Ioth. Some, like the Athosians, did not hold Ioth's policies against them. Others traded fairly and got their revenge through snide remarks, others didn't trade fairly, and a few held no qualms about gunning down the first Ioth they saw. But Maj was the exception to many in that most didn't even know she was Iothian.

" I don't believe I need to explain to you the necessity of holding bits of vital information back," she said.

John chuckled softly while slicing the meat with the edge of his fork. He paused with a sudden thought, and looked up at Maj. " Hey, Maj, you wouldn't happen to know why the wraith leave your planet alone, would you?"

Maj didn't answer until she was finished chewing, and pointed her fork at John during the process. She swallowed. " You know, you'd think living here all my life I'd of found the answer to that riddle by now. But the fact of the matter is I don't think anyone knows. My father and uncles used to sit around outside during the warm months and discuss it for hours." Maj started waving her fork back and forth. " Plagues, Ioth victorious battles, some sort of weapon, some sort of electric shielding. Even the possibility that we just don't agree with wraith palates." She grinned at that last part. " I just gave up speculating all together. Not always wise to question this kind of good fortune. Besides, chances are we'll never know. Which might be a good thing. Were we to find out, and a wraith got a hold of one of us, we'd be quite doomed, especially if some mighty weapon was the cause. Weapons can be dismantled, blown apart, and I hear rumor that wraith's have ways of making people talk. Terrible ways."

John stabbed at his meat. " You have no idea."

Maj stiffened with wide eyes. " You've been interrogated by them? And lived?"

John shrugged indifferently. " They tried, they failed. Although that queen was kind of distracted at the moment..."

Maj slapped the table and gaped. " A queen! You're jesting with me. A queen! Grand bleedin' royalty! And yet here you are before me. How in the bleeding depths of darkness do you even manage to survive an encounter with a wraith? A queen wraith."

John smirked, using his fork to make his last slice of squash slide around. " Ignore the pain in your skull, yammer a lot, piss her off, and pray for a distraction – which I got. Wraith queens just love a good verbal sparring."

Maj chuckled. " It's a wonder you have any problems with the wraith at all."

" Actually, that's exactly why we have problems with the wraith. Everyone else is all about food. With my people, the wraith have a vendetta and a goal. We're always finding new ways of getting on their nerves, the big one being we won't tell them how to get to earth." John set his fork down. He just couldn't finish off the last few bites. " Okay, I think I'm done for the day."

Maj finished off the last of her food and set her fork on her plate. " Let's get you upstairs for an injury check, then." She stood, grinning. " You're an amusing man, John Sheppard. But just between you and me, I'd keep your wraith-defying stories to yourself. You tell the committee you've survived a wraith encounter, they'll lock you up until they can ship you to the Ioth capital mad house."

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John could have claimed himself a budding Spiderman – his senses were tingling. His body could be weary to the point of skirting the edges of a coma, but could never really take all of his mind with it. So even in the dreamless depths of sleep that was like pulling teeth to wake up from, John was aware of a change in his surroundings. So he fought like a swimmer struggling against an undertow, this 'change' his life line reeling him in. When his eyes finally slitted apart, it wasn't to the gray, blue, and black shades of a dark room, but to a figure outlined in fiery gold crouched before the small stove. John blinked away sleep film until the figure took on familiar features. He lifted his heavy head off the pillow to squint at the old woman carrying what looked to be an oddly shaped stick on her back.

" Maj?" His voice sounded as though a frog were talking for him.

Maj stirred and jabbed the fire, making it flare and flicker. " It's all right, John. Go back to sleep."

Easier said than done when John identified the stick as having the distinct shape and form of an Ioth rifle. " What's going on?"

" Your fire was low, didn't want you to freeze," Maj replied.

" And you felt you needed to be armed to toss on some wood?" John furrowed his brow with rising trepidation. The weapon was making him nervous. " This isn't a trust issue thing, is it? Because I kind of thought we were getting along pretty well..."

Maj looked over at him, and the harried look of worry on her face was making him more uneasy than the weapon. Maj wiped her hands off onto her skirt and straightened. " It's not you John." She went over to his bed, and leaned forward enough to peer out the window. " Ris is hissing."

John rolled to his back and pushed himself up into a sitting position. " I'm guessing that's a bad thing. Intruders? Trespassers?"

Maj shook her head. " I don't know. He normally chirps and takes off outside when someone's wandering my backyard. Night Watch looking for a place to drink in private, kids trying some knew mind-altering herbs, or looking for a private place for a tryst. Ris likes chasing them off. But he's refusing to go outside. He's just pacing my room, hunch backed, hissing. The last time he did that, the very next day came the first disappearance. He hasn't done it since until tonight."

John's back spasmed in a shudder along his spine. " So then it's really, really bad."

Maj, still searching out the window, shrugged. " Oh, I don't know, could be nothing. A rival mini-iaret, or one of the larger iarets sniffing about my skinning hut. We'll know by tomorrow if someone disappears." She reached into the pocket of her skirt, and pulled out a surprisingly familiar weapon. " I think you should keep this with you."

She reached out, and John took his 9-mil from her hand. " Where'd you find it?" he asked in disbelief.

" You still had it on you. I took it from you when I found you since I didn't know if I could trust you yet. I forgot I had it until I spotted it on the top shelf of my closet next to my projectile."

John removed the clip to check the bullets, and cocked the chamber to see if it still worked. The weapon felt comfortable in his hand – for reasons of safety and as a piece of home. He jammed the clip back in, checked the safety, then slipped it under his pillow. " Really think something's out there?" he asked, just to break the unnervingly thickening silence.

" Oh, I know something's out there. I just don't know what, and whether it's in my yard or simply prowling the edge of the forest. Just a moment..." She left John's room, only to return a few seconds later, less harried but still tense. " Ris stopped hissing. The little runt is curled up on my bed, so it must be gone."

" How good are Ris' senses?" John asked.

Maj smiled. " He was able to locate a section of wall being devoured by wood-rot mites. The mites are about the size of a grain of sand, and make no sound. If Ris starts acting as though something is outside, then you'd do best to believe him. When he's not worried, then we've no reason to worry." Her smile faded into a frown. " But this has me concerned. Tomorrow – again unless someone has vanished – I think you should be brought before the council so they can ask their questions and give you permission to move about. Your strength is returning quickly, but it's still not up to what it should be, and I'd feel more at ease if I could have you in mys sights more."

John felt struck down to the level of a ten year old, and didn't like it. He opened his mouth, about to say as much, when Maj raised her hand to stop him.

" I know, you're not a child, but you are my responsibility seeing as how I brought you out here. You should also be given freedom to move through the town should you ever come in need of assistance."

" I can take care of myself," John argued.

Maj lowered her hand and set her mouth in a thin, grim line. " The last one to speak similar words died two weeks later." She turned to go, but paused, glancing over her shoulder. " Indulge an old woman, John. This place cannot be trusted." Then she left.

John stared after her. His pride wanted him to sulk at the implications that he'd just been treated as a child, but logic didn't let him. This was Maj's home, her village, her world. She knew what she was talking about, and John wasn't going to let himself realize this the hard way. He could be petulant later. Right now all he wanted to do was survive long enough to get home.

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John awoke to the twilight morning hours expanding toward gray daylight. This made it the fourth time he awoke with his hand sliding beneath the pillow to grip the cool casing of his 9-mil. The only difference between now and the other three times was that there was light enough to see by for a peek out the window. John forced his stiff muscles to let himself sit up and lean forward enough to look outside. Shadows still hid objects except for their basic shapes. A beam of light emanating – it seemed – from the back door danced like a hyper insect over the ground and across these objects – the would pile, fencing, sleeping fruit tree, until finally settling on flitting about the stump.

Maj's shadow-sharpened form stepped from the porch and approached the stump as though she'd never seen such a thing before. When she came in close enough, she circled it, then moved off to the wood pile, passing the beam of light over the split logs. John watched her wondering if he needed to go out and offer whatever help he could to whatever it was she was doing.

Maj returned to the stump. That's when it finally hit John.

The ax was gone.

Maj looked around in a lost kind of manner, then looked up, directly at John as though confirming what he'd finally figured out. John's heart thudded hard against his chest, and he stiffened. He wanted Maj to come inside, now. Not for his sake, and definitely not because he didn't want to be alone. What he was seeing was too much of a horror movie moment to feel comfortable about, the moment when the one who had taken the ax would detach himself from the shadows and come slinking up behind his would-be victim. Then John would try to shout for Maj to run, but since she wouldn't be able to hear him, she would just give him a bewildered look as the ax was raised...

John twitched his head. He'd never considered himself as having a massive imagination, but it was certainly giving him hell now. Maj remained alone outside staring up at John's window, speaking without words.

" Ris hisses for a reason." Finally, she headed back inside. John's tension refused to ease from his body.

SGA

A/N: John needs to lay off the Friday the 13th flicks. Throughout the chapters you'll see the village committee be referred to as both the committee and the council. This is not a mistake. The committee can be referred to as either the committee or the council, and it tends to interchange.