Sam slowly opened her eyes, feeling groggy, her mind a total blank. The last thing she could recall was flying through the warp and going into a freefall... Of course! The crash, her injured leg, and hearing Alan Johnson's voice on the radio before she'd passed out... Where was she? Instead of finding herself still trapped in the wreckage, bleeding to death, she was lying on a camp bad, wrapped in warm blankets. Through semi-blurred vision, she could see the wooden ceiling of some sort of room from where a battery-powered lamp hung, shining brightly in her eyes, disorientating her.

Feeling her injured thigh, she realised someone had dressed the wound, which didn't pain her anymore – in fact she couldn't feel her leg at all. Her head felt heavy and sore, which she remembered she had banged against the control panel on impact, but otherwise she felt comfortable. How had she gotten here? Then, she suddenly realised she wasn't alone. A tall woman, wearing surgical gloves which were stained with blood – her blood -, loomed into view above her. Caught by surprise, Sam uttered a yelp of shock and tried to sit up.

"Where...where am I?"

"Easy there, dear," said the unknown woman gently, holding her down, "You've had a bit of an accident. You must take it real easy or else you'll pull out the stitches." As the fog in her vision slowly cleared, Sam recognised a familiar face she had seen in family pictures Mike had shown her – it was Josie McEwen, James McEwen's wife, who had also gone missing along with her husband and son. And she wasn't the only one. Looking to her right, she saw three men and a little girl standing over by the door, one of whom she recognised as the legendary Dr Alan Johnson himself, still very much alive and breathing, just like Dr Drake had said.

Johnson hadn't changed much over the last four years, Sam thought. Tall, well-built and handsome, he looked more like a younger version of Steven Seagal rather than a scientist, save for the battered horn-rimmed spectacles he wore. The ginger-haired man at his side, she figured, was Dr Derek Shaw, Johnson's childhood friend, who had also gone missing back in 2012 and presumed dead. Had she done it then? Was she in the future?

"You gave us quite a nasty fright there," said Johnson, stepping forward, "We thought you'd never wake up." Sam stared open-mouthed at Dr Johnson standing beside her – after all, who wouldn't be the least surprised at meeting a supposedly long-dead man?

"Dr Johnson...unbelievable..." she mumbled, not knowing what to say. Johnson chuckled, "I haven't been called Doctor in a long time, but, yes, I'm Alan Johnson, at your service. And you're Sam, right?" Sam weakly nodded as they shook hands. "Sam...First name or last?"

"You can just call me Sam," she said sheepishly, remembering Inspector Santon's warning not to reveal her full identity just yet. Dr Johnson seemed a little suspicious but luckily didn't press the matter further. He turned to the other people standing around the camp bed.

"Well, I believe introductions are in order," he said, "This is Josie McEwen, our base camp physician. She's the one who can explain your medical situation." Josie offered her hand to shake, "Pleased to meet you, Josie. Your father-in-law told me so much about you. Your husband and son are here too?" Josie's face fell, as she explained her husband had been dead for a long time. She didn't say anything about her son though, not keen on bringing that particular topic up again anytime soon. Instead, she explained the extent of Sam's injuries.

"The good news is you're still in one piece," she said, "You did suffer a concussion; you might experience light-headiness or nausea for a few days until it clears up, but otherwise there should be no lasting effects. Your leg also needed seven stitches, but luckily there's no major damage to the nerves or major vessels, at least none that we can see..."

"My leg!" cried Sam in alarm, remembering the splinter skewering her and the fact that she didn't seem to have any more sensation in that limb. Had they cut it off? "Why can't I feel it? Have I...lost it?"

"It's just an after-effect of the anaesthetic," explained Josie, "You were in a lot of pain and we had to sedate you for surgery. You might experience some mild pain or discomfort when it wears off, and I imagine there might be a bit of a limp, but it should mend nicely within a few weeks. You should be healthy as a horse by spring." Alan continued on with the introductions.

"My second-in-command, Derek Shaw, our engineer and chief handyman, and his assistant Hotdog." Derek Shaw also offered his hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Dr Shaw..."

"Please call me Deke," said the dashing Irishman joyfully, "We're...rather informal in this day and age."

"Aye, no need for pointless formalities from a pretty wee lass like you," said Hotdog in his deep Scottish accent, sounding almost flirtatious, "After all, we don't get a pretty broad like you around here every day, unlike some poxed-up old hags I used to know...Ow!" Derek Shaw had deliberately trodden on his toe, cutting the sardonic Scot's remarks off, before he accidentally offended their visitor.

"Never mind him, Sam, he's just the mean-spirited clown in this family." Sam couldn't suppress a laugh at their clowning; they all seemed like really nice people. In fact, she couldn't help but feel a tad bit charmed by the burly, red-haired Irishman standing beside her.

"And my daughter, Lucy," said Alan, finishing up with the introductions, "Lucy, come say hallo, please." The twelve-year-old shyly also offered her hand to shake.

"All right, now my patient needs rest and care," said Josie, shooing them out, "I must ask you boys to kindly leave the room." But Alan held up his hand, "Just a moment please, Josie." He turned back to Sam.

"I won't ask too much of you tonight, Sam, but it is really important that certain questions are cleared up as soon as possible, to set everyone's mind at ease." Sam grew tense; was Johnson going to start inquiring about her identity? Inspector Santon had made sure she left any papers or cards of identity behind to keep anyone from finding out the truth by accident. Perhaps he already suspected?

"From what we've understood, you didn't make that flight trough the time warp by accident. How did you find us? How is it that you know the secret of the future?" Although the discovery of his long-lost copy of Watership Down in Sam's possession pretty much summarised everything, for the sake of his friends, Alan needed to hear an explanation from their visitor's own lips to make sure.

Sam told them about her discovery of Alan's book containing the secret narrative of his initial journey into the future, which had led her to Dr Drake, and, who, in turn, had sent her here in hopes of finding a new home for her friend Stonecrop. However, she carefully avoided any mention of her brother – luckily, Alan seemed more or less satisfied, if not truly amazed.

"It seems you did your homework before coming here, Sam. Most impressive...and daring!" he complimented her, feeling momentarily reassured. So, this wasn't the case of someone who had no business being here having stumbled into their midst by accident. If Drake was behind Sam's arrival, then the secret of this world hadn't leaked out after all. This just left one more mystery to clear up, "But what was that you were saying about having an intelligent rabbit with you? Stonecrop, was it? Where on earth did you find a lagomorph back in the 21st century?"

Sam explained how she had found Stonecrop as a kitten and raised him, always keeping him hidden from the rest of the world, until he had grown too big to live in the city. Down on her luck and with no one to turn to, it had seemed utterly hopeless. Then, the discovery of Alan's notes had presented a way out for the both of them.

"I couldn't bear the thought of something bad happening to Stonecrop, should the world find out about him," she said, "He's all I've got in the world...Oh, my goodness!" she suddenly gasped, remembering, "Where's Stonecrop? Did you find him? Is he hurt?" Alan calmly reassured her.

"We're still looking for him," he told her, "I'm sure he'll turn up soon..." As if on cue, at that moment Pipkin came running into the room, out of breath. Something was up.

"There's some hlessi over at the Honeycomb trying to crash the entrance to the warren," he said, "You better come at once!" Leaving Sam in Josie's care, Alan and Pipkin hurried over to the Honeycomb to investigate. Sure enough, they entered the main chamber, only to find an unfamiliar rabbit bickering with some members of the Junior Owsla who had caught him trying to enter. Alan couldn't really blame them; even in this world, breaking and entering wasn't unheard of and a stranger entering a warren usually meant either an enemy or elil, which would instantly put the Owsla on full alert – only in this case, with Bigwig incapacitated and his Owsla back on Frith's Eve leave, the inexperienced, undisciplined Junior Owsla had intercepted the intruder instead.

Currently, the youngsters, with Sandwort in the lead, had surrounded the stranger, demanding angrily to know who he was and what was he doing here, while the unknown rabbit simply stared back at them blankly, as if in a state of shock – and as Alan soon found out, due to lack of proper communication.

"...What's the matter, chum?" sneered Sandwort in Lapine, "Are you deaf, or just plain dumb? I asked you what you were doing sneaking into our warren. Well?" The strange rabbit only gaped back at him, as if seeing a ghost, muttering blankly in English, "I...I can't understand what you're saying. I'm looking for my friend Sam..." But the youngsters only continued to menace him, until Alan stepped in.

"Hey, knock it off, you lot!" he barked, breaking up the scuffle, "Just because you're the Junior Owsla, doesn't mean you can just attack a stranger unprovoked!"

"We caught this riff-raff trying to sneak into the burrows, Uncle Alan!" said Sandwort triumphantly, "More like another hlessi out to steal our food no doubt...!"

"That's enough, Sandwort!" roared Holly from behind, who had come to see what the commotion was all about, "Hazel-rah is the one who'll decide what is to be done about this fellow." Sandwort glared back at his father for interrupting his fun. He was always a bit of a bully and liked to show his friends he was the one in control, albeit with displays of showing-off or bravado – attempts that were often thwarted by his stern, rule-abiding father, with whom he often clashed and quarrelled.

"He's a trespasser, Parli!" he grumbled, "We were only doing our duty, whilst you and Hazel-rah were too busy taking a nap!" he sneered. Holly frowned dangerously at this impudence; besides Bigwig, Holly didn't take kindly to remarks that questioned his abilities as an Owsla veteran, especially from his own son.

"You watch your mouth when you're speaking to me, Sandwort!" he scolded his son, "Unless you'd rather I thrash you into next season!" Although furious at being reprimanded in front of his friends, Sandwort wisely held his tongue, fearing a cuffing. Alan pitied Holly; his and his son's relationship only seemed to grow more and more strenuous as time went by. Truth be told, as their ambassador in Vleflain, Holly was away from home most of the time, which greatly distanced him from his children, especially the rebellious Sandwort. They turned to the stranger, who still lay cowering on the floor. Alan needn't ask who this was.

"It's all right, lad, they won't hurt you now," he said, helping the bewildered rabbit up, wincing as he felt how cold and icy his fur was. Strapped to his back, he also noticed the empty pack of a deployed parachute, which Sam had said he'd been wearing. It's a wonder he didn't freeze to death finding his way here, Alan thought. The young rabbit was exhausted, barely able to stand. He offered no resistance as Alan and Holly led him away from the youngsters and down to Hazel's burrow.

"You're Stonecrop, aren't you?" Alan asked him, "Sam's friend?" The strange rabbit looked at him, still in a state of shock, mumbling.

"Talking rabbits, just like me...they're real...others like me..."

Stonecrop didn't know what to make of all this. After landing in a tree, he had managed to gnaw himself free of his tangled parachute and set off trying to find his way to safety. One minute he was stumbling through the blizzard, lost, trying to find shelter and the next he was being jumped by...members of his own kind. Although it sounded utterly ridiculous, being confronted by members of your own species for the first time in your life had been an utterly terrifying experience! After all, having grown up in the human world, he had never seen others like him, except his own reflection in the mirror. It was like a dream – one that seemed to be quickly escalating into a nightmare. Then he became aware that the man leading him away from that mob was talking to him. Finally, he found his voice.

"Yes, I'm looking for my friend Sam. We were flying and got separated after I bailed out. We were looking for a place called Watership Down... Is this the place then?" Holly turned to face the newcomer, speaking in English.

"Young bucko, I'm Captain Holly, formerly of the Sandleford Owsla. This is Alan, a good friend of ours. We do apologize for that rude welcoming back there. Those undisciplined young Owsla trainees sometimes care more about picking a fight than following actual Owsla protocol. Come, we'll take you to see our Chief Rabbit, Hazel-rah."

Hazel was currently checking on Bigwig with Hyzenthlay and their daughters. The mighty rabbit was recovering nicely from his icy plunge. He now sat lazily munching a carrot, feeling much better already, while Hazel and his family kept him company.

"A snowball with ears, that's what I would have been if it weren't for Alan," he was saying, telling Primrose and her sisters of their little adventure in Lord Brock's Wood. The young does were always excited to hear new stories of their father and Captain of Owsla's escapades together and could never get enough of them. At that moment, Alan and Holly entered, accompanied by the bewildered and nervous Stonecrop. The does looked at the stranger.

"Who is this, marli?" Tindra timidly asked her mother, staring curiously at the stranger. But Bigwig, who exercised constant vigilance even in his sleep, at the sight of this unfamiliar newcomer, was on his feet in an instant and sprang at Stonecrop.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "How did you get in here?" Alan rolled his eyes; his friends sure weren't turning out to be the soul of hospitality today. Holly came to Stonecrop's rescue, "Ease up, Bigwig, he isn't an intruder." Meanwhile, Stonecrop was starting to get very really annoyed at the poor treatment he was receiving at every turn in this place.

"Bigwig?" he asked with a snort, "What a fitting name for a bullying oaf..." Unfortunately, he should know better than to take a jibe at the short-tempered Bigwig.

"What! Oaf? Why, you little...!"

Luckily, Hazel, Holly and Alan managed to calm Bigwig down before things could turn nasty. The last thing they needed now was another scuffle. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be the last conflict Stonecrop was to run into that evening. The does were eyeing the burly Stonecrop curiously, mostly puzzled by the fact that he was staring at them absolutely gobsmacked. He had never seen a doe before, didn't even know what they might look like, and the first sight of one – in this case Primrose – absolutely stunned him.

"Hello," greeted Primrose stepping forward, "I'm Primrose, Hazel-rah's daughter." To her utmost surprise – and outrage – Stonecrop, still lost in the midst of his swoon at his first ever encounter with the opposite sex of his species, merely gaped at her, muttering.

"You're...you're a female, aren't you?" he asked, not realising his mistake until the damage was done. As it so happened, in rabbit etiquette, misinterpreting another rabbit's sex was highly insulting. But poor Stonecrop of course didn't know that. And Primrose, in all her pride, felt very offended indeed. Her sisters gasped.

"Female? How dare you!" she shrieked incredulously, "I'm a doe! Are you blind?" Before Stonecrop could apologize however, she had turned on her heels and stormed out, followed by her sisters, all of which were glaring at Stonecrop in disgust, thinking he was either a lunatic or a plain disgrace. Alan didn't think he had ever seen a worse first impression, except maybe for his first encounter with a certain Captain Vervain... Hazel turned to look questionably at Alan.

"What in Frith's name is going on?"

"I believe we've found our missing second visitor sooner than we thought, Hazel. Pay the Owsla their money."

Meanwhile, far away from Watership Down, on the bank of the frozen Enborne River to the north, the escaped convicts-turned-mercenaries had finished regrouping and were busy retrieving their supplies and equipment, scattered all over the countryside where they'd been dropped. Armed men with flashlights moved to and fro, retrieving all the cases and boxes they had thrown out of the plane and which now hung from their parachutes tangled in the trees like weird Christmas ornaments.

Hirsh moved inconspicuously among them, feeling very much out of place. Before he had let himself be bought, he hadn't thought himself as a criminal, much less a murderer; now, he had become both in the space of a single night. And the worst part was there was no turning back. By being the key man in the hijacking and liberation of these scumbags, he had become a fugitive. Now his future lay entirely among this gang of criminals, whether he liked it or not.

Crowley sat waiting in a clearing, smoking a cigar, surrounded by his bodyguards, while one of his aids conducted a roll-call, making sure everyone was accounted for. As it turned out, the operation, although successful, had experienced a few mishaps. They were three men short; one's parachute hadn't opened at all, sending the man skydiving into the ground like a falling meteor, digging his own grave in the process; and another had landed in a tree, just outside a giant owl's hollow. A few gnawed remains and some shredded parachute canvas stained with blood were all they could find of him. The third fatality, pilot Travis still remained mysteriously unaccounted for.

Crowley stared at the unopened parachute pack his men had recovered from a nearby field, which they knew had been Travis's. Although he couldn't care less about the pilot as they no longer needed him, he couldn't allow any treachery to be lingering unchecked amongst his party. He rounded on Hirsh.

"Are you sure everyone on that plane was dead when you bailed out?"

Of course I'm sure," answered Hirsh incredulously, "He was right behind me...!" He froze in mid-sentence when Crowley drew his gun, the nuzzle poised direct between Hirsh's beady eyes. His expression was cold and murderous.

"My instructions were for you to make sure everyone was accounted for before you bailed out," he said coldly, cocking his weapon, as if about to blow Hirsh's brains out, now that his usefulness had expired, "I don't appreciate this sort of sloppiness..." Despite being only a bullet away from death, Hirsh somehow managed to retain his bravado.

"We're partners in this, Crowley!" he cried, "You wouldn't have busted this riff-raff out to do your dirty work if it weren't for me!" Crowley merely sneered. Gratitude had no room whatsoever in his vocabulary. And he truly didn't like Hirsh. That man was an amateur, the type who'd sell himself out at the highest bidder. And this kind of unreliable partner could prove very dangerous if he decided to double-cross them when it was in his best interests. On the other hand, given where they were, Hirsh was in no position to pose a real threat anyway. Also, being Secret Service, he might know useful information that could come in handy on this mission. Making up his mind, he lowered his gun.

"Consider this a state of evaluation," he told Hirsh, who visibly paled, "The moment I sense your loyalties are in doubt, or that you're just a freeloader along for the ride, you're...terminally discharged!"

Hirsh cursed Crowley in the back of his mind; not only because his new boss meant to discard him like garbage, but because Crowley's attitude reminded Hirsh what he always thought himself: weak, second-best to anyone and anything. Twenty years in the Secret Service and all he had to show for it was a dull desk job and a crummy state salary – the reason he had agreed to accept this job from Crowley in the first place. Crowley had offered him half a million pounds hard cash – money which, he now realised, was completely worthless to him in this godforsaken world Crowley had brought them to.

At last, all the equipment had been retrieved and catalogued. The DC-10's cargo consisted of military-issue clothing, tools, camping equipment, medical supplies, a portable galley, the plane's arms chest, and much-sought-after MRE rations, enough to supply a small boot camp for the whole winter. Crowley called his men to order. The convicts, armed and ready for duty, stood at attention as their new leader spoke.

"Gentlemen, welcome...to the New World Dominion of England," he said, announcing the birth of his new domain, much like an explorer having just discovered a new land, "For those of you who are wondering, yes, we're still in England – only seven hundred years in the future!" Excited muttering broke out among the invaders at the news; this sure was an unusual assignment – and the best part of it that they were now free, beyond reach from the law for good, "The governments that branded us public enemies are long dead and so is the society they represented. Civilization as we knew it is all long gone – this is a whole new world, gentlemen, waiting for us to reclaim it and rebuild. I hereby announce myself the first-ever Governor under the new world order – this is our land, our planet, and your allegiance belongs to me and to me alone. Any man not happy?"

Cheers and applause broke out among the mercenaries, as they voiced their full support for the newly elected Governor of the militia that was to take control of the entire planet, just like their predecessor Red Hand had failed so miserably to accomplish centuries earlier. However, a few men had enough sense to suspect it might not be all that easy.

"What if we should encounter any rivals, or any opposition?"

"I'm glad to asked, Lieutenant Guts," replied Crowley, addressing the convict called Guts, a psychotic military surgeon who had been doing a life sentence for conducting hideous experiments and torture techniques on POWs during the war, only second best to Red Hand's late infamous torturer Samir – a useful asset to Crowley's cause.

"Many of you no doubt have heard the story of Alan Johnson," he told his men, who started muttering amongst themselves again, "The world dismissed his discovery of what was to come as a myth – and let themselves be destroyed in the process. Well, gentlemen, the foremost objective of our mission is to take back what is rightfully ours. Whether the rumours about intelligent animals are true or not, doesn't concern us; we will eliminate anything whatsoever that creates an obstacle in our path without mercy. The Earth will return to human dominance once again!"

Further cheers and applause broke out among Crowley's mercenaries, as they waved their weapons, shouting for human superiority and triumph. If there were any intelligent animals out there, whose ancestors had stolen the Earth away from humans, they'd rid the world of them! And nobody would stand in their way! Like Dr Drake had predicted, war between man and animal was coming to the New World.

"Hurray for Governor Crowley! Hurray for the new militia!"

After Crowley had appointed ranks and assigned duties to every man on his team (Hirsh, much to his dismay, was denied a position in Crowley's inner circle and instead made a powerless aid-de-camp to the new governor), the newly assembled militia gathered up their equipment and set off into the futuristic wilderness in search of a suitable location to set up camp. Their mission: reclaim what was once the home planet of the human race.

Back on Watership Down, following the fiasco over at the Honeycomb, the colonists had brought Stonecrop to see Sam. The pair was lovingly embracing, overjoyed at their reunion. Stonecrop lovingly nuzzled his foster mother, utterly relieved to see that she was all right. At least one thing was going right tonight.

"Thank goodness you're safe, Stonecrop," said Sam reaching up to hug him. She turned to Alan and his friends who stood a little ways away, giving the two some privacy, "Thank you so much for finding him."

"Pleasure is all ours, Sam," said Hazel, who had come over to meet Sam with Bigwig, Hyzenthlay and Fiver, "You're both very welcome here. We hope we can make your stay as pleasant as possible."

"Thank you, Hazel. You're all so very kind," said Sam, reaching out to pat Hazel between the ears.

"What about this thing we've been hearing about another group of hostile ithel that we might be expecting?" asked Bigwig, who had come to inquire more about Dr Drake's warning of a potential invasion, which Sam had been telling them about.

"I was asked to deliver a message that explains everything," said Sam, reaching into her shredded flight thermal where she had tucked Drake's letter, only to find the pocket had been torn wide open by flying debris when the glider had broken up, casting the letter into the winds at 10,000 feet. They'd never find it now.

"Hraka!" cursed Bigwig angrily, "Without that information, we have no way of knowing what to expect! Frith in a barn, for all we know, the enemy could be in our territory right now!"

"We shall just have to do the best we can without it, Bigwig," said Hazel, "At least, we've got the forewarning early and that's a start." Fiver, meanwhile, was looking curiously between Hazel and Stonecrop, noticing a curious familiarity.

"Eh, Hazel?" her asked timidly, "Is it just me, or do you and Stonecrop share a curious...resemblance?" Looking at the two of them, he could swear the two rabbits were distantly...related somehow. Stonecrop had the same coffee-brown fur and eyes as Hazel, yet his features seemed to resemble Hawkbit's more than anyone else's. But how was that even possible? Hyzenthlay seemed to notice this as well and rounded on her mate, looking as if she was about to explode.

"What's going on here, Hazel?" she demanded. Although she wasn't the type to lose her temper easily, the tone that expressed the anger, the pain of apparent betrayal was obvious, "Did you father a son with another doe when you journeyed to that past human world, and you never told me?!" Hazel looked like he was about to lose it.

"Hyzenthlay, I swear to Almighty Frith that I've never been unfaithful to you!" he cried, "There never was another doe for whom my heart beat before I met you, nor will there ever be! Please, you've got to believe me!" Hyzenthlay studied her mate for a long while, her deep hazel eyes locked with his. Finally, she nodded.

"I believe you, Hazel. Please forgive me for thinking so low of you." Hazel responded by gratefully touching noses with Hyzenthlay. He was so grateful that his mate could see it in his heart that he was faithful and honest to her through and through.

"He isn't your son, Hazel," said Alan reassuringly, who remembered seeing Sven Shertok collect those blood samples he had harvested from the captive Hazel and Hawkbit that night at Buxton Hall, and thus knew exactly what was going on here. Obviously those samples of futuristic DNA had ended up in someone else's hands after Red Hand had fallen, who in turn had duplicated what Drake would do someday that would cause the rise of the Four Brothers. No wonder his former colleague had wanted Stonecrop returned to the future immediately, before the secret got out, "It seems we have yet another amendment to make to the history books. El-ahrairah wasn't the first born lagomorph after all – Stonecrop is!" The rabbits were absolutely gobsmacked by this piece of information.

"Frith of Inle!" exclaimed Bigwig, "You had better not say any of this in front of Blackberry or else he'll brand you all as heretics!"

In spite of all this excitement however, it had been a long evening for everybody so they decided to cut the conversation short and retire for the night. As Sam drifted off to sleep, with Stonecrop curled up on the bed beside her, keeping her warm, her mind was filled with only one worrying thought. So far, she had avoided revealing her true identity, but she knew she couldn't keep the secret forever. Soon or later, she would have to confess to Alan that she was in fact the sister of the same man who had left him a widower.

She had discreetly asked Derek what had happened to Robbins, who had told her he had been killed long ago, 'just as the bastard deserved', as he had put it. That pretty much made it clear that her brother wasn't a popular topic around here, to say the least. Despite Dr Drake's reassurance, there was no telling how her new friends would take it when they learned of her relation to their long-deceased enemy, or whether she'd remain welcome here when they did. The shadow of the long-dead Russell Robbins seemed to linger over her like a threatening storm cloud...

Author's note: Happy Easter! I finished this chapter just in time! Coming up next, we fast-forward a few months to spring, for the main events of the story. Enjoy and please review!