DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2000 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated NC-17 for sexual situations.

THE CASTAWAYS

by Cheree Cargill

PART THREE

"SEA HOME"

As Spock led his family out of the cool confines of the pine forest and looked down onto the coastal plain, he could already smell the sea. The crisp tang of salt air combined with the sharp fresh scent of the pines, stirred by the breeze that caused a gentle sussurration among the tall trees. It picked up strength on the sandy plain, bending the long stems of the salt grass before it. Their trail led them along the edge of the forest, following a shallow headland that skirted the beach area with its dunes and tidal marshes.

Sapel, walking beside Mezzie, the horse-like creature that pulled their travois, laughed as the wind snatched at his long black hair and pulled it from the thong that held it back, lashing him in the face with its strands. "We're here!" he declared.

"Not yet," Spock admonished him. "Not for a mile or so."

"Close enough!" responded his ten-year-old son joyfully.

"What's it like, Spel?" asked T'Jenn from her perch astride the mesohippus. She had ridden frequently on this journey, the gentle creature accepting the small girl after a few token protests. She didn't weigh very much and was an easy burden for the animal to bear.

Her brother dropped back a bit to walk beside her. "Ah, you remember, Jen," he answered. "You were here last year."

The four-year-old thought hard. "Dead fish," she finally replied, wrinkling her nose.

On the other side of the travois, her mother shook her head and commented, "We live here for four months and all she remembers is dead fish on the beach!"

"I didn't like it, Mama!" the little girl protested in her own defense.

Christine just shook her head again. As the travois bumped across a little ridge in the sandy soil, the baby who was napping on the belongings, strapped to her papoose board, woke with a start and almost immediately began to cry fitfully. Christine smoothly and efficiently scooped her up and slipped her into the carry-sling across her front.

"What's the matter, baby boo?" she murmured to her youngest child. "Did you get woke up before you were ready?"

The seven-month-old blinked up at her with almond-shaped, nearly black eyes, her tiny features the epitome of Vulcan infancy. It was a deceptive appearance because all the children were predominantly human and carried only a quarter of Vulcan heritage within them. Nevertheless, Sapel and T'Kai had strongly inherited their father's features. T'Jenn looked more like her mother and more human, her long hair a deep burnished sable, and her eyes the same sapphire blue as Christine's. Her ears had a suggestion of a pointed tip, but it was not overt, and her eyebrows followed a more human curve than Vulcan slant.

Little T'Kai neither knew nor cared about any of this. All she recognized at the moment was that she was hungry and her mother's warm breast was pressed against her cheek. The baby turned her head and nuzzled into the soft flesh and Christine obliged her by opening her tunic enough to bare her nipple. The baby closed her eyes and settled down to nursing contentedly. Christine had never stopped walking during all of it.

Spock had not stopped either, although he slowed his pace just a bit in order to allow him to drop back next to his wife. He loved watching her breastfeed their children and never tired of the seeming miracle of it. Christine was never so beautiful to him than when she was suffused by the radiance of motherhood.

"Tired?" he asked softly.

Christine glanced up at him and smiled, then looked back down at their baby daughter suckling contentedly at her breast. "A little. I'll be happy when we get there."

"As will I. Once settled in, we can relax a bit."

Christine sighed and squinted into the distance, trying to see the line of blue-green that marked the ocean. She could hear the surf now, too. "It seems longer each year, doesn't it, Spock?" she asked quietly. "I suppose we're not as young as we used to be." He didn't answer and she glanced up at him with a sardonic expression. "That was your cue to say, 'Oh, no, you are as young and beautiful as the day I first met you.'"

His eyebrows lifted in feigned surprise. "But you are not as young as you were when I first met you," he responded innocently. "It would be illogical to state that you are." She gave him a mock glare and his expression softened as he murmured, "However, I can state with perfect honesty that I find you even more beautiful than that day of our meeting on board the Enterprise. And you grow even more so each day we are together."

"Flatterer," she smiled back but he could tell she was genuinely pleased. "And I could say the same about you. If I'd known how devastatingly handsome you would become, I might have done something entirely inappropriate that day and shocked you beyond all recovery." She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively and he caught the image through their mind-bond.

"I'm afraid I would have had to put you on report, Miss Chapel," he answered with a calm demeanor. "I am quite sure that attacking the First Officer in such a manner is a court martial offense."

"It would have been worth it, Mr. Spock," she replied.

Sapel and T'Jenn were looking back over their shoulders at their parents with puzzled, disbelieving expressions on their faces. "What are you two talking about?" the boy demanded.

Christine laughed while Spock merely returned his son's stare in a slightly challenging manner. "I do not recall addressing this conversation to you," Spock responded lightly but pointedly. "This is between your mother and myself."

The boy shook his head and turned back the way he was walking. "Adults are so weird sometimes!" he commented to his little sister.

Christine laughed again and they walked for a while in silence. Spock's thoughts, however, flicked back to that other life, one he seldom contemplated anymore. He recalled their meeting vividly. He had met Christine the day she had come aboard as the new head nurse in sickbay. He had gone down to return something to McCoy and she had crashed bodily into him as he turned to leave. For a long second, they stood pressed hard against one another, staring into each other's eyes before she stepped away and apologized profusely. They had parted a moment later, but those amazing blue eyes had stayed with him, not to mention the surge of emotion that had shot through him from their brief contact. Her emotion, not his. The collision had startled him enough to cause him to drop his mental shields for a split second and in that bare instant, he had felt an immediate blast of sexual attraction toward him, the instantaneous flash of visceral emotion that said beautiful/male/want. It had only lasted for the nanosecond it had taken for a nerve impulse to jump from one synapse to another, but it had transmitted itself perfectly into his mind through their contact. It had taken his breath away.

He had gotten out of sick bay as quickly as he could without breaking his imperturbable Vulcan demeanor. But every time he saw her thereafter, that spark of sexual longing reasserted itself full force and made him extremely uncomfortable being around her. What made it worse was the primitive little voice deep down within him that responded to her femininity and warmth.

He thought he had finally managed to suppress it until the awful time of his first pon farr. When she had come to his cabin unbidden and he had awakened to find her leaning close over his sleeping form ... close enough that he could smell the warm scent of her skin and feel her breath stirring his hair ... close enough that he could have reached up and pulled her down into his arms, into his bed, into the fire of sexual hunger consuming him... Even now, he had to steel himself when he thought about it. The spark of her longing and the tinder of his need had very nearly ignited then and there into a conflagration that neither of them could have withstood.

Spock glanced now at the woman walking beside him and felt himself stir with arousal. She still ignited that need in him and their bonding had reinforced it. Quickly, though, he damped it down; it was not the time or the place and both of them were tired from their journey. But soon... Soon he would lie with her in the warmth of their furs and he would draw her against him and once more feel the heat of her passion and her love. He promised himself -- and her -- that.

Meanwhile, they were nearing their destination. The trail they were following turned back into the edge of the pine forest to a sheltered rock overhang. Hunkered down beneath it, blending into the forest like a natural formation, was a low, spreading log and rock cabin. It was small and primitively constructed, dug partially back into the hillside itself, but Spock was inordinately proud of it. He had built it their first winter here and it had stood sturdily for the past eight years. The weather here on the coast did not get particularly cold, but the storms coming off the ocean could be fierce and last for days. The cabin had proved to be a snug haven.

They called it Sea Home and Spock's thoughts drifted back to the first time they had come here, so many years before...

* * *

Christine stood from her bent position and straightened the kinks out of her back. She and Sapel were working in their little garden plot, picking the last of the legumes from the withering vines and tossing them into the gathering basket that sat on the ground between them. The garden was an experiment that she had launched in the spring, planting a few vegetables on a sandbar in a bend of the creekbed and seeing if they produced anything.

It had been a marginal success. The seeds, while picked in the wild, had nevertheless sprouted and produced a small crop of various things. Besides the legume pods, they also had managed to grow a couple of types of root vegetables, a large-grained plant that looked a little like corn, and a tall bushy plant that sprouted hairy, prickly fruit directly off its stem. The fruit was difficult to pick but was delicious when boiled in salty water and split open.

She wiped the sweat from her face and took off her woven straw hat to fan herself with. She had adapted her basket-weaving skills to produce the nearly flat, wide brim head covering and it provided welcome shade from the summer sun. Sapel wore a smaller but otherwise identical version while he worked with his mother.

"We 'bout done, Mama?" he asked tiredly.

"Nearly, babe," she answered. "Just a little bit more and then we can rest. We'll get these good peas shelled and I'll get them cooking for supper. How about that?"

"Can we have mashed taters with them?" the boy asked.

"If we have any left. I think there are enough to make a meal on," she smiled. The vegetables weren't potatoes, of course, but a white, starchy root that could be cooked soft and mashed into a pulp. Sprinkled with coarse salt, they looked and tasted remarkably like the Terran food and Christine had dubbed them with the same name. "And maybe Papa will bring home something good to eat, too."

"I hope so," Sapel answered.

"I have," responded a deep voice from behind them and the two whirled to find Spock walking toward them.

"Spock! Stop sneaking up on us like that!" Christine admonished him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"My apologies. I suppose I have become so accustomed to moving quietly that I no longer think about it." He stopped in front of her and bent to kiss her softly. Sapel leaped toward him and hugged one long, leather-clad thigh.

"Papa! What'd you get?!" he demanded.

Spock disengaged his young son from his leg and retrieved his game bag from across his back. Opening it, he pulled out a large brown and white water bird, its head lolled at an unnatural angle, its neck broken. "I managed to bag three of them," he said. "The migrations have begun. There should be lots more coming through in the next weeks."

"They're coming through early this year," Christine commented. "It must be turning cold early up north."

"I believe so. The herds are moving, too."

She nodded, already thinking ahead. "Well, if you're not too tired, how about giving Sapel and me a hand here and we should be done in a few minutes. Then I'll get these birds dressed and the peas cooking and you boys can go have a swim."

"Yippee!!" Sapel exclaimed and bent back to work with a will.

Spock was agreeable to helping pick and the three of them finished stripping the legume vines within about ten minutes. Once done, the family strolled back up to their home cave and deposited the garden foods and the water fowl at the door. Spock put away his hunting weapons then he and Sapel went down the path to the pond.

Christine hung the birds up by their webbed feet and cut their throats, allowing the blood to drain out into a catch bucket underneath. It would take a while to do that, so she took the legumes and another smaller basket and followed her men down to the water's edge. She was on her period and wouldn't go in swimming, but it was cool by the pond and she enjoyed watching Spock and Sapel splash about. Seating herself in the shade, she began shelling the peas and preparing them to cook.

Her husband and her son had already stripped off and were down near the water fall. Sapel, now two and a half by Terra Two's years, but more nearly four in actual development, was totally at home in the water. He was forbidden to go in without an adult accompanying him, but he had been swimming almost from the time he could walk. Spock was not quite as comfortable. He had not learned to swim until his late teens, when he'd been required to do so at the Academy, but he nevertheless enjoyed the sensation of cool water gliding over his naked skin.

Today, however, Spock was only interested in washing off the dirt and blood acquired from his hunting trip and, while his little son played happily, he tread water underneath the sparse stream falling over the edge of the escarpment and allowed the natural shower to splash onto his head and shoulders. Dipping lower, his long hair spread out around him on the water, shining raven's-wing black in the sun.

Scooping up a double handful of water, he scrubbed his face clean, shaking the water droplets away that clung to his lashes and brows. Sapel swam up behind him and tried to climb onto his father's shoulders, nearly dunking him in the process. The boy laughed with delight and tried to push Spock under again, but was promptly pulled around to his father's chest and held there while Spock washed the boy's grubby face. Sapel squealed and protested, got away from Spock's grasp and splashed away.

Spock made sure that he was all right then he struck out toward the shore where his wife sat watching.

Christine had paused in her work to chuckle over the horseplay , then was caught by the sight of her husband's lean, powerful body cutting through the water. When he reached the shallows and stood up to come out of the pond, she found herself nearly breathless at the sight of him -- naked, his skin the deep patina of old bronze, his blue-black hair hanging thick and heavy over his shoulders and back, streaming with water that flowed down over the lines of his muscles and through the dark hair on his chest and stomach, down to the thatch at the base of his abdomen, and beyond.

He felt as well as saw the hunger that flashed through her eyes and his penis give a twitch in answer. Then he exerted control over the automatic reaction and bent to retrieve his loincloth, stepping back into it and tying the waistband into place. Once dressed, he sank down cross-legged beside her on the grass and began squeezing water out of his hair, working the tangles out of it with his fingers.

She continued to gaze at him with open interest and he looked over at her, meeting her eyes. "I hunger for thee as well, my wife," he said in a low voice. "But we can wait a few more days. The wait will make it even sweeter when we may join again."

She sighed. "We could, you know," she answered with a hint of hopeful suggestion in her voice.

"Yes, but neither you nor I find it pleasing during your time. A few more days and we will be together once more."

She smiled again and nodded. "I know. But sometimes it's so hard to wait those days."

He reached out to squeeze her hand and then returned to the chore of detangling his long hair. Christine watched him for a moment then commented, "I could cut that if you wanted me to."

"Illogical as it may seem, I rather enjoy it long," Spock answered. "I do not know why. It serves no purpose and is obviously difficult to maintain."

"Maybe because it makes you feel free," she responded softly, glancing up at him even has her fingers were busy separating the legume seeds from their pods.

"I am free, Christine," he replied in a slightly puzzled tone. "We all are."

"...for the first time in our lives," she added. "You and I have both been prisoners of our lives, Spock. You more than anyone else I've ever known. A prisoner of Vulcan, a prisoner of Starfleet, a prisoner of your own self-imposed rules and regulations. But here ... we've stripped away all those prison bars. This is as basic as it gets. And, truthfully, Spock ... I think I'm the happiest woman in the galaxy right now."

"The happiest on this planet certainly," he answered, his eyes crinkled withe the humor she knew so well.

She chuckled and looked back to her shelling. "No arguing there. Well, I think that's all I'm going to get out of these. I'm going back up to the cave and get these peas cooking and dress out one of those ducks for supper." She got to her feet and picked up her baskets. "Don't let Sapel stay in too long."

"I won't."

She climbed back up the dirt path to their home and Spock sat quietly, contemplating what she had said as he drew up one knee and folded his arms across it, watching as Sapel dove under the water and then came up spluttering a few seconds later.

She had made a very profound statement, he mused. Five years ago, he would never have imagined the life he was living now. He thought back to the man he had been -- the rigid, correct, completely controlled Starfleet officer, going through the motions day by day, living his life by regulations and traditions, closed off from the beings around him. Christine was on the fringe of his circle of acquaintances then. He saw her in the scope of his job as First Officer, but she was not under his direct command in the Science Division. She worked for McCoy in the Medical Division and thus it was only when the two departments were involved in a joint project that he saw her in any regular capacity. Even then, his other duties did not allow him to participate in the hands-on business of research in the labs.

Despite their rocky beginning, he had grown to respect her as a scientist in her own right and had attempted to put behind him the embarrassing and painful episode of the Psi 2000 virus. So, it seemed, had she, although he continued to pick up the subtle signals she sent his way - voluntarily or involuntarily, he could not tell - whenever they were together.

But her presence had troubled him, particularly following his first pon farr and his divorce from T'Pring. He had felt a definite attraction toward Christine when his emotional barriers were at their most vulnerable, but afterwards the bounds of Vulcan tradition had surrounded him once more. He had never told her that he had made plans to contact a vi'hal'iduh -- a marriage broker -- to locate and contract with another Vulcan woman in a more suitable arrangement. He'd had no say in the matter when his parents had contracted with T'Pring's but he was determined that this time he would choose his own mate. It never crossed his mind to consider Christine in such a role. This was a purely Vulcan matter and the logical choice was one of his own kind.

He did not consider at the time, of course, that Christine was as much "his own kind" as a Vulcan. The circumstances that had thrown them together, though, had proved to him that his human half would not be thrust aside as inconsequential. As the days had become weeks and then months here in their forced exile, he had grown to like Christine as a person and then to love her. As both of them sloughed away the trappings of their former lives, they had discovered in one another a soulmate, a friend and working companion, and finally a passionate and considerate lover. They fit together like matching bookends.

Spock could not now imagine life without her or the little son created by their love. He was truly free here, to be what he wanted and to raise his family as he desired, without the weight of a thousand years' tradition forcing them into a mold of others' desires. That was why he let his hair grow long, he decided. As a symbol of finally becoming the person he wanted to be and in defiance of the world that kept him from doing so.

With a flash of revelation, Spock suddenly understood what had led his half-brother, Sybok, to reject his homeworld and flee for parts unknown. He felt a sudden kinship with his missing sibling and couldn't suppress a wry smile at the thought that perhaps this spark of rebellion was genetic ... but that both of them got it from Sarek, who had himself showed the same independent streak in marrying a human woman over his family's objections.

Spock chuckled quietly at the irony of it, of his straight-laced and tradition-bound father causing both his sons to abandon tradition and live very un-Vulcan lives. Sarek would undoubtedly have been completely scandalized by such a thought.

Sapel saw his father's smile and splashed up closer to the shore. "Whatcha laughin' at, Papa?"

"Nothing, Sapel. Come out of the water now. It's time to dry off."

"No! Wanna play!"

"You have played long enough. It's time to get out now."

"Nooo!" the boy whined piteously. "Just a little longer."

"Sapel, do not force me to come in and retrieve you," Spock warned. "I assure you that you will not enjoy the experience."

Sapel waited for as long as he thought he could do so, then made a disgusted noise and waded out, coming to stand before his father, dripping water. Spock retrieved the soft absorbent length of chamois they used as a towel and began to scrub it over the little boy's body, drying him.

Sapel bore it stoically and then said, "Look, Papa, my pee pee's sticking out. It did that when I was swimmin'."

"Yes, Sapel. That is quite normal." Spock toweled his son's dark unruly hair, pondering how they were ever going to get the knots and tangles out of it.

"Does your pee pee stick out?"

"It is called a penis, Sapel, and, yes, it does sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because of blood being pumped into it. Hold still."

"Mama doesn't have one."

"No. Women are built differently from men."

"We're men, right?"

"Yes. I am a man and you are a boy. You will be a man when you are older."

"How old?"

"When you are approximately 12 or 13, your body will begin to develop into a man's body."

Sapel pondered this as his father rubbed down his legs and feet. "Will I get hair like you?"

"Yes."

"Will my pee pee ... my petus get big like yours?"

"Penis. Yes, Sapel."

The boy was quiet again as Spock helped him into his little loincloth and tied it snugly around his plump middle. "Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Did Mama's baby have a peedus?"

Spock stopped what he was doing and stared in shock into his son's wide inquisitive brown eyes. For a long moment he did not know what to say, then he found his voice and answered in a soft, rough whisper, "Yes, Sapel. Mama's baby would have been a boy."

"Did he die?"

"Yes, Sapel," Spock answered, his throat constricted. "When the buffalo hit Mama so hard, it made the baby inside her die."

"Can she have another baby?" the boy asked innocently.

Spock pulled his son to him and held him tightly. "I don't know, Sapel," he whispered. "I hope so. I truly hope so." The boy put his arms around his father's neck and hugged him then Spock said, "Cha'i?"

"Huh?"

"Don't say anything about this to Mama, all right? It would make her very sad."

"Okay, Papa."

"Good. Now, run along and see if Mama needs you to help her."

Sapel scampered away, the conversation already forgotten. But Spock sat for a long time beside the pond and worked at regaining his composure before he followed his son home.

* * *

Christine had already gone to bed by the time Spock slipped into the furs beside her. She'd had a long day and was tired. Nevertheless, she was pleasantly surprised when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and fervently, opening the portals of their Bond and flooding her with warmth and love.

When their lips parted, she whispered, "I thought you wanted to wait a couple of days."

"I do," he murmured back, his deep voice making a pleasant rumbling in his chest. "I simply wanted to express to you the depth of what I feel for you."

"Mmmmm ... be my guest." She smiled as she closed her eyes and her lips melted against his once more.

Outside the door barrier of their home, the wind gusted and there was a low rumble of thunder. Christine pulled away slightly from her husband's embrace and listened briefly. "Sounds like the wind's turned around from the north. I didn't expect a front to come through this soon."

He continued to nuzzle her neck and ear. "It is time," he murmured, dismissing the weather as irrelevant. He pushed slightly at her shoulder and rolled her over more onto her back, following so that he could move his lips to her throat.

She made a pleased sound and sighed, then said, "You're getting something started we can't finish."

He lifted his mouth from her throat and sighed as well. "I know. We will wait." He kissed her lips and then settled down on his side, drawing her against him as she turned her back to him and spooned into his warm embrace. Outside the rain had started and was coming down steadily. A cool draft crept in through the door barrier, bringing with it the smell of the rain.

"Summer's really over," Christine said softly. "We'll have to go south soon."

"Within three to four weeks at the latest," he agreed. "Tomorrow, we should do an inventory and see what we need to get together for the trip. I believe we are fairly well supplied but there will undoubtedly be some things we will need to make or prepare."

"Yes. But right now I just want to enjoy lying here with you and listening to the rain. It is so restful."

"Indeed." He pulled the furs up over them as another draft wafted along the cave floor. "Good night, t'hy'la."

"Good night, my darling," she murmured and was asleep almost immediately, lulled by the warmth at her back and the music of the rain.

* * *

The rain was still falling the next morning and the temperature had taken a decided dip. Christine woke up when Sapel crawled into bed and snuggled up against her. "I'm cold, Mama," he said. Christine lifted her head a little and noticed that her breath smoked when she exhaled.

"That's because it's cold in here," she replied. Trapped between her son and her husband, she nudged Spock with her elbow and said, "Can you put some wood on the fire, sweetie?"

Spock rolled over onto his back and rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to get himself awake enough to leave his warm bed. Then he heaved himself up and felt his skin prickle as the chill air hit it. The stock of wood they had inside the cave was meager but he put this onto the hearth and poked the flames up into a blaze.

"I'll have to retrieve more from the woodpile," he said and started toward the door.

"You're not going out like that?!" Christine protested, seeing him dressed only in his loin cloth.

"It will take less than five minutes," he assured her. "In any case, I do not wish to get my clothing wet. It will take too long to dry them in this weather." So saying, he dashed out into the rain.

Their woodpile was just a few steps outside and covered to keep it as dry as possible, but still by the time Spock returned with an armload of wood and kindling, he was soaked and shivering. Christine had gotten up and pulled on her longest leather dress and high moccasins and was waiting with a chamois towel. After he had dumped the wood, she pounced on him and rubbed him down thoroughly then wrapped him in one of the extra bedding furs.

"You get back in that bed and warm up!" she ordered him.

He didn't argue. He was so cold that his teeth were nearly chattering. Gradually both he and the cave warmed up and, by that time, Christine had tea steeping and grained boiled and cooling slightly. She added some berries and honey to the grain and got Sapel started on breakfast, then took a cup of hot tea to where Spock still lay wrapped in the furs. He was covered to his ears and his eyes were closed.

"Spock?" she asked gently, a bit worried about him. "Are you all right?"

"Just cold," he answered, his voice muffled

"Well, here, drink this tea. It will help you warm up." He sat up, the furs still clutched around his shoulders and took the stone cup from her, sipping the hot liquid and feeling its warmth spreading down his torso. She fetched a warm shirt for him and he slipped it on, then got up and dressed in breeches and knee-high moccasins. His hair was still damp, though, and kept him from feeling comfortable.

She brought him a bowl of porridge and, just as he accepted it, he abruptly turned his head and sneezed. "Excuse me," he said.

She gazed at him appraisingly. "You're coming down with a cold," she diagnosed. Putting her hand against his forehead, she tried to determine if he had any fever, but his natural body heat was higher than a human's and it was hard to tell. "I wonder if I have any feverplant I could add to your tea..."

"Christine, I am perfectly fine," he protested. "I sneezed once. That does not mean that I am ill."

"You don't normally sneeze or get this cold," she responded. "Do you ache? Head stuffy? How's your throat feel?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her and stared at her fixedly. "No, no and fine," he answered stiffly. "I just got wet and cold, nothing else. You do not need to play nurse to me."

"Play nurse?" she replied, her own brows rising. "I am a nurse, buster! Now, hush and eat your gruel! That's a medical order!"

"Yes, Doctor," he muttered and brought a spoonful of the steaming grain to his lips.

"I heard that," she retorted, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. Sapel giggled in delight until his father shot him a warning look, then he turned back to his own breakfast.

* * *

Despite his protests, Spock developed a raging head cold over the next few days, complete with fever, cough, sneezing and runny nose. He was absolutely miserable and he made Christine miserable as a result. Then Sapel caught it and she had two patients to attend ... a whiny child and a grumpy husband. It didn't help when she herself started displaying symptoms and found that, in a universal constant, a woman could not take to her bed but had to get up and work anyway.

Spock was nearly over his cold by then and Sapel was feeling restless being cooped up in the cave. The weather, in the changeable way of autumn, had turned back to hot days and clear cold nights, and the rain had moved out of the area. Christine was huddled next to the fire, working unenthusiastically on sewing together a new fur parka for Sapel which he would need for their journey. The little boy, though, was making a pest of himself, wanting her attention and whining when he didn't get it.

Spock surveyed the scene for a moment, then scooped up Christine's gathering basket and his son in a couple of smooth motions. "Sapel, come help me pick berries and let Mama rest for a while."

"Where are you going to find berries?" Christine asked, wiping her nose on a chamois, and blinking watery eyes at him.

"I do not know, but at least you will have a bit of peace and quiet," he answered.

She smiled gratefully. "See if you can find any more of those orange-ish fruits. I think I got them all, but there may still be some left. They're good dried and I want to pack as many as we can for the trip."

"Rest. We will be back before dark." So saying, Spock stooped to clear the doorway and he and Sapel went out into the afternoon's sunny warmth.

* * *

When they returned at sundown, they found Christine bundled in her sleeping furs, shivering with fever. The fire had died down and the night chill was becoming evident. Spock set down the basket and immediately added wood to the hearth, poking the embers until the fire blazed, then went to check on his wife. Sapel, who was not feeling energetic any longer, had already burrowed into the warm furs and was snuggled against his mother.

"What can I get you?" Spock asked softly.

Christine sneezed and said, "Make tea and crumble some of the fuzzy looking plant leaves into it. Boil it for a minute and let it steep. Then drain off the liquid and discard the dregs." She shivered again and hugged the furs tighter.

Spock put the water to boiling and then set their door guard into place, draping a thick hide over it to keep out the cold drafts. The cave immediately became dark except for the flickering flames, the smoke rising up through the chimney hole in the roof. As their home warmed up, Christine stopped shivering and finally loosed her hold on the furs somewhat. Her head still felt like it was about to explode, though.

After Spock had brought her tea and was warming up soup and bread for their supper, Christine asked, "What did you find?"

"Redberries, sweet fern, and quite a few nut pods. I was surprised, though. I thought the tree leapers had gathered them all."

"I hope they didn't take all the good ones and leave the bad," Christine answered. "We'll crack a few and see. Sometimes they look fine but you'll see that a worm has already burrowed in and eaten the nut."

She closed her eyes and put her hand over her eyes, blocking the light of the fire. Spock laid a palm against her face. "You are quite warm," he observed.

"I've got fever," she murmured back and slipped her hand down to rest atop his broad one, holding it against her cheek. "That feels nice."

"I want you to just stay in bed for a day or so," he answered. "I am better and can take care of Sapel and the household chores."

"We need to work on getting ready for the trip," she mumbled, still holding his palm to her face.

"That will wait," he answered softly.

"It won't wait too long. We've wasted nearly a month now being sick. If we don't hurry up, the winter is going to catch us."

He tilted his head slightly and peered down at her. "We do not know that. The weather is unpredictable this time of year. We may have lots of time."

"I don't think so. My bones ache."

He couldn't help smiling at that. "You are engaging in an old ... grandmother's tale."

"Old wives' tale," she corrected him. "Same thing, though. I'm telling you that my ribs and where I broke my arm ache and my granny always said that was a sign the weather was about to get bad."

"That is hardly a scientific basis for accurate weather prediction. My grandmother always said that her bones ached when she ate too much k'dish tort," Spock responded, his eyes crinkled with humor.

Christine opened her eyes and pinned him with a glare. "Ha ha ha. You wait and see. Meanwhile, check that soup. I think it's cooked long enough."

* * *

It was two days before Christine felt well enough to get up and moving and by that time her prediction had come true. The morning had been clear and muggy, almost oppressively so, but by late afternoon, the wind was gusting out of the north and thick gray clouds had covered the sky. By sundown, it was raining and the temperature was steadily dropping. Her premonition about the weather gaining force, she had insisted that they bring in lots of firewood before the rain started and Spock had agreed, not liking the looks of the cold, heavy clouds.

It proved fortuitous. Not long after dark, the rain changed to sleet and began to freeze on anything it touched. The family stayed holed up in their warm, snug cave and listened to the wind moan and the freezing rain fall.

Morning brought them a transformed land. As far as they could see, every surface was coated with ice, sparkling with blinding radiance in the sun. Although the sky was brilliantly blue, the air was bitingly cold and all of them bundled up in their winter furs before stepping out to inspect their campsite. They didn't go any farther than the "porch", the dry area protected by an overhang, because the ground was treacherously slick.

Sapel was wide-eyed and awed. He'd never seen anything like this. "Papa, look at the pond! It's white!"

"Frozen," Spock confirmed, his breath smoking heavily as he spoke. "The waterfall, too. And look at the trees."

"Beautiful," Christine murmured. Each limb and leaf of every tree was coated with ice, tinkling faintly as the breeze moved them.

Suddenly there was a loud crack from the big tree that stood by the pond and, with a groan of splitting wood, a huge limb crashed to the ground, shattering the delicate load of ice it carried. Listening, they could all hear other snaps and cracks as trees in the woods upstream of them broke and fell under their burden of ice.

"And dangerous," Spock observed. "It would be prudent to stay indoors today. Until this ice melts, there is a real risk of being injured. Plus you, Christine, are not yet well enough to be out in this cold."

He ushered his wife and son back inside and wedged the hide-covered door into place, blocking out some of the cold. Inside it was dark, the only light seeping in around the doorgate and through the skylight of the chimney hole, supplemented by their oil lamps and the hearth fire. Sapel could not keep away from the fascinating sights outside and spent the day peeking around the hide covering at the radiant wonderland beyond their snug home.

At last, by mid-afternoon he had worn down his parents and Spock agreed to take him out to experience the ice first hand, having first determined that all the limbs that were likely to break under the weight of their burden of ice had already fallen. They both bundled up in their furs and stepped outside. Spock proceeded cautiously but Sapel, with the exuberance of childhood, stepped out boldly, slipped and slid down the slight slope from their door. Laughing uproariously, he somehow made his way back up and slid down once again.

This game kept up for several more repetitions and then the boy was off to investigate close up the enchanting spectacle of ice-encrusted leaves, his father picking his way after him.

From her vantage point at the cave's entryway, Christine shook her head and watched them go.

* * *

Spock and Sapel were back before too long, the intense cold having penetrated even the dense furs that they wore, and Sapel having sated his curiosity about the icy panorama. Spock seemed a bit stiff as he disrobed in the warmth of the cave and Christine made him hold still long enough to examine a large, dark-green bruise that was becoming visible on his left hip.

"What happened?!" she demanded.

"Papa fell down!" Sapel giggled.

"It was hardly a matter for humor, Sapel," Spock reprimanded him. "A serious injury might have resulted."

"Well, thankfully you didn't break your hip," Christine clucked over him. "I'll make a hot poultice to put on it. That'll take some of the swelling down and make it feel better."

"Good," her husband answered in a somewhat ironic tone.

"Meanwhile, you guys have some soup and warm up. You're both frozen solid!"

The two explorers didn't argue but helped themselves to the lentil and legume soup that was steaming beside the fire. It was thick and spicy with peppery herbs and served its purpose well. By the time they were finished eating, Christine had the hot pack ready and drew Spock over to their bedding, where she had his lie on his right side as she pressed the poultice against the bruise, now turning an angry blue-green-black.

Spock gave a surprised yelp as the hot leathers hit his skin, but Christine held them firmly in place until he became accustomed to the heat. "Now, you just let that stay there," she ordered and went to get a bowl of soup for herself.

Bringing it back to the bed, she sat down cross-legged beside Spock and they talked softly while she ate. "See anything interesting out there?" she asked.

"Indeed I did," he answered seriously. "There was not a single animal in sight, as far as I could see. What herd animals were left in the area have gone. There is no question about it now. We must leave within a few days."

"Can you travel with that?" she asked, nodding toward his hip. "There may be some real damage there. How did it happen?"

"As you have no doubt surmised. I slipped on the ice. Unfortunately, my hip impacted a tree limb that had fallen. It is quite painful and no doubt will cause me some discomfort in the coming days, but it is not so serious that I cannot travel." He shifted a bit. "And travel we certainly must. We can delay no longer."

"How long do we have?" she wondered.

"Providing the weather will cooperate, I would like to be on our way within three days, four at the latest," Spock answered. "I know that none of us are in peak condition, but this winter gives every indication of being a severe one and we will be out of food within a month if we stay here."

"Oh, I agree with that," Christine replied, then wiped her runny nose on a piece of soft chamois. "Well, we'll just have to tough it out and do it anyway. How's the hip feeling now?"

"Better."

"Good. We'll keep those hot packs on it as much as we can and hopefully it will be on its way to healing by the time we leave. Meanwhile, I'll get back to work and finish up those last winter clothes for Sapel and, while I do, we can talk about what we need to get together and pack."

* * *

On the night before they were to leave, Spock and Christine finished checking over all their supplies and satisfied themselves that they were taking all that they needed and could carry. Other provisions were stowed safely in the far recesses of the cave and all that would be needed in the morning was to roll their bedding, make sure the fire was completely doused, close up the cave and be on their way.

It was late and Sapel was asleep in his bed of furs at the back of the cave's main room. Christine went to check on him to make sure he was covered warmly, then smiled and wriggled as Spock moved up close behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders, pressing a warm kiss against the nape of her neck.

"One more thing to do, wife," he whispered in her ear. "Come to bed now."

"Is it a chore then?" she murmured back.

"No ... a reward ... to us both ... for getting through the last month or so. Come."

She could feel his desire radiating through their bond and it set an answering pulse tingling through her body. Hand in hand, they moved to their bed and slowly undressed one another, lingering over and exploring each area uncovered as if for the first time. It had been long since they had been well enough or had the opportunity to really make love, and the coming journey might keep them in celibacy for many weeks to come. Neither wanted to miss this last chance to join together in the sweet abandon of marital passion.

She unlaced his leather shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, her hands at first caressing his strong biceps and then moving on to tease his collarbone and then down to slip through the dark crisp hair on his chest. The cool air had stiffened his nipples and she bent down to breathe her hot breath against them and tickle first one and then the other with the tip of her tongue.

He gave a little contented sound then reached to untie the thong that secured the long braid of her hair, his fingers sinking into the dark brown mass and freeing it from its confines. He fluffed it out so that it fell around her shoulders and down her back, burying his hands within to massage her neck and guide her head as she explored the contours of his chest with her lips.

After a while, he hooked his fingers under the hem of her fur tunic and lifted it up over her head, baring her upper torso. As his body had done, hers responded to the cool air and tightened, her nipples pushing out to full extension. Pulling her against his hot skin with one hand slipping around her back, Spock bent to meet her lips in a hungry, searching kiss, his other hand filled with one of her breasts, massaging and gently pulling at the hard tip.

She sank against him, sliding both hands across his rib cage and up his back, giving herself fully to his kiss. Almost simultaneously, their lips parted against each other and their tongues fenced playfully together. Lower down, through the leather and furs they both still wore, she could feel his erection prodding into her pelvis and she gave her hips a little shove against his in answer.

Instantly the level of sexual arousal she felt from him, already considerable, rose to a higher plane. He slipped both hands down to her buttocks and pulled her against him. *I need thee, wife,* his voice whispered in her mind, awash with desire.

*As I need thee, husband,* her mind whispered back.

Abruptly, she pulled out of his embrace and dropped to her knees in front of him, her fingers unlacing his moccasins and pulling them off, then quickly untying the rawhide bindings on his pants, dragging them down his legs and helping him out of them, leaving him clad only in his loin cloth.

She stayed on her knees, nearly eye level with the significant bulge that pushed out the soft leather that was his only covering now, and slowly, with care to enjoy each moment, she untied the leather waist belt that held it and let the loin cloth fall away from him.

She never tired of seeing him in all his natural glory, his masculinity at its most prominent, and now she leaned forward to rub her cheek along with silk-covered steel of his shaft, lightly fondling him and kissing the hot length and even hotter tip of his erection. She heard him draw in his breath and saw him brace his legs a bit farther apart as she began to run her tongue over the smooth, slick head, savoring his salty, slightly coppery flavor.

Then, slipping her palm underneath the heavy sac that hung tautly at the base and ever-so-gently caressing it, she took him in her mouth and worked him with her tongue, feeling him pulse and swell even more as a result. His testicles tightened in the palm of her hand and she tasted hot, slightly bitter liquid leak onto her tongue, and she became aware that his legs were trembling as he stood, fighting to control himself.

She felt his request that she stop and lifted her head to look up at him. His eyes were closed tightly, an almost pained expression on his face, as he rested a hand on top of her head, struggling to master the intense physical need pulsing through him. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked down at her, breathing heavily, his gaze fevered, his whole body blushing verdantly with arousal. Before her, his penis throbbed at full extension, barely held in check as his body hovered on the threshold of ejaculation.

With a sultry look, Christine lay back on the furs, her pose inviting, and slipped one hand behind her head, causing her breasts to thrust out to their best exposure, her other hand idly teasing one nipple. With a shuddering sigh, he dropped to his knees between her legs and quickly, with trembling hands, stripped her of her remaining clothing.

Leaning forward with his last vestige of control, he drew one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked strongly, then moved to repeat the action on the other one. It was quick and hard and it snapped the last thread of dominance over his emotions. Raising himself quickly into place above her, braced on his forearms, he sought the hot slick opening of her femininity, felt the head of his erection slip into place, and with one powerful shove was within her.

Both of them gasped and shuddered at the overwhelming sensation of it, then he adjusted his body a bit more, shoved again , and was completely buried in her hot depths. Groaning, she closed her eyes and clutched at him, drawing him down to lie upon her, taking his weight eagerly. Skin to skin with her now, their mental bond fully open and twined together, he could hold back no longer and pumped into her with all the fervor of a starving man presented with a feast.

Her nails bit into the skin of his back as she clung to his tense, pounding form. It only took a minute before the first climax hit and he paused and shivered above her, gasping with release as the flood of hot liquid erupted within her, then began to move again almost immediately, still hard and eager. This time took longer, but was over much too soon for Christine, now fully aflame with her need for more and more of him.

As he gently withdrew from her and rolled over onto his back, she pulled the furs up over their sweaty bodies and then snuggled into his shoulder, her disappointment palpable through their bond. Still breathing deeply, he turned his head to look at her, barely visible in the faint golden light of the dying hearth fire. "What is it, t'hy'la?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm just not ready to stop yet," she murmured.

He felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth and sent her a warm wave of love. "Neither am I," he answered in a low, deep voice. "But I must take a few moments to gather myself again. We have the night, my beloved. I have only begun to express my desire for you."

He proved his intention by turning on his side to face her, his long, strong fingers slipping across her face to press into her temple and other psi points. She closed her eyes and sank into the incredible sensation of the mind meld, feeling his presence at the outskirts of her consciousness and opening herself to envelope him.

They became one creature, one mind, and where he took her outstripped the boundaries of the worlds she had known. Far away from the icy winds that moaned on the other side of their crude, hide-covered doorway, he took her to a place where sands the color of carnelian fanned over the tops of delicate crescent shaped dunes, blown in sparking showers into a carnation sky. The wind spun up spirals of the red dust, whirling it into long, thin funnels that disappeared into the upper reaches of the air, turning the pink hue of the sky a deeper coral.

Sunlight from a bright orange sun added brilliant highlights to the sands, nearly blinding in its intensity. Within her mental state, she felt Spock realize that it was all too bright and the view muted down in intensity. Then she found herself lying nestled at the crest of one of the dunes, Spock beside her, both on their stomachs and peering over the top. *Look,* he told her.

From below the dune, the soft hot sands began to quiver and then part to reveal something with scales, long and sinuous and as red as human blood. Two forms emerged, dragon like in shape, but built for burrowing deep beneath the desert, blind but bristling with sensor nubs about their snouts. Facing each other, they began to weave back and forth, performing a mannered dance that was strangely erotic.

In her mental form, Christine felt the ground beneath her vibrate as the two beasts emitted subsonic pulses and it caused a powerful jolt of sexual arousal through her entire body. She knew that Spock felt it too and was similarly affected, for in their joined psychic states, she experienced all that he did.

*What are they?* she wondered.

*They are the Hidden. Some call them Watchers,* he answered. *So few have ever seen them that they are deemed nothing but myth. But I saw them as a boy during my kahswan, and I have never forgotten their mating dance.*

The draconian creatures twined, twisted together and untwisted, rubbing their scales together in a musical clatter, all the while rumbling to one another in tones below the range of human hearing. But not human feeling and Christine felt herself growing more and more stimulated, the soft warm sand beneath her naked body sending the vibrations to the deepest parts of her soul. The tempo of their dance picked up and she could feel a tension building within her.

Spock urged her up onto her hands and knees and moved to huddle over her back, massively aroused, his erection pressing against her as he watched the desert creatures intensify their ritual. His harsh breathing ruffled the hair on her neck and she felt goosebumps rise as anticipation built up like static electricity. He slipped his hands down her sides, holding her lightly, and she felt the head of his shaft nudge into place and pause there, waiting. Breathless, she waited, too, not knowing what was about to happen but caught up in Spock's strange, exciting behavior.

Suddenly, the male Watcher lifted himself farther out of the sand and wrapped his long tail in loops around the female's, turning her underside toward him. A long thin organ shot out from beneath his tail and plunged into the female's cloaca, and both threw their heads back and roared in a voice that shook the ground with sheer volume.

Spock seized her hips and slammed his forward, nearly knocking her off balance with the power of his entry. As he thrust into her with wild abandon, the spirit of the Watcher seemed to have joined him, for he lifted his voice in a guttural cry that sang with the Watcher's roar. Christine felt an answering cry rip from her throat and knew that the female was experiencing the same flash of ecstasy and completion.

Abruptly the two creatures twisted tightly together and the roars ended in stunning silence, and with a final pulsating burst of subsonics, they disengaged and sank back down under the red sands. Christine barely noticed, for Spock was holding deep within her, clutching her tight against his pelvis, shuddering with an explosive orgasm.

Then his strength seemed to drain from him and he pulled her down with him into the hot sands, still holding her close, nuzzling his face against her hair in sleepy satiation.

And Christine found herself spooned into his warmth, her body quivering with the little pulses of aftershock, burrowed into the furs of their bedding. The transition was so quick that she wondered if it had all been just a dream.

"It was not a dream," Spock murmured against her ear, snuggling her closer against him, his big hand lazily cupping one of her breasts.

"Are you still in my mind?" she asked softly over her shoulder.

"Mmmmm..." he mumbled against her back. "A bit, perhaps. It wasn't a dream. It was the meld."

"But us ... that was real, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

She could tell, once she thought about it. Spock's groin was pressed against her bottom, still wet from where he had just withdrawn from her body, and she could feel the slickness between her legs that bespoke his climax and hers.

"I'm surprised Sapel slept through all that noise," she commented softly.

"There was no noise," Spock's deep voice responded quietly. "That was all in your mind. Now, I think we had better sleep, wife. I underestimated how much energy I would use during the meld and I find myself quite fatigued. And we have many miles to go tomorrow."

She made a contented little sound deep in her throat and snuggled deeper into the furs. He tightened his hold on her for a moment then relaxed it, moving his head a little to rest his cheek against her hair. As they drifted off to sleep, both shared a dream of two red creatures entwined underneath a hot Vulcan sun and he absently draped his leg over her thigh and pulled her closer.

* * *

Spock paused and probed into the snow with the butt of his spear. The ice seemed thick enough here to bear his weight and he cautiously moved forward and repeated the process. The little river they were traversing wasn't very wide nor presumably very deep, but he did not want to risk falling through and getting any of his clothing wet. On the shore, Christine and Sapel waited.

At last Spock reached the other side, having pushed a pathway through the knee deep snow that covered the river's hard frozen surface. On the bank, he turned and called back, "Send Sapel over first. Stay in the trackway I made!"

Christine urged her little son to go ahead and the boy stepped carefully down, picking up on the tension his parents were feeling and understanding that this was not the time for play. Gravely, he moved with measured steps across the river until he reached his father's waiting, outstretched hands. Spock pulled him up onto shore then looked back at his wife.

"All right, Christine, stay on the path. Walk slowly."

She did as she was told, taking one cautious step at a time. Halfway across, where the ice was thinnest, she froze with a jolt of fear as the ice creaked ominously underneath her, then forced herself to keep going, a bit more quickly now. The creaking followed her and she feared that the weight of three people crossing it was stressing its strength to the limit.

Spock feared the same thing and stepped out to reach for her, grasping her hands and yanking her to safety. Behind her, they could see a streak of white snaking through the ice ... a forming crack. Christine clung to Spock for a moment, catching her breath, their exhalations fogging thickly in the frigid air. Then she nodded and the travelers continued on up the bank and on their way.

Winter had caught them on the second day out, blasting out of the north with a howling wind and a thick, wet blanket of snow. They had remained holed up in the shelter of their little tent for a day and a night while the storm raged, unable to build a fire inside the tent and relying on their combined body heat as they lay huddled together inside a thick roll of bedding furs. They had managed to pitch their tent in the lee of a creek bank, just enough to cut the force of the wind.

Sapel had been frightened and cried for a long time, but finally went to sleep pressed snugly between his mother's and his father's bodies, who lay face to face with their backs against the thick bull hide tent. It was the same bull that had nearly killed Christine a little over a year before. Spock had gone back and salvaged the hide, leaving the carcass for the scavengers. But the huge, heavy hide was too valuable to waste. While Christine healed from her injuries, he had worked at tanning it, a massive project that took him three months to complete. But it had been worth it. Leather from the tough pelt had furnished new winter moccasins for all three of them and the remainder had been fashioned into this tent, sturdy and impervious to wind and water and--they were discovering--snow.

The first day on their journey south, they had followed their familiar little creek down to where it joined the small river that meandered through the grass lands. They had followed this route many times before and managed to travel about 15 miles from their valley before stopping to make camp. That night was uneventful and they had pushed on the following day, still tracing the river's course. It was late afternoon when Spock realized that the temperature was dropping more rapidly than it should have with the sun still up and the air had a barely discernible scent to it that spoke to him of coming snow.

Hurriedly, he decided to make camp while they had the chance. The heavy overcast made the day gray and ominous, adding to his disquiet. One of his concerns was being forced to camp in the open. The river banks were too steep to afford a place to set their tent. Then he spotted an irregularity in the rolling meadows and moved them toward it. The line was a small creek bed that in wet weather ran into the larger river, but had dried up completely during the dry summer. The scant rain that had fallen a month earlier had done little more than form mud patches that had cracked and curled under the sun. Best of all, the north bank was deep enough to make a windbreak.

The wind was picking up and the scent of snow was unmistakable now as Spock and Christine worked frantically to get their tent up and bedrolls inside. Fat flakes of snow were beginning to fall as the three of them crawled inside the low hide tent and Spock got the end pieces fastened together with bone pegs. Then there was nothing to do but roll up together in the furs and wait out the blizzard.

Sapel shivered and whimpered until finally Christine began to speak softly, "How about a story, sweetheart?"

"What?"

"How about this one? Once upon a time there were three bears and they all lived together in a little house in the woods."

"What're bears?" the boy sniffed.

"Great big furry animals that live on the planet I come from, Earth. They're usually mean and ferocious with great big teeth, but these particular bears were all pretty nice because they lived in this little house."

"Whatsa house?"

"It's a place where people live," Christine answered, realizing that she was using terms her son might not be familiar with. "Okay, let's change it a bit. Once upon a time, there were three bears who lived in a nice snugly cave like the one we live in. There was the Papa Bear, the Mama Bear and the Baby Bear."

"Like you, me and Papa," Sapel interjected.

"That's right. The Papa Bear was Great Big and he had a Great Big chair, and a Great Big bed, and he ate out of a Great Big bowl."

"Whatsa a chair?"

Christine sighed and exchanged glances with Spock, who had been lying quietly watching her, an amused expression on his face, his dark eyes crinkled with humor. "It's your story," he told her. "Do not look to me for help."

"Fat lot of good you are," she retorted good-naturedly. "Well, I can see that I'm going to have to do some re-writing on this particular fairy tale. Okay, the Papa Bear had a Great Big rock and a Great Big fur to sleep on and a Great Big bowl to eat out of. The Mama Bear was Sort Of Big and had a Sort Of Big rock to sit on and a Sort Of Big fur to sleep on and a Sort Of Big bowl to eat out of. The Baby Bear had a Little Bitty rock to sit on and a Little Bitty fur to sleep on and a Little Bitty bowl to eat out of."

Sapel giggled at the image, not quite picturing what a bear was but understanding the rest.

Christine continued. "One day the Mama Bear made boiled grain and berries for them to eat but it was much too hot. The Papa Bear said--" And she made her voice deep. "--'My grain is too hot!'. And the Mama Bear said--" Her voice lifted to a normal range. "--'My grain is too hot.' And the Baby Bear said--" And her voice went up high. "--'My grain is too hot, too!' The Mama Bear said, 'Let's go for a walk and by the time we get back, it will be cool enough to eat.' So they did just that!"

Christine glanced up at her husband who was listening with a rapt attention. He lifted an eyebrow at her. *Fascinating,* his voice whispered softly within her mind. She smiled back at him.

"While they were out, along came a little boy named Sapel," she went on.

"Me!!"

"And he was tired and hungry and curious, so he went into the bears' cave. At first he sat on the Papa Bear's Great Big rock and said, 'This is much too big.' Then he sat on the Mama Bear's Sort Of Big rock and said, 'This is still too big.' Then he sat on the Baby Bear's Little Bitty rock and said, 'This is JUUUST right!"

Sapel giggled in delight. Christine went on to spin a Terra Two version of the venerable children's story. "...and the Baby Bear said, 'Someone's been sleeping in MY furs and he's RIGHT HERE!!' Sapel was so frightened that he jumped up and ran out of the bears' cave and back to where his own Mama and Papa were waiting and they all lived happily ever after," she finally concluded.

Sapel yawned hugely, his fear now lost in the telling of the old tale and snuggled into his mother's warm breast. "Papa?" he asked sleepily.

"Hmmm?"

"Are there bears where you come from?"

"No, not bears," Spock answered softly, a little smile pulling at his lips. "On Vulcan, there are animals that look a little like bears but they are called sehlats. Some other time I will tell you about the sehlat I had as a pet when I was a little boy like you. His name was i-Chaya."

"...Chaya?"

"Eye-Chaya. I will tell you about the day i-Chaya found a z'tin'kh in the garden and dug up all your grandmother's Terran roses to capture it. But that's another story. Go to sleep now, cha'i."

Sapel had already drifted off, secure and safe between his parents.

Christine brought her eyes back to her husband's face, now barely visible in the falling darkness. "What's a z'tin'kh?" she asked.

"Something similar to a gopher. A burrowing rodent."

"Did he really dig up Amanda's roses?"

"Indeed he did. My mother became ... exceptionally emotional as a result," Spock smiled, his expression full of fondness at the memory. "I'm afraid all of the rest of the household, including my father and me, were hesitant to encounter her for some time after that. I never knew she had such a formidable temper."

Christine chuckled quietly. They lay listening to the wind buffet the bull hide tent, its sound somewhere between a scream and a moan at times. Wrapped in their layers of furs, their body heat was adequate to keep them warm, but not much beyond that. Their breath fogged gently as they exhaled and Christine reached out to trail her fingers along Spock's jawline. He had stopped shaving a week or so before and his face now sported a short, dark beard covering his cheeks, chin, upper lip and down to his throat. She let her fingertips trace along the still bristly beard until they came to rest on his lips.

"I like that," she murmured, moving her finger along his moustache. "You look good with a beard."

"During the winter, anyway," he smiled. "Come summer, I will shave it off again. It is too hot and itchy then."

"It still looks good on you."

He reached up and began his own gentle exploration of her face with his fingertips. Then he folded under all but his forefinger and middle finger and his light stroking took on a purposeful pattern. With a gasp, she felt their mindbond surging open and the incredible warmth of his mental persona flood into her. It brought a surge of sexual desire with it.

She opened her eyes and stared back at him. "Spock, we can't do that right now," she whispered. "Not here."

"But that does not prevent me wishing to do it, wife," he responded in a deep-throated murmur. He stroked her face one more time, then withdrew his fingers. "My greatest joys are the times when you welcome me inside you, both mentally and physically."

She smiled adoringly at him and caressed his cheek one more time, then changed the subject to one less fraught with circumstance. "Do you want something to eat? I've got some journey bread I can reach."

"Please," he answered and waited as she fished out a couple of round wafers of salted grain and fruit mashed together and formed into easily carried disks like large cookies. There was a little dried, grated meat mixed in too for protein, but the fruit sweetened it all and bound it together. The dried wafers were hard and nutritious, portable food perfect for eating during travels.

The two lay munching on the bread and listening to the storm whip over their sturdy tent as the dim twilight settled into heavy, full night. "How far down river do you want to go?" Christine asked after a while. "Do you want to go back up into the hills to the ship site?"

She couldn't see his face, but he paused for a moment and she knew he was thinking. "I believe we should follow the river a little farther south this time. We were side tracked winter before last by the lions we encountered. By going west to the hills, we lost our proximity to the herds we were following. I would prefer to continue south until such time that we determine that this is not our best option. We can always journey back to the hill country and winter at the ship."

Christine gave a little grunt of agreement, chewing on another bite of the fibrous bread. "I keep thinking that, if we go far enough, we'll out run this weather."

"That, I cannot say. Since we have never been more than about 150 miles south of our summer home, I have no way of knowing how far the winter weather might extend."

"True. I guess we won't know until we find out, hmm?"

Spock was quiet than said in a slightly puzzled tone, "Christine, that statement is so completely obvious as to leave me utterly speechless."

She laughed. "Then shush." At his offended silence, she reached up to locate his face in the dark, then leaned to kiss his lips lightly. "I'm going to sleep. 'Night, love."

"Peaceful dreams, my wife. I shall stay awake, at least for a while, and make sure that all is well." Overhead, as if to dispute his statement, the wind gusted especially violently and shook the little tent hard. Still, it was low to the ground, protected by a wind break, and the stakes were hammered strong and deep. There was nothing on it for the wind to gain purchase and the blowing snow raced over and around its surface.

Spock drew their furs closer about his wife and son, then settled down to wait out the night.

* * *

Spock shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. From his vantage point on top of the low hill, he could see the course of the river they had been following for ten days now. They had long since left the snow behind, the fickle autumn weather turning warm again as the wind changed around to the south and blew steadily from that direction.

The little river that left their valley had joined a larger one flowing from the northwest and the larger river that resulted rapidly became too wide to cross. There being no real reason why they should cross it, they continued along its eastern bank, exploring as they went.

The river meandered in a southeasterly direction, winding its way along a wide shallow flood plain, joined here and there by creeks and small rivers, most of which were easily forded. The plain was thinly wooded and heavily populated with game that had migrated south with the onset of winter weather. There were numerous predators, too, that took advantage of the herds and the little family took care to avoid them. Spock limited his own hunting to small game that would provide them with a meal or two and allow them to move on. He did not plan on lingering in the area.

To the far west they could make out the line of hills where they had found the crashed Romulan ship two years before. To their east stretched a vast, primordial forest of pine-like trees and dense undergrowth, dark and forbidding. The river valley bordered it and Spock led his family down this natural highway into an area of rolling hills and woods. The river cut through a pass to one side of a hill and cascaded down an area of rapids before continuing on its way.

It was from this point that Spock saw their final destination. The line of hills continued on the west side of the river, looping back around to the east, culminating in a series of tall, craggy hills ... almost big enough to be called mountains or mesas. The river flowed through a cut between two of them and from there emptied into a blue expanse stretching as far as he could see along the horizon.

"There it is," he said to Christine who stood beside him, hoisting Sapel up onto one hip.

"So you were right," she answered, squinting. "The sea."

"Or a gigantic lake. We shall have to test whether it is fresh water or salt. It's getting late. Let's find a place to camp tonight and tomorrow we'll attempt to reach the shore," Spock answered and they turned to pick up their packs once more.

* * *

While his wife and son explored the beach, delighting in the rush and retreat of waves from the salt water ocean, Spock stood deep in thought. They had arrived two days before and had made their way to the western side of the river, taking advantage of low level of the water, low tide and a number of sand bars and small islands that divided the river's mouth into numerous shallow channels. The wide sandy beach here stretched in a long easy curve for several miles, ending finally in cliffs upon which the waves splashed and broke. On this end, the river ran through a cut in wooded hills that to Spock's eye had the look of being volcanic in origin, although so long dormant that they were eroded into pleasant and accessible hillsides. The nearest one was perhaps a thousand feet high, the next one along about half again as tall.

It was this second one that had drawn his interest. Set about half a mile back from the ocean and far enough to be out of the reach of the tides and storm waves, it rose to a softly pointed crest, its slopes covered with the pine-like timber that was so prevalent here. Its sides were gentle, making it easy to go up and down and an early climb had revealed several fresh water springs trickling from cracks in its rocky flanks.

But that was not the best part of it. Facing the ocean and affording a stunning view was a break in the side of the hill, a place long ago eroded into an indentation about five or six feet into the stone of the slope. It was too shallow to be called a cave but the rock overhang formed a low roof that would afford some shelter.

Spock was also sizing up the forest of tall pines and plans began to materialize in his mind that were half-formed before he even realized he was thinking them. Both eyebrows went up in surprise at the audacity of his idea and he turned his considerable mental abilities to solving the problem he had set before himself.

When he came back down to the beach, Christine noticed his pre-occupied, thoughtful expression and approached him. "Spock?" she asked. "What is it?"

He looked up at her and a speculative little smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Christine?" he responded. "How would you like me to build you a house?"

* * *

Stripped to the waist, sweat trickling down his back and through the hair on his chest and stomach, Spock once more drove the axe deep into the pine's trunk, sending light-colored chips flying. Working the blade free, he pulled back and then landed another hard blow, again sinking the flint blade into the heartwood of the tree, his muscles bulging with the effortless strength he exerted, his skin glistening in the afternoon heat.

This time there was a loud splitting sound and the tree began to move, leaning away from him. He gave it a double-handed push to aid its momentum and was rewarded as it groaned and began to lean farther and faster, then with a tremendous crack, the trunk split at the cut site and the huge pine crashed to the ground, throwing up dust and ground litter.

Spock stood back and wiped sweat from his face with the back of one dirty hand. His hair, tied back and held with a leather thong, stuck to the moisture dripping down the hard muscles of his back and shoulders, and his short dark beard, muscular chest and powerful arms were powdered with wood chips and dust. The sweat tickling its way down his naked body attested to the immense amount of work he had performed. Vulcans did not sweat easily but Spock was drenched after this day's labor. Catching his breath, he paused to gulp down a cool drink from his water bag.

He had managed to fell seven trees today, making a grand total of 38 in the two weeks he had been working. He wasn't sure how many he would ultimately need to build the cabin, but this would make a good start. Tomorrow he would begin the job of trimming and moving them to the location of their new home. It would take both him and Christine to pull the big logs. Even with his Vulcan strength, he couldn't transport them alone.

While he was engaged in the laborious business of cutting trees with his flint axe, made harder by the fact that the blade had to be reshaped and resharpened after every tree and a whole new blade fashioned after every fourth or fifth one, Spock had set Christine and Sapel to work preparing the foundation for the cabin. The indentation in the hillside was the starting point. They would take advantage of its shelter and build out from there, a simple, single room opening into the rock shelter itself.

While Spock cut timber, Christine and Sapel had cleared the floor area and brought in basketloads of sand from the beach, dumping it and leveling it out into a flat, even surface, reaching back into the rock shelter, tamping it down firmly. Once that was done and while waiting for Spock to begin the next phase of construction, they had searched for and transported rocks to build a hearth and chimney.

Exhausted, Spock decided to call it a day and bent to pick up his leather shirt, water bag and the bag that held the flint nodules and working tools used to fashion the axe blades. As he plodded back toward their campsite at the shelter, he found himself pondering how he might contrive a metal blade. Even the poorest iron or copper would last longer than flint, but there were almost insurmountable obstacles in smelting metal, not the least of which was finding an ore deposit. He doubted this area contained such a treasure and, even if it did, there was still the problem of building a forge and finding a way to make a fire hot enough to melt the ore and refine it. Shaking his head, he dismissed it as a pipe dream. Someday, perhaps, but not today...

Reaching the clearing around the rock overhang, he found that Christine and Sapel had also worked hard. The floor was finished and they had gathered enough stones to make a hearth circle, where Christine was in the process of laying a fire. They had decided to erect their tent back up under the rock ceiling. It was scant protection at this point, but better than nothing. The weather had been cooperative so far, but it was just a matter of time before winter edged its way this far south. Spock wanted to at least have the walls of the cabin up by that time.

Christine noted her grimy, weary husband trailing into camp and stood up to greet him, kissing him lightly. "You look about beat," she commented.

"It is quite a laborious task," he answered, bending down to ruffle Sapel's dark hair before going to toss his shirt over the top of the tent as a makeshift clothes rack. Setting down the water and tool bag, he seemed to notice how dirty he was and brushed ineffectually at the wood chips clinging to him.

Christine watched him for a moment then said, "How about a hot bath?"

Spock looked up at her and one eyebrow crept up sardonically. "Indeed. Might I also have a beaker of saya and a selection from Brahms while I bathe?"

"I'm not kidding," she responded. "Come on. I have something to show you."

Spock was still skeptical but Sapel piped up, "C'mon, Papa! You'll like it!"

Curious now, Spock relented and, catching up his spear, he followed the woman and boy as they went down a barely visible trail between the trees, going in the opposite direction from which he'd come. They traveled for about ten minutes, then he heard the musical tinkling of falling water and, almost simultaneously, realized that what he had taken as early evening mist forming was actually steam!

Christine led him out into a little natural clearing, where water bubbled out of the black rocks and ran in a little stream over a tiny waterfall and into a basin about twelve feet across. From the far end, it overflowed into another little cascade that hurried away down the hillside to be lost in the trees. Steam wafted over the pool and upper stream, drifting off into the woods.

"We found it this morning while collecting rocks," Christine explained, smiling, as Spock studied it in amazement. "It's pretty warm but not unbearable. Like a really hot bath. Sapel and I tried it out this morning and it's wonderful."

"You try it, Papa!" the boy urged. "Anyway, you need it! You stink!"

Spock glanced down in incredulity at his son but Christine burst out laughing before he could say anything in reprimand. "Sapel's right," she chuckled. "You're pretty ripe."

Looking as dignified as possible, Spock turned his gaze on his wife. "I have been engaged in quite strenuous work," he retorted. "I have no control over the fact that such work produces perspiration."

That sent her into another peal of laughter. "Just get in there and soak for a while! Sapel and I will go back and get supper started, eh, sport?"

"We caught a fish, too!" the boy announced.

"Not here, of course, but in the main stream," Christine explained. "You relax and enjoy your bath and supper should be ready by the time you are. Shout if you need anything. I think we should be able to hear you."

"Little comfort if I am devoured by a large predator," Spock replied, dead-pan, but already looking forward to the first hot bath he had enjoyed in longer than he could remember.

* * *

"Easy ... easy... Now!" Spock released some of the tension of his rope and Christine did the same on hers. The big log suspended from the hoist thunked solidly into place, the notched ends grinding into the notches on the logs below it.

Christine slumped in weariness and surveyed the result. It had taken them a full ten days to move the timber Spock had cut from where the trees lay to the clearing. Another two days were used in lopping off branches and knots and in chopping notches into the ends so that the logs would fit snugly together. She had worked alongside him, hacking with the flint axe he had made for her until her muscles screamed in protest and didn't feel as if she could lift her arms again. She'd never imagined building a cabin would be this much work.

The first two or three logs had been worked into place with relative ease, compared to what came later. But then the walls were too high for them to lift the logs into place and Spock had devised and built the hoist, a double-tripod sort of contraption that enabled them to maneuver other logs into position and drop them there. It worked, but it was ferocious work.

Nevertheless, they had the walls up now, rising about six feet high. The ceiling would be low, providing they figured out a way to get the roof on, but it would be adequate, even if Spock had to bend his six foot two inch frame a little bit to keep from hitting his head. Maybe they'd lower the floor to accommodate him.

Like her, he was now standing back to survey their work and seemed satisfied. She walked over and slipped an arm around his waist and he reciprocated with an arm around her shoulders, pulling her snugly against him.

"It's a fine house," she commented softly.

"It is crude but I hope that it will prove adequate," he responded, typically self-deprecating.

She squeezed him reassuringly. "Let's go clean up. Sapel!"

The boy came around from the other side of the cabin, completely covered with gray mud. His job was to mix up mud and pine straw, then slather the mess into the chinks between the logs. It was pure heaven for a small child and he had taken advantage of the situation by slathering himself with the mixture as well.

Christine gave a little cry of dismay and took her arm from around her husband, resting her fists on her hips instead. "David Sapel!" she declared. "What in the name of peace do you think you're doing?! You look like a pig in a slop hole!"

He looked down at himself as if noticing for the first time that he was uniformly gray from head to foot, then peered back at her, his brown eyes curious. "What's a pig, Mama?"

"An animal that lives in the mud!" she responded. "You get down to that hot spring right this minute!"

He scampered off, his mother stamping after him. Spock followed, unable to suppress the quiet chuckle that rumbled up from his chest.

They had moved their camp next to the hot spring, not only for the convenience of having hot water at hand, but also for the automatic warmth is offered. Winter had found them again, although it was merely with a chilly north wind and occasional cold rain. The heat that the hot spring generated was enough to raise the ambient temperature in its vicinity a few degrees, enough to make a difference.

By the time Spock caught up with his wife, she had stripped their son naked and had him in the cooler end of the pool, sluicing water over his head and grumbling about how many layers of mud she was having to scrub away. Spock knelt down close beside her and splashed hot water on his face, rinsing away his own layers of grime, then washed his hands. He'd take a real bath later on, but right now he only wanted to do a superficial cleaning and see what they had to eat. With both he and Christine working on the cabin, he hadn't had time to hunt and they had been relying on rations they had brought with them, coupled with seafood they gathered on the beach a half mile away.

He decided that he'd let the cabin work go for a few days and replenish their dwindling food supplies. It would also give him a chance to explore a bit more as well as acquaint himself with the game in this area. He had noticed a small animal in the forest that resembled both a deer and the proto-horses that lived on the plain. It was smaller than the deer of the northern woods where he and his family normally lived, but should provide them with adequate meat.

He had a supper of fish stew heating by the time Christine returned with a now clean Sapel, who skipped in completely naked, his skin pink and glowing. Despite his one-quarter Vulcan heritage and the look of a Vulcan child, Sapel was predominantly human and had red blood. The child had been utterly fascinated to discover that his father bled dark emerald instead of the bright ruby of himself and his mother, and Spock had taken the opportunity to tell the youngster of his dual heritage and of the Vulcan people. The boy accepted it as completely normal, just the way things were.

Christine hung the boy's wet leather clothing up on a limb to dry, having washed the mud out of the garments while she was at the pool. "Get your night shirt on," she instructed him.

"It's not night," the boy protested, squatting down by the fire and watching his father stir the soup.

"It's about to be and it's already cold."

"I'm not cold."

"You will be. Scoot!"

Reluctantly, Sapel obeyed, pulling on the long leather tunic that served him as a sleeping gown during cooler weather. He was getting to the point of protesting having to wear it. After all, his father didn't wear one. Spock slept only in his loin cloth and Sapel wanted to sleep that way as well, but Christine insisted that he dress in a warmer fashion.

He appealed to a higher court. "Papa ... do I have to..."

"Yes," Spock interrupted, dishing out stew and handing it to him. "It's too cold for you to sleep naked."

"But you do..."

Spock pinned him with a strong look. "Because I also sleep with your mother and our combined body heat keeps us warm."

"Then why can't I sleep with you two?"

"Because it is not proper."

"Why not?"

"Because you are too old to share your mother's bed."

"Why?"

Spock's brows lowered in a warning gesture. "Sapel, I will not argue about this. You will continue to sleep in your own bed and you will wear your night shirt as your mother bids. Is that understood?"

The boy backed down, dropping his eyes to his bowl. "Yes, Papa," he mumbled without much enthusiasm.

"Very well. Eat your supper."

Christine had not entered the discussion but caught Spock's eye afterwards and gave him a knowing look. Through their bond, she said, *We must talk, husband.*

*Later.*

*Agreed.* And she settled down to her own meal.

* * *

Her arms draped languidly around Spock's neck, Christine closed her eyes and leaned in to press a series of light, teasing kisses along his temple and cheek, savoring the hot moisture of his skin against her lips. His eyes were closed as well, as he relaxed in the hot water and allowed his wife to make love to him.

She brushed his hair back off his forehead and let her kisses roam up the line of one dark, straight eyebrow, then repeated the action along the other one. He sighed and shifted a little and she transferred her attention to one ear, drawing the end of her tongue lightly along the edge until she reached the tip, tickling him.

His brows bunched together a bit and he gave a groan. Between her legs, she felt his erection surge against her as she straddled his lap. His ears were wonderfully sensitive, she knew, and moved her mouth to engulf the tip, this time sucking gently.

He seized her in a close embrace and groaned again. "Christine," he panted. "If you do not wish this to end immediately, I would advise against doing that."

Instead, she whispered sensuously into his ear. "Are you ready for me?" The question was unnecessary. She could feel his throbbing shaft hard against her, caught between his lower abdomen and her swollen, eager lips. Still, she slipped a hand down into the steamy water between them and gently stroked him, further arousing him.

Moving his hands up to grip her just below the shoulders, Spock opened his eyes and locked his fevered gaze on hers. Gently, he lifted her clear of his lap and she guided him unerringly between her legs to the entry he sought. As the bulbous head pushed into her, she gave a soft gasp of her own and threw back her head as she sank down onto the exquisite impalement, feeling him fill her completely.

He held still, allowing her to fully experience their moment of first joining, then he began to move his hips up against her in a gentle motion. She picked up his rhythm and intensified it, their mental bond opening and merging until both were lost in the sensations permeating themselves and each other. Cupping her dripping breasts in his hands, he bent to suckle first one nipple then the other, drawing them up into rigid points. In return, she stroked her fingertips up and down the edges of his ears, stimulating him almost unbearably.

He lifted his head and pulled her against him once more, his hands sliding down to hold her hips firm against his, pounding up into her hard and with building intensity. In a moment, his hips came up one final time and froze there as he tensed and a range of emotions played over his face, his eyes squeezed shut as he pulsed deep within her. She met him fully, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode her own orgasm over its peak and they hung there motionless for a long moment.

At last he relaxed and worked to catch his breath, and she slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulder. They held one another as the last electrical shudders shook them, then she raised herself and bent to meet his lips in a loving, tender kiss.

"I love you, Spock," she whispered.

"My heart," he murmured in return, drawing her into another kiss.

Then she dismounted from her position astride him and settled into the hot, soothing water, sinking down until it was nearly to her shoulders. "That was so good," she sighed with a smile. "Oh, I could go to sleep right here."

"I do not think that would be wise," he answered, amused. "You would be as red as a lobster by morning."

"I know, but it's just so nice!"

He chuckled indulgently and she roused herself a bit. When he saw that she was more alert, he changed the subject and said, "You wished to speak with me about Sapel."

That brought her fully awake. "Yes," she answered seriously. "It's not going to be long before he's going to start asking some very difficult questions, you know. He's already noticing the difference between you and me and I've caught him examining himself a couple of times now."

"I know," Spock answered thoughtfully. "I have already answered questions about his anatomy and I suspect they are only the beginning. I deliberately brushed his questions away this evening because I did not feel the time was right, but he will soon begin to ask me why you and I share a bed. And I am not entirely certain how much I should tell him about sexual relations."

"Keep it simple," she advised him. "He's still a very little child. Don't overload him with information he's not ready for." She laughed softly. "I remember an old story about a father who had determined to be upfront with his son when the time came, and sure enough one day the boy came to him and asked where he had come from. The father went into this long, clinical explanation about sex and love and finally noticed the boy looking really puzzled. The father asked, 'Do you understand what I've told you?' The little boy answered, 'Not really. My friend Joe says he came from New York and I was just wondering where I came from.'"

Christine laughed again at the story and Spock looked over at her fondly, the corners of his mouth stretching into a little smile. "An apocryphal story without doubt, but a humorous one." She elbowed him in retaliation. "However, I understand the moral of it. I shall take care to evaluate what he is asking before I answer."

Christine was quiet for a moment then let her gaze wander up through the trees to the canopy of stars in the night sky. "There's something else that's bothered me now and then," she said. "Spock ... when does pon farr occur in Vulcan boys?"

That caught him a bit off guard, but then he answered seriously, "It usually does not occur until full sexual maturity at around age 28. However, the age varies widely. I was 36 when I first experienced it. I understand that it can occur as early as 14 or 15. That is rare, but it is possible."

"What about Sapel?" Her voice held a bit of tension. "Do you think he will get it early?"

Spock sighed. "He may not experience it at all. He is three-quarters human and it may pass him by completely. My own pon farr occurred so late that I had hoped I would be spared. I suspect my human heritage delayed it, but did not prevent it completely."

Christine turned fearful eyes on her husband and asked intensely, "And what if he's not spared? What are we going to do then?"

Spock's brow furrowed together and, when he answered, his voice was hoarse. "There are ... techniques ... meditations that may be used. But ... they are not always successful."

Christine's nails dug into his arm and he turned to see that her face had become fierce. "If worse comes to worse, I want you to know something, Spock. I will do anything to keep my son alive. Do you understand what I am saying? *Anything!*"

His throat felt dry with horror but he understood her all too well. "We will continue to hope that such a day never arrives," he answered softly and put his arm around her shoulder to draw her against him. She was trembling. "That day will be far into the future, in any case, and the future always holds infinite possibilities and pathways. Please think no more about it."

She slipped her arm across his bare chest and snuggled against him, trying to let the heated water of the hot spring dissolve away that blackest of scenarios.

* * *

Using their combined strength on the guide rope, Spock and Christine worked the ridge beam into place along the main axis of the roof line. The big log was wedged into the cliff face at its far end and rested here on the forward wall, extending out over the eave. The notch slipped into place and held. "That's it!" he said and they eased up on the rope. It was the biggest, heaviest log of all and would serve as the center beam on which the roof would rest.

"Looks good," Christine said.

"It should prove an adequate anchor for the rafters to be attached to. Now I can begin cutting timber for the roof. If the weather holds, we should be able to begin putting the roof on within five days." Spock slipped off the leather hand coverings he used as gloves and stuck them into his belt. They were more like mittens than gloves, having no individual fingers, but Christine had devised them after he had begun to develop blisters from the intense labor he was putting in with axe and rope. As calloused and hardened as his hands had become over the years, they could not withstand the recent abuse.

Christine stripped off her own gloves. "I'll start work on the fireplace and chimney then." She stretched and flexed one arm, the one that had been broken a year earlier. "My old bones are aching again. I think it's going to rain."

He gave her an amused look. "Your bones are likely just stressed from lifting that ridge beam."

"We'll see, smarty pants. You never believe me and I'm always right." He merely lifted an eyebrow in answer. "Oh, let's take a break and have some lunch. I'm starved!"

"That is agreeable. This work does indeed work up an appetite."

The day was pleasant and sunny, although a bit cool, and they decided to go down to the beach and eat there. Gathering Sapel, who had been playing nearby, Spock and Christine stopped by their campsite to pick up food and water, then they all trooped down to the sandy stretch along the ocean front. After collecting dry driftwood, they soon had a fire going and gathered around its warmth, dining on flat bread and roasted fish from the evening before. Christine boiled some water in a pot she had brought along and made tea to warm them.

The ocean was choppy and gray today, the waves washing a bit farther up the beach than normal. "See that?" Christine said. "I'll bet anything there's a storm brewing out there." She turned to look at her husband, who was sitting cross-legged beside her, sipping his tea. "Spock, how long would it take to get the roof up?"

"I do not know. It depends on how long it takes to find and cut the proper size of timber."

She looked back to sea. "I've got a really bad feeling about this. I'd feel much better if we had the house finished to the point that we could take shelter in it. I think we both ought to work on cutting trees. You show me what you want and we'll split up and do twice the work."

Spock gave her an appraising look. "I am not sanguine about premonitions, but I too would prefer having construction finished. Very well, you finish your tea and I will go ahead and look for the proper size of trees we need for the roof."

"Okay," she said, the little voice of worry still niggling at her deep inside. Spock rose gracefully to his feet and walked away to be lost in the tall trees that led to their camp. Christine continued to sit by the fire, watching Sapel run along the beach, picking up shells.

"Sapel!" she called. "Don't get in the water! It's too cold today!"

"Okay, Mama," he called back and took off chasing one of the little crab-like creatures that inhabited the shoreline and tide pools.

He was growing so fast, Christine mused. Although he hadn't officially reached his third birthday, as the years were reckoned here on Terra Two, his development was nearer that of a five year old, his genetic maturation governed by the time cycles of other planets. Moreover, his Vulcan heritage accelerated even that growth.

On any of the Federation worlds, he would be in school by now and Christine realized that Sapel was growing up completely illiterate. She decided to make that project high on her list of things to do once the cabin was finished and they could settle in. She'd have to find something to serve as paper and ink, but that shouldn't be hard. The difficult part would be reading material. The only book they had in their possession was the dog-earred military survival manual that had been left by the Romulans that had stranded them here. Obviously Spock and Christine had not been expected to be able to use it, but Spock had laboriously translated the text and they had consulted it until they had deciphered its chapters.

That wouldn't do for a beginning reader. Christine decided that, while Sapel learned his letters, she would write down everything she could remember - children's stories, passages from the Bible, poems, whatever came to mind in order to teach Sapel to read and write. And Spock could teach him science and math. They'd both educate him on the histories of Vulcan and Earth, so that he would know where he came from and what both his peoples -- Vulcan and Human -- were like.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Sapel's excited cries. "Mama! Mama! Look!!" He was pointing out to sea.

She got up and went to him. "What do you see out there?"

"Look at the fishies!"

She squinted and saw what had attracted his attention. About a half a mile out, the sea was virtually boiling with small silvery fish jumping frantically out of the water. There were hundreds of them, probably thousands. It was obvious that they were desperately trying to get away from something.

That something abruptly surfaced as dolphin-like creatures exploded out of the water, their gaping jaws snapping and gulping the little fish before they all crashed back with a splash of white water. It happened again and again, and then the ocean surface stilled once more.

"Mama! Did you see that?!" Sapel demanded, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Indeed I did! We'll really have something to tell Papa, won't we?" She wondered what sort of creatures the big ones were - fish or dolphins or maybe even something like ichthyosaurs. All were similar in shape and habits, but there was no way of knowing. It could be something entirely different, for this was a whole other ocean than the ones she knew.

The show now over, she said, "Well, come on. Mama's got to get back to work. We've got to get our house finished!"

"I wanna stay here!"

"You can't stay here by yourself, Sapel. You know that."

"But I'm not through finding stuff," the boy protested.

"Tell you what. If Papa is agreeable, we'll come back this evening and have a real cookout on the beach. How's that?"

That suited Sapel just fine and he followed his mother back up the hillside to their camp. Neither saw the ocean foam once more and a long, thin neck rise far above it, one of the dolphin creatures flailing between its long-fanged jaws.

* * *

His arms folded across his chest, Spock stepped back to stand beside his wife and son and critically appraised their finished cabin. After a moment, he sighed, "Well, it will have to do."

The low roof slanted off to either side of the center beam, the rough wood of its logs making it almost seem to grow out of the hillside that towered above it. The rock overhang from which it had been built blended into the overall design, and the stone chimney that rose from this side was made primarily from the same dark rock, seeming to merge back into the mountain. A thin stream of white smoke drifted away from the opening at the top, drawing from the hearth and fireplace. A split-rail door swung open from tough rawhide hinges cut from their bullhide tent. There were no windows ... yet. Perhaps they would cut one later, but for now, the cabin was as snug and weatherproof as they could make it.

"I think it's the most beautiful house I've ever seen!" Christine smiled proudly, slipping her arm around his waist and stretching up to kiss his cheek. "You have amazed me once again, husband of mine! I don't think there's any problem you can't solve when you put your mind to it!"

Spock didn't answer or look at her, but she could feel his pleasure at her approval. However, he answered quietly, "If I were as clever as you seem to think, I would have us home by now."

"We are home, my love," she whispered, giving him a squeeze so that he looked down into her warm blue eyes, just a hint of moisture shining in them. "As long as we are together ... we are home." Spock smiled and leaned down to touch his lips softly to hers.

Sapel had endured all that his juvenile tolerance was capable of enduring. "Can we eat now?" he complained. "I wanna go down to the beach again. You said we would."

Christine laughed and hugged him. "I did indeed. What do you say, Papa? Shall we celebrate with a clam bake on the beach?"

"I feel that there is cause for celebration," Spock agreed, "although I cannot guarantee that I will dine on clams with you."

"We'll find something. Come on."

It was nearly sundown as they settled onto the sand, far up from the wash of the waves. Spock built up the driftwood fire and got the coals just right while Christine and Sapel ranged down the beach. The tide was out and they had long ago located tide pools where bivalve molluscs were exposed. Now they waded out into the ankle deep water, both exclaiming as the cold hit their bare feet, and bent to quickly harvest the shelled creatures and toss them into a basket they had brought.

Spock watched his wife and son laugh and hurry back to the sand, then move farther down the shore to the next pool. He thought back to a memory from his childhood, when he was Sapel's age and he and his own mother had run along the beach of a quite different ocean.

He wondered if Sarek had watched them as Spock was doing now with his family, and if Sarek had felt the tug of wistfulness deep inside at the son he never expected to have, the wistfulness that Spock felt when he watched Sapel and the magic came home to him that this was his son, his child. He still found it unbelievable that this remarkable little being was a part of him and the woman he now loved with all his heart.

Will you ever know him? Spock thought, mentally addressing his own father. Will you ever know that you have a grandson? Or do you think that you no longer even have a son? That I am dead? Lost to you forever? Do you even care?

That last thought sent a stab of pain into Spock's soul. Surely there would be some regret in Sarek that his son was gone now, believed dead. Amanda would be grieving still; Spock was certain of that. Or had the grief killed her by now? The memory of his mother's soft human face and depthless blue eyes was suddenly too much to bear. Spock closed his eyes and willed the sadness to leave him. Memory was all he had of her now, for it was unlikely that he would ever see her again.

Mother, he thought, projecting himself outward, sending her the knowledge that he was alive and well. Whether it would ever touch her mind he could not know. He could only hope that, in some way, it would reach and comfort her.

Voices brought him back to the present and he looked to find Christine and Sapel coming back, their basket brimming with shellfish and other edibles. Spock felt his heart lift once more and he banished the melancholy into the recesses of his soul.

* * *

"Sure you don't want any more?" Christine asked, her face painted golden by the flickering of the firelight. "It's too late to give them their freedom!"

"I am certain," Spock responded. He had found himself enjoying the fire-roasted seafood and seaplants that they had cooked on the beach and had eaten more than he had thought possible.

"Sapel?" Christine prodded.

"I'm stuffed!" the boy declared, lying back on the hide they had spread on the sand. "That was good, Mama!"

"Okay, that was last call. They'll be tough as leather tomorrow so any leftovers get tossed to the fishes!"

Spock had stretched out beside his son and Christine joined him. It was a beautifully clear night, dark and as yet moonless, and the three lay gazing up into the star strewn heavens stretching above them. The rain that had come through a week or so before had left the atmosphere as clear as glass and the multitudes of stars above them shown with unusual clarity.

"Papa?" Sapel asked softly. "Where do you come from?"

"Vulcan," Spock answered.

"No, I mean up there." The boy pointed skyward.

"You cannot see it from here."

"Where's your star, Mama?"

"You can't see it either, Sapel," she replied, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice.

"Why not?"

"It's too far away. You couldn't see it anyway. It's too faint."

"You mean it doesn't have any light?"

"No, Sapel," Spock replied, answering for his wife. "Your mother is from a planet called Earth, which orbits a star called Sol. From Earth, it is a sun just like the one we see here, but we are so very, very far away from it that you simply cannot see it. My planet, Vulcan, orbits a star that we call Las'hark. Like Sol, it is too far away for us to see it here on this planet."

Sapel pondered that. "Do all those stars have planets around them?"

"Many of them do. Not all. And not all can support life. But there are many, many planets with people living on them."

"Why don't they come visit us, Papa?" the boy wondered.

"I do not know, Sapel," Spock replied quietly. "I think it is because this star and this planet are so very far away that no one knows we are here."

"But the bad men who brought you here know," the boy reasoned.

"We don't want them to come back, sweetie," Christine told him. "They wanted your Papa and me to be all alone here. They wanted to be mean to us."

"They didn't know you'd have me, did they?" he asked, turning his open gaze on her face.

Christine smiled and stroked his dark hair. "No, baby, they didn't think we could live here. They sure didn't know that Papa and I would learn to find food and a place to live and finally have such a special little boy to keep us company."

"Mama? Are you still sad about the other baby you tried to have?"

Christine heard the immediate little sound of inhalation as Spock caught his breath at the question. Her own throat had seized up and she fought down tears but she answered her son honestly. "Yes, sweetheart, I'll always be sad. But life keeps going on and you can't stop going with it. I wish I had been able to have that baby, but it just didn't happen."

"Will you have any other babies?"

Christine brought her eyes up to meet Spock's. He was staring at her with pain clear in his gaze, waiting to hear what she would say. She looked back down at Sapel and smiled. "I don't know. Maybe one of these days I will, but we'll just have to wait and see."

"You'll tell Papa if you do, won't you?" Sapel asked innocently.

Christine couldn't stifle a delighted little laugh and bent to kiss her son's forehead. "Oh, I think Papa will know about it. He's pretty good at figuring out things like that. I wouldn't worry about that!"

Sapel yawned hugely and Spock changed the subject. "At the moment, however, I believe that it is time we went back to our new house and spent our first official evening there."

"Outstanding idea!" Christine seconded. "It's getting too cold to stay out here on the beach."

"Carry me, Papa?" Sapel asked as Spock got to his feet.

"Very well, but you are getting much too grown up for this." Spock squatted down and allowed his son to climb onto his back, slipping his little arms around his father's neck. As Spock stood, Christine got up as well and then bent to retrieve the hide they had been using as a blanket. Shaking it clean, she then kicked sand onto the fire and knocked the remains of their supper down closer to the waves. Almost immediately the little crab creatures scuttled out of their holes and pounded on the unexpected meal.

Then she turned and followed Spock up the path toward their home.

* * *

Christine stood outside of the cabin door while Spock settled Sapel into his bed inside. He had asked her to wait for him and now she bided her time enjoying the cool night. From here she could see the ocean through the trees. Terra Two's three small moons had risen now and their yellow light reflected softly off the endless waves whispering into shore a half-mile away.

Far out to sea, something very large seemed to surface and then submerge again. That caught her attention. It was too distant and too dark for her to see what it was, but she wondered if it might have been a whale. That would be nice, she thought. Whales were such beautiful creatures. Then she shook her head, remembering where she was. It was extremely dubious that it was a whale, but there were undoubtably creatures like that living in this ocean ... but again she didn't know what they might be. They'd just have to keep an eye out and hope to spot it again.

Behind her, she heard Spock step out through the doorway and come up behind her, then he slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her hair. "He is asleep. Shall we retire as well, my wife?"

Leaning back into the comforting warmth of his body, she smiled and murmured, "That sounds wonderful."

She turned to go inside but he said, "Wait." Halting, she started to turn but was then surprised when Spock suddenly swept her up into his arms.

"I understand that there is an old Earth custom I should observe," he said, smiling secretively. "I believe I am supposed to carry my bride across the threshold of our new home."

Surprise gave way to delight and Christine laughed and captured his mouth with hers, kissing him long and warmly. When their lips parted, he stepped through the doorway into the close darkness of the cabin and set her back onto her feet on the other side, pausing to shut the door and secure it. Then he turned back to his wife and they moved to their bedside.

The only light inside came from the flickering hearth fire and it limned his features in gold and copper highlights, accentuating the angles and planes of his face. Carefully, she began to unlace his tunic, until he could pull it over his head, leaving him bare from the waist up. She let her fingers roam over him, examining him as if for the first time, trailing over the hard muscles of his arms, slipping through the crisp dark hair of his sculptured chest, up over his collarbone to his jawline. His neat dark beard was soft beneath her fingers and her hands slipped up underneath his long black hair to tease along the edges of his ears.

He pulled her against him and brought his lips down on hers, his tongue pushing gently between her parted lips until it found her own. They stood for some time, locked in their embrace, probing and playing with sensual oral explorations as their passion began to heat up. Finally, he reached to unlace her tunic and push it from her shoulders, baring her full breasts and then shoving it down her hips.

Her breeches and loin cloth came down with it and finally he took her shoulders and pushed her down onto the furs, following her with his own body. Quickly, but without unduly hurried movements, he pulled off her moccasins and drew the pants and other coverings away, leaving her naked, her smooth skin ruddy and inviting in the firelight.

Spock lay beside her, pulling her into his arms, kissing her and loving the feel of her taut nipples rubbing against the hair of his chest. The fact that she was gloriously naked against him and he was still partially clothed excited him and he felt his growing erection strain to burst free of the leather breechclout that contained it.

Christine felt it his arousal as well and teased him by moving one leg over his thigh and rubbing herself against him. He moved one broad hand down to her buttocks and grasped her cheek, pulling her against him for a moment. Then he rolled her over a bit more onto her back and his hand slid down underneath her thigh, pulling her leg up to allow him access. Reaching, his fingertips brushed against the swollen folds there and she wriggled with pleasure.

The position was awkward and he withdrew his hand and pushed her flatter, rearranging his position to slide his hand between her legs from the front. Readily, she opened to receive him and he deftly worked his long fingers into and around the intriguing mounds and valleys he found there, all the while maintaining the playful oral play between her tongue and his.

Christine twitched involuntarily and moaned against his mouth as the throbbing between her legs began to increase with his manipulations. He shifted, moving down to engulf one of her nipples, sucking as much as he could into his mouth and working it with his tongue. Writhing, she laced her fingers into his hair, encouraging him to remain there.

In response, he suddenly slipped his middle finger up inside her and pumped it in and out of her hot passage. Her breath sucked in with a gasp as her back arched, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from uttering the cry of pleasure that wanted to burst free. Still, the ecstacy she was experiencing translated itself through their mindbond and flowed through Spock like a wave of fire. He had to pause for a few seconds until her orgasm passed, lest he follow her too soon.

When her peak had calmed once more, he pulled his hand free of its wonderful ministrations and once more raised himself to face her, reclaiming her mouth. Wriggling a bit, she slid one hand down his stomach and to the side of his loin cloth, pulling it open a bit. Reaching beneath the leather strip, she felt the crisp hair of his groin and then her fingers closed around the shaft of his erection, firm and full in her grasp. She drew it clear of the loin cloth and felt Spock's pulse of excitement as she exposed him.

As their tongues fenced, she began to stroke him, sliding her fist up the satiny length to the ridges just underneath the head, then back down again. She did this a dozen times, reveling in the way he hardened even more with each stroke. Then she changed her tactics and moved her fingertips to gently massage the soft, moist tip. She felt slick wetness appear there and used it to lubricate her movements, sliding the flats of her fingers around and around the most sensitive part of his anatomy.

With an almost pained gasp, he abruptly reached down and caught her wrist. "No," he whispered, barely audible. "You will make me ejaculate. Not yet. Not until I am inside you."

He used the break in their foreplay to rid himself of his remaining clothing, then rolled back to her, pulling her against him, their full lengths now coming together, hot dry Vulcan skin pressed against warm, moist human skin. It was enough to ensure that neither wanted to wait any longer.

He pressed her back and moved atop her, between her eagerly spread legs, and dipped his hips to hers, feeling his hard heat engage into its proper place at her beckoning portal. He pushed gently but firmly and was suddenly within her, her body like a heated glove gripping and caressing the entire length of his erection. He held still for a few seconds, the sensation of entry bouncing back and forth between them, each feeling what the other felt, the solidity and intense heat of the one, the moisture and grip of the other.

Then he began to move, intensifying that feeling, stimulating them both until it became nearly unbearable. He buried his face against her shoulder and stepped up his pace, while she opened even farther beneath him, welcoming him, encouraging him, her hands going down to clasp his tense buttocks.

Then she both felt and heard him moan into her hair and the next instant he was gripping her tightly, his erection throbbing over and over as he came deep inside her. She was already there, thrusting her pelvis hard against his, wanting him deeper, harder, hotter within her as she pulsated in tune with his primal rhythm.

Finally, an eternity later, she felt him relax and she went limp as well, holding him close to her, not even noticing his weight atop her. She loved feeling him sated and tender in her arms, sleepy and gentle after lovemaking. It was when his defenses were most dissolved, his walls down, and she knew the vulnerable, caring man she loved so well.

He hefted himself up and rolled off her onto his back, his naked body picked out with bronze highlights in the fire's waning glow. The hair on his body glistened faintly with her sweat and his still slightly erect penis shone with the wetness of their combined orgasms. He was so beautiful that it nearly took her breath away, and she raised herself on one elbow simply to look at him.

Her admiration and adoration radiated out through their bond and he opened his dark eyes to look up at her, his expression soft and unguarded. He reached for her again and she came into his arms, lowering her lips to meet his in a long, lingering kiss. But he was yet too spent to begin another session of lovemaking so soon, and finally simply pulled her down so that her head rested on his shoulder and he held her close with one arm.

She let her hand rest in the hollow of his chest, where his heart would be if he were human, and softly played her fingertips through the dark, wiry hair there. She lay just listening to him breathe, riding the gentle rise and fall of his chest underneath her, and moved her hand down to the base of his rib cage where she could feel his heart beating. It tripped along at twice the speed of a human heart, something that would have alarmed her had she not been familiar with Vulcan physiology. But she knew that he lay relaxed and drowsy, his efficient body doing its job with no fuss or unnecessary expense.

He brought his hand up to stroke her hair and spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper, "There is something I need to ask you, t'hy'la."

"What?"

"I hesitate, because I do not know how you feel about this... but I feel that we ought to discuss it." He was silent for a long moment, then asked, "What are your feelings regarding another child?"

She raised up to look at him in the dark, trying to gauge his own feelings. The emotions she received through their bond were confused, guarded, and she gained nothing by studying his expression. "I don't know..." she answered finally. "What do you think we should do? What do you want?"

He swallowed. "I would like to hear your feelings first."

She looked down, not sure how she should answer then decided that she must be honest with him, for he would detect any deceit through the corridor of their bond. Bringing her gaze back up to him, she answered, "I'm of mixed emotions, Spock. If we were living under normal circumstances, I would say that I want your children more than anything under the sun. Sapel is the most precious thing in my life. I was upset when I became pregnant the second time, but then I wanted that baby so much, too." Her eyes glistened in the firelight. "I'll always wonder what he would have been like, what sort of person he would have grown up to be." She gulped and he reached to caress her face with one hand.

Gaining control of herself, she looked back at him. "I love you, Spock, and I can't think of anything I would rather do than make babies with you ... but ... I'm afraid!" Her eyes did fill then and they spilled over despite her attempt to stop them. She hastily wiped them away. "I'm sorry. I'm just so afraid of being pregnant and giving birth here in this wilderness, with no help if we need it. I'm afraid of dying in childbirth. I'm afraid of losing another baby like we did. I'm afraid of having children and trying to keep them alive and finding enough food. I'm afraid of what would happen if you died and I were left to take care of myself and little children. Or if I were pregnant and having to cope..."

He pulled her back down into his arms and held her close, allowing her to acknowledge and express her justifiable fears. When she had quieted, he continued to hold her and said softly, "I did not mean for you to think that I was pressing you for another child, t'hy'la. On the contrary, I agree with everything you have said. Sapel's birth was the result of my pon farr and the other child completely a miscalculation on both our parts. I too grieve at his loss but I concur that it is quite difficult enough to provide for the three of us. I hope I would not be so selfish as to insist that you undergo such an ordeal again and again simply to prove my virility."

She smiled and sniffed back her tears. "You don't have to get me pregnant to prove that! You sure wouldn't get any arguments from me that you are a full-fledged, healthy, completely functional man!" She laughed quietly then sobered a bit. "But if it should happen again..."

"Then we will greet and accept our child with open arms, as we would have done with Soren."

"Soren?" She lifted her head to look at him. "Why are you calling him that?"

Spock let his gaze fall and his expression became introspective. "I do not know. I simply know that this is who he would have been. Perhaps the Ancestors have told me this. In any case, I have grown accustomed to thinking of him by that name."

Christine nodded and laid her head back on Spock's chest. "Okay. It seems right to me, too. He was a person ... or would have been. He deserves a name." She was silent and then whispered, "Soren..." and Spock felt a hot tear drip from her cheek onto his skin.

He continued quietly, "There is something else you must consider, Christine. It will not be many years ... perhaps two or three ... until I will undergo pon farr again. You are almost certain to become pregnant again when I do, as you did with Sapel."

"Then I'll expect it and be ready for it," she answered. "Meanwhile ... I think we should continue to practice as much birth control as we can, watching my cycle every month, but if I should get pregnant again ... then I'll be glad about it and I will love it all the more because it's your child I'm carrying, my darling."

He touched his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face toward him and kissed her with all that he felt for her flowing through his lips and their bond. Her arms slipped around him as she returned it, and in the midst of the kiss, their bodies stirred in hunger for one another yet again, and all their thoughts turned to the means of sating that desire.

* * *

Christine had been uneasy all day, needing to be doing something, but distracted with watching for Spock and Sapel's return. That something was wrong, she was certain. Exactly what, she didn't know. She had felt a sharp, bright stab of pain through their bond and then Spock had blocked her, shutting her out of his mind. She could only feel a vague sense of pain and frustration from him, but other than that, she had no idea what had happened.

Spock had gone to hunt at dawn and had decided to take Sapel with him. The boy was old enough to learn how and Spock did not plan anything long and strenuous for this day's hunt. The marsh was full of wintering water fowl, fat and lazy, spending their time squabbling among themselves and feeding on the roots and underwater shoots of plants that grew thick around the estuary to the east. It should be fairly easy to snare a brace of fowl and it would be a good first hunt for Sapel.

Christine had seen them off in the early morning fog. It rolled in daily from the sea, where warm ocean current met cold dry air and offshore breezes pushed the resulting condensation up onto the land and into the trees. It made her think of San Francisco and sometimes she could half-close her eyes and peer through the tall trees toward the sea and almost make out a big red bridge spanning the straits. Those times made her especially wistful and sent a particularly strong pulse of sadness through her heart, for she knew now, after four years, that this would likely be her home for the rest of her life.

The fog had burned off by noon and she had continued the work she was doing, still keeping an eye out for her husband and son. She was hard at work on a chair leg, smoothing and sanding it into shape. Not long after their home was finished, she had decided that the cabin needed furniture. It was one thing to sit on a dirt floor when one lived in a cave. It didn't seem appropriate when one lived in a house. Spock had agreed and turned his agile mind to that pursuit.

Thus, as the winter had worn monotonously on, they had divided their time between beginning to teach Sapel his letters, both English and Vulcan, and learning to make simple furniture. The first item in their house had been a table, a wide rock slab settled into low stone blocks. It had been a fortuitous find. They had been searching for something that would serve as a slate and for limestone that could be used as chalk.

They found both high in the hills that marched back to the west of their camp ... and they also found this slab of limestone, big enough and flat enough that it would make an ideal tabletop. The problem of getting it to their cabin without breaking it took them nearly two weeks, but it was finally installed before the fireplace and became the focal point of the room. They still sat cross-legged on the packed sand floor with hides spread like rugs, but now they used the table for nearly everything, from eating to Sapel's school desk to food preparation to tool making. But, even though the large rendered oil lamp that sat in its center spread its golden light to nearly every corner, the windowless cabin was still very dark and they did much of their work outdoors.

The acquisition of their table, however, made Christine think about other furnishings and she decided that what she really missed was a chair to sit in. It didn't have to be fancy, but the thought of something that most of the residents of the galaxy took for granted made her decidedly nostalgic for their lost way of life.

A couple of days later she had found Spock sitting on a tree stump, studying an assortment of branches and cut saplings, matching and analyzing the sturdiness of various candidates. "What are you doing?" she asked him, puzzled.

"Building you a chair," he responded and glanced up at her with the good-natured twinkle in his dark eyes that she had grown to know so well.

They had launched into the project together and she had become adept at whittling, carving, and sanding down the rough wood into pieces that would eventually be put together. Their first attempt wasn't very good and they tore it apart to start over. The next was better but still not what they wanted. The third however, proved the charm, and now sitting beside the hearth was a very serviceable slat-back chair with a carved wooden seat and pegged rungs adding strength to the legs.

Most days, Christine moved it outside and sat on her "porch", doing her work. Currently, she was making a chair for Spock and planned one for Sapel after that. It was slow going, for each section had to be hand-crafted, but it made her feel good to see it develop slowly.

Today, however, she was distracted and worried, for it was late afternoon and the hunters had still not come. She was torn between going in search of them or waiting for their return. If Spock was in real need of help, he would not have blocked their mindbond but would have called to her. Since he had chosen to do so, she reasoned that he meant for her to stay put. Her hands trembling a little as she smoothed the wood she was working with a whetstone, she made herself wait.

"Mama! Mama!"

Christine vaulted to her feet, dropping her work, as Sapel came pounding up the trail from the hot springs, his hair disheveled and his face flushed. She ran to meet him.

"Mama! Come quick! Papa's hurt!" the boy shouted as he leaped into her arms. She didn't wait to find out the details, but set Sapel quickly back onto his feet and hurried down the path, her son hard on her heels.

She was nearly out of breath when she burst into the clearing and found Spock sitting on the edge of the warm pool, his right foot immersed to the shin in the hot water.

"Spock! What's wrong?! What happened?!"

He looked up at her, his brows bunched together and his face hard with pain and anger. "I suffered a foolish accident," he answered in a stony voice. "I slipped and injured my ankle."

"Let me see," she ordered him, the nurse in her taking charge.

Spock drew his bare foot from the water, his breeches shoved up to the knee, and Christine bent to examine it. His ankle and foot were grossly swollen, already black and muddy green, and looked to get worse before it got better. Gingerly, she felt and prodded and turned his foot a little one way and then the other. Spock sucked in his breath and clenched his teeth, but otherwise did not move.

At last, Christine sat back on her heels. "I don't believe it's broken, although there might be a hairline fracture. I think it's just badly sprained. When did this happen?"

"Earlier this morning. We were coming back from the marsh and my foot slipped off a rock in the streambed." He looked disgruntled. "Had I been paying attention, this never would have happened."

"You blocked me, didn't you?" she asked accusingly. "Why?"

"There was no reason to alarm you," he responded.

"Did it ever occur to you that blocking me alarmed me more than this would?" She locked her clear blue eyes onto his deep brown ones and held them there.

He had the grace to fidget a bit. "I did not wish you to worry," he repeated lamely.

"Well, I did. So, don't do it again. Here, you sit and soak your foot in that hot water while I go back up to the cabin. I'm going to need to wrap that and I have a piece of leather I can cut into a bandage." She stood up and started back up the trail, muttering, "You pea brain! It's your head you ought to be soaking! Blocking me..."

When she had disappeared into the trees, Sapel turned to his father and asked, "Why's Mama so mad?"

"Illogical as it may sound, cha'i, she is not angry. Not totally, in any case. She is actually quite happy and relieved."

Sapel looked back in the direction his mother had taken and then returned to peering at his father. "Huh?"

Spock sighed. "Your mother is human, Sapel, and a woman. I am afraid that you will never find either one of those two categories to possess an abundance of logic. In my experience, it is best to simply bide our time and allow her to regain her usual good humor in her own good time."

"We better not tell her what else we found, huh?"

"Not at present," Spock answered. "She is frightened at the moment because of my injury and her worries and this might only serve to compound her fears. We will tell her later, when she is better able to assimilate it."

"Okay, Papa," the boy replied.

"Meanwhile, why don't you begin to pluck those waterbirds we brought back. And use my cloak to catch the feathers. I believe your mother might enjoy a feather-filled pillow if we can get enough of them."

* * *

With Spock laid up and unable to hunt, Christine took up those duties, leaving the household chores, furniture making and school teaching in Spock's hands. They had been able to salvage enough feathers and down to make a small pillow but it was used as a cushion for his swollen and painful ankle. She didn't mind. The number of wintering birds was enormous and figured prominently in their meals now. The birds were feeding ravenously in order to gain energy for their return flight north in the spring and were easy prey. She was a little awkward at first and not the archer Spock had become, but Christine had soon mastered the bow with enough adeptness to bring home a catch whenever she went to hunt. Sapel sometimes went with her.

When Spock was better and could get around with the crutch he had fashioned, he began to go down to the beach and collect shellfish at low tide, but he always did this while Christine and Sapel were away. But whenever she suggested a repeat of their clam bake, he balked, saying he was too tired or did not feel up to making the journey down the hill again. It puzzled Christine, but she shrugged it off as an eccentricity brought on by his injury and being curtailed from his usual wide roaming trips to hunt.

It was late winter, almost spring, here in the south and the days were growing warm again. New leaves began to appear on the deciduous trees in the forest and fresh mint-green needles pushed through the older, darker ones on the pines. Deep in the woods, bright white and red candy-striped flowers shoved their way up through the leaf litter, the first blooms of the new year. Everywhere was the almost-there freshness of the raw beginnings of the new season.

The water fowl on the eastern marsh began to thin out and after a week or so, they were all gone, returning north to their breeding grounds. But in their place, on the cliffs far down the beach to the west, other birds began to appear. These were coming in over the southern ocean to their own nesting grounds on the cliffs and were noisy, raucous birds akin to gulls and skuas. Christine didn't mind, though, because something told her that fresh eggs would soon be available if she could scale those cliff faces.

It was about four weeks since Spock had hurt his ankle and he was beginning to get around on it quite well now, though he still kept his crutch handy, for the injured joint tended to tire and fail at inopportune moments. On this morning, Christine was thinking about those eggs and was determined to make a reconnaissance trip to the cliffs.

"Christine, it is too early for the sea birds to be laying," Spock stated, standing by the door, supported by his crutch.

"I just want to check," she insisted, getting her gear together. "There might be some early breeders."

"I do not think it is a wise idea to go there," he insisted.

"I'm just going to look. I'll be back by lunchtime." She settled the strap of a carry bag over her head and seated it onto her shoulder.

"Christine, do not go there," he said rather forcefully. "It is too dangerous."

Caught by the urgency and command in his voice, she looked up at him and locked gazes, trying to puzzle out what the problem was. "What do you think is dangerous, Spock? Climbing the rocks?"

"Yes," he answered, apparent relief in his manner that she'd answered her own question.

"It's not that steep or high," she pressed, still evaluating him. "I won't go very high."

"You could be hurt, nevertheless." The subtle urgency was back in this voice and she paused to study his face.

"What are you afraid of, Spock?" she demanded softly, her eyes still locked on his.

His jawline tightened but he didn't answer. Christine's eyes narrowed and suddenly she had the same look on her face that had so often appeared on James Kirk's when Spock was trying to keep him from doing something. It had the opposite effect on him, though, pushing him into performing exactly the action that Spock was attempting to prevent and now Christine stepped forward, her blue eyes filled with suspicion.

"I think we should go see what you're afraid of," she murmured and started to step through the doorway.

Spock put out a hand and stopped her. "I do not want you or Sapel to go to the beach area," he said, his voice rough. "I do not believe it is safe there."

"We've been to the beach lots of times, Spock," she argued. "We've never had any trouble. What are you talking about?"

He was silent for a moment then responded, "The day I was hurt, Sapel and I found something on the beach on the other side of the marsh that alarmed me. There were a number of dolphin-like animals dead on the sand, as if they had grounded themselves."

"Well?" she answered. "Whales and dolphins have been known to beach themselves for a lot of reasons. A storm at sea ... an echo location mistake ... lots of things."

His eyes were grave, his dark brows bunched together in a frown. "These had the look of being driven onto the beach. Herded there where they were helpless. Many of them were partially eaten."

Her heart was beginning to beat faster, but she attempted to minimize her growing fears. "Oh, surely you're mistaken, Spock. The crabs must've just gotten to them. Or maybe they were killed in the ocean and just washed up."

"Christine, there were tracks in the sand all around them," he stated emphatically, his gaze boring into her. "Something huge had come out of the water onto the beach and eaten them. I was attempting to get Sapel back to safety when I slipped and sprained my ankle. It's why I do not want you or he to go to the beach again."

She stood staring at him, her blue eyes uncertain. The image of the thing she'd seen that night far out to sea, the thing she thought was a whale, popped into her mind. "Why in God's name didn't you tell me this before?" she whispered.

He looked down, uncomfortable. "Because I was afraid that you would demand that we leave here at once--"

"You're damn right I would have!"

"--and I do not wish to leave! Not after all the work we have put in here."

"But if there's some sort of huge predator here--"

"There are predators everywhere!" he interrupted her hotly. "No matter where we go, there will be predators!"

She glared wild-eyed at him, her face flushed with anger. Finally, she said, "Spock, this is just about the most ludicrous conversation I've ever had with you! Will you make sense?!"

He turned away, hobbling toward the fire, his back stiff. After he had plopped down in their one chair, he refused to look at her, staring instead into the hearth. She came over to stand beside him, demanding his attention, fists propped on her hips.

"I don't know what I mean," he answered finally, sighing deeply in disgust. "I have been at war with myself ever since that day, attempting to protect you and Sapel from harm but unable to do so because of this ankle. And my immediate instinct was to move us all to safety, but then I realized there is no safety here on this planet. No matter where we go, there is danger."

Her stance and her expression softened a bit. "Yes. There is. Why do you think Tal left us here? Because he thought we'd both be eaten by a bear within a week! But we haven't been. We've made it through four years and we're doing just fine. Good God, Spock, I know there are things out there that will kill us at the drop of a hat. I'm not an idiot! You shouldn't have kept this from me. I might have gone down to the beach anyway and gotten eaten because I didn't know any better!"

"I know," he said in a shamed voice, barely audible. "I'm sorry, Christine. You are not an idiot. I am."

She slipped her hand along his shoulders and gently massaged him. "Yes, you are an idiot, my darling. A sweet, caring, brave, and very normal idiot. You made a bad decision. Okay, it's rectified. We'll know to watch out for sea monsters now."

He sighed softly again, still refusing to look at her. "I wonder sometimes how you live with me."

That brought a broad grin to her face. "Well, frankly, my dear, I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter!" He looked up sharply at that and she laughed and hugged him. "Don't worry about it. And I still intend to go egg hunting. Why don't you come and stand guard? Just in case the Loch Ness Monster decides to invite us over for lunch?!"

* * *

Christine slapped at the tiny insect that had settled on her bare arm and muttered, "Darn these mosquitos! They're eating me alive!" Then she went back to massaging Spock's shoulder blades. On the other side of the hot pool, Sapel was chin deep in the water and would periodically submerge completely, staying under water until he couldn't hold his breath any longer, then he would surface enough to breathe before repeating his performance.

He looked ready to duck under again. "Sapel, what in the name of peace are you doing?" his mother asked, irritated.

"The bugs are biting me, Mama," he explained.

"The bugs are biting me, too," she muttered, slapping as another landed on her forearm. "But not your father."

Spock was waist deep in the hot water, soaking his ankle as he did most every evening. "They are biting me as well," he interjected, waving away a humming insect. "I do not believe they have a marked preference for blood color."

Christine was sitting behind him on the bank, his back resting between her spread legs, and she was working a stubborn knot out of his right shoulder. He had insisted on bringing in some seasoned wood for their furniture project that morning, but his still sore ankle had thrown him off balance and he'd strained a muscle.

Sapel went under again to escape the buzzing insects. Christine saw a mosquito land on Spock's back and gave it a sharp whack before she thought about what she was doing.

"Ow!" Spock jerked away, caught by surprise.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry!"

He shrugged out from under her hands. "I believe that is enough massage," he said, flexing his shoulder. "Thank you."

Sapel came up once more, his shaggy black hair plastered like a shining cap over his face. He shoved it out of his eyes and said piteously, "Can we go home? I don't like it here!"

"A meritorious suggestion!" Spock answered and stood up, reaching for his wrap. He wore an old loincloth and Christine was dressed in one of her leather dresses. They had decided that decorum was better served if they did not go naked when Sapel was with them at the pool, although the little boy swam and bathed unclothed. Christine hadn't gone in tonight, but only soaked her bare feet in the water as she worked on the knot in her husband's shoulder blade.

As the family scrambled back up the trail to their cabin, the swarms of flying insects seemed to descend on them en masse, having appeared in colossal numbers over the past week or so. The steam from the hot spring kept them somewhat at bay, but in the open they zeroed in on Spock, Christine and Sapel by the dozens.

All three of them were covered with swollen, itchy bumps and Christine had devised a rather smelly ointment from pine resin, which not only served as a balm but an insect repellant. The only problem was that it was almost as repugnant to them as to the mosquitos. Now, as they hurried indoors, the first thing Spock did was snatch up a pine knot and shove one end of it into the fire in the hearth. It blazed up quickly, then after a few seconds, he blew out the flame, leaving a smoldering, smoking ember. This he placed in a stone dish on the table and let the acrid smoke waft throughout the cabin. It smelled terrible, but at least it drove the mosquitos out.

That done, they got ready for bed. Christine dried off Sapel and smeared some ointment onto his insect bites to take the sting away, then got him tucked into his sleeping furs. As she bent to kiss his forehead, he asked again, "Mama? Can we go home? I don't like it here!"

"We are home, baby," she answered softly, but she understood all too well what he was asking.

"No, our other home," he responded.

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "I'll talk to Papa about it. You go to sleep now." She kissed him again and gave his covers a final pat, then she got up and went back to where Spock was sitting cross-legged on a hide spread by their table. He had changed into a dry loin cloth and his face was pensive in the glow of the firelight.

Christine settled beside him. "You heard him?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes. I am beginning to have much the same thoughts," he responded in a murmur. "I did not anticipate that spring might bring an explosion of the insect population here. I should have, though. With the marsh, it is understandable that water breeding insects would find an ideal habitat here."

"It's what brings all the birds in, too. The whole food cycle is in full swing here," Christine answered soberly. "Fish feed on the mosquito larvae, birds feed on the adult mosquitos and fish, adult mosquitos feed on the blood of the birds. That's ultra simple, but it makes sense." She sighed. "Who knows what else the summer will bring? I have this horrible, crawly feeling that we're only seeing the tip of the proverbial iceberg, as far as insects go. I'm not sure I want to spend all summer like that."

Spock sighed. "Nor do I. In addition, the heat and humidity are growing daily. While I welcome the rise in temperature, the humidity is becoming increasingly bothersome to me. In the Valley, it is a drier heat and I am much more comfortable."

"Then let's get out of here," she pressed him. "This place is superb in the winter, but it's obviously not an ideal summer home. We can always come back in the fall when the herds move. We've got the cabin built now and we won't have to spend the whole winter breaking our backs like we did this year."

"Noted," he answered, staring into the fire. "Let's begin to get our things together and we can leave in a few days, providing the weather holds."

"What about your ankle?" she asked. "Are you sure you're up to walking that far on it?"

He shifted and brought his knee up so that his foot was flat on the floor. "I believe it is sufficiently healed," he answered, flexing his ankle a bit. "It still bothers me somewhat, but the healing process may take longer to fully complete than I am willing to allow. We shall travel at an easy pace."

"I'll bind it for you, too," she replied, her fingers manipulating the joint. "That will give you more support."

She found herself caressing his leg and foot, then looked up to find him peering into her face, his dark eyes deep and fathomless. "Right now, I suggest we go to bed, wife," he whispered. "We both need our rest for the journey."

She found herself grinning broadly at that remark. "Are you sure rest is uppermost on your mind right now?"

He shrugged slightly, a little smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Eventually. Meanwhile, this is a superb stress reliever."

He rose and pulled her to her feet, then led her across the room to their bed of soft furs.

* * *

They awoke the next morning to a faint cacophony filtering up from the beach. It sounded like a crowd of people jabbering and yelling at the top of the voices, punctuated frequently by sharp cries.

"What in creation is that?!" Christine muttered.

"I do not know," Spock answered, as puzzled as she.

The racket woke Sapel, too, and he came sleepily to his parents' bed, rubbing his eyes. "Mama, somethin's makin' noise," he mumbled.

"I know, baby," she replied, cuddling him to her.

Spock rose and donned his breeches and loin-cloth, then caught up his spear and went to the door of the cabin, opening it cautiously. Doing so intensified the level of the disturbance. After listening for a moment, he said, "It seems to be coming from the beach. Stay here. I'm going to investigate."

He slipped out into the first, faint light of dawn, moving silently. As Christine waited tensely for his return, she drew her leather dress back on and pulled Sapel into her lap, rocking him against her breast.

Spock was back within a few minutes, a curious expression on his face. "Come and see this," he said.

Christine rose and set Sapel on his feet, then they followed Spock outside. Moving quietly down through the trees toward the beach, the three people approached the area where the noise had risen to a nearly deafening level. Now they could also detect a strong odor that was prevalent even above the tangy bite of the sea and the crisp scent of the pine forest.

Coming to the edge of the sand, Spock nodded in the direction of the cliffs and Christine gaped in amazement. Covering the beach were hundreds of animals, sleek and dark brown, the newly risen sun gleaming redly on their fur. Their feet were broad and paddle-like, and the larger ones, undoubtedly the males, sported wicked looking tusks. The noise was the combined voices of the colony -- bulls, cows and calves -- bleating and roaring, squealing and rumbling as they shuffled for position on the sand, crowding together and clambering over one another.

The tide was in and about half of the beach area was underwater, forcing the animals to crowd even closer. Now and then, individuals would waddle into the surf and dive forward to catch an outgoing wave, disappearing into the foam.

"They look like seals!" Christine exclaimed. "I had no idea there were animals like that here!"

"They must be migrating into the area," Spock answered. "I do not believe they have been anywhere in the area during the winter. Otherwise, we would have seen some sign of them before this."

"Wanna see, Papa!" Sapel cried, absolutely enthralled.

"All right. Come with me," Spock responded and took his son's hand, leading him farther down the beach.

"Don't get too close," Christine warned, following along a bit slower.

The beach narrowed to about thirty feet wide and a rocky intrusion forced Spock to move closer to the water. He avoided the waves reaching up onto the sand, for the water was still quite cold and he was barefoot. Sapel, however, pulled away and scampered ahead, laughing as the water rushed up to engulf his feet and ankles, then retreated back down the sand.

"Sapel, that's close enough," Spock warned. The boy stopped, still within reach of the surf.

The seal colony paid little attention to the people, although a massive old bull, swathed in sheets of fat, kept a wary eye on them. The seals all seemed to have their attention more or less centered on the sea. Not many of them were entering the water now, although a half dozen well-grown calves still rode the waves, barking as they did so.

Without warning, the sea just off-shore exploded into a geyser of blood and gore and a young seal shot straight up out of the water, emitting a shriek of pure terror. In an eyeblink, it was followed by an elongated head on a long, slick neck, a slash of crimson and white evincing a mouth full of teeth. An instant later, the seal was seized by powerful jaws and jerked back underwater with a splash.

Simultaneously the seal colony erupted into an ear-splitting pandemonium and all of them stampeded farther up the beach, trampling one another in the process. Those nearest the water screeched the loudest and most frantically, for more heads and necks appeared, followed by thick, curved bodies, riding the incoming waves up onto the beach itself and snatching meals with ferocious efficiency.

Sapel screamed, too, out of surprise and fright, and turned to run back to his father.

He wasn't fast enough. The unnatural hump of water rushing onto the beach sand gave Spock a bare instant to react as the thing broke the surface tension and the gaping mouth lunged at the fleeing child. With a roar of terror and denial, Spock darted forward and brought his heavy hunting spear down with a two-handed crash on the beast's head, knocking the creature's snapping jaws off-target by a hair's-breadth. Blood spurted from Sapel's right heel as the teeth secured a scant purchase on the child's foot and the boy went sprawling onto the sand with a scream.

Christine was already running full tilt toward the battle and she reached Sapel and snatched him away just as the sea creature bellowed and jerked its head and long neck back, then whirled like a monstrous snake and bore down on the man before it.

Spock stabbed at it and caught it in the throat with the spear point, splitting the softer skin underneath its jaw. The beast roared again and once more pulled back, but this time it was dragging its entire body out of the water. The torso was thick and sleek, a humped black mound of muscle with four flippers and a short, stiff tail. Enraged, the creature lunged at Spock again, and he countered with another stab of the spear point.

"Christine, run!!" he shouted over his shoulder, not daring to risk a glance. "Run!!"

She was already nearly to the tree line, Sapel clutched desperately to her body. She turned back in horror as the monstrous animal struck again and Spock once more met the strike with strong parry.

This time, his thrust met the gaping mouth dead on and the spear lodged deep in the animal's throat. With a hair-raising screech, the beast hurtled backwards, yanking the spear out of Spock's hands, and began to shake its head madly in an effort to dislodge the thing caught in its throat.

Spock didn't waste time but saw his chance to escape. He turned and fled up the beach, the soft sand hampering his dash to safety. Christine reached out to him and caught his outstretched hand, giving him an extra impetus and the family ducked into the safety of the forest.

They didn't stop until they were back at their cabin and below them, down on the beach, they could hear the carnage continuing. Sapel was crying hysterically, both out of hurt and fright, and Christine dropped to the ground with him still clinging to her in terror.

"It's okay, sweetie," she soothed, although her heart was pounding hard enough to burst. "It's okay. Let Mama see your foot." Sapel's cries rose in pitch but she continued, "It's okay. Mama won't hurt her baby. Let me see it."

Spock knelt down beside them, still breathing hard, and managed to get his little son's injured foot in a position so that it could be examined. There were several long, deep grooves along the sides, with the skin neatly peeled away, and a little chunk of flesh gone from the ball of his heel. It was bleeding profusely but didn't look too serious to Christine's eye.

The professional in her took charge, damping down her panic and urge to hide. "Spock, go down to the spring and get me a bucket of hot water so I can clean this. I've got to see what I have that I can put on it, then I'll bandage it."

He started to rise but she caught his arm and her fierce gaze caught and bored into his with an intensity he seldom saw there. "And then we're leaving here. Today!"

"Understood, wife," he answered, for this had been the last straw. "I will be back in a few minutes."

He snatched up a stone bowl and loped off down the trail toward the hot spring, already thinking ahead to what he must do to get them packed and away from this place.

* * *

With a squelch, Spock's left foot came free of the sucking mud. As soon as he put it down ahead of him, it sank once more up to the ankle and he had to repeat the process all over again with his right one. Behind him, Christine was undergoing the same ordeal, only she was burdened by Sapel clinging to her neck. Spock's load was heavier, for he was packing the bulk of their supplies, but Christine had been carrying their son ever since they had left the cabin.

Sapel's foot was swollen and infected and the boy was too sick to walk on his own. He was strapped to his mother's back, covered by a water resistant hide in an attempt to keep the rain off him, but it was to little avail. All three of them were soaked. He had cried and whimpered for most of the way, each arduous step jolting his foot painfully. Now, however, he merely clung weakly, his head resting on Christine's shoulder. She could feel the heat radiating from his cheek against her neck and knew that he was racked with fever, but there was nothing she could do except keep going and hope they reached a place soon where they could shelter.

They had been on the journey home for a week now and it had been raining for half that way. They were no more than 25 miles north of the sea and each mile they progressed seemed to get harder. The flood plain on either side of the river had turned into an ocean of mud and they had no hope of drier land until they reached the craggy hills directly before them. Christine blinked the rain out of her eyes and tried to estimate the distance. The hills only seemed to be a couple of miles away, but they never seemed to get any closer.

She put her head back down and kept pulling her sodden feet out of the mud, moving a step forward, and feeling them sink back into the mire. The afternoon light was wan and gray, alternately darkening and lightening a bit as the rain clouds thickened or dissipated, but the sun never shown through completely and there always seemed to be yet another downpour that opened upon the three weary travelers.

She had ceased to feel much except the necessity of taking another step ahead. There was a rumble of thunder and the rain pounded down in a heavy, dark sheet. On her back, Sapel stirred and whimpered again, the downpour adding a fresh little stab of misery and chill to the sick child. Christine would have cried with him if she'd had the energy, but it took all her concentration to keep going.

Gradually it dawned on her that she was making her way up a slight incline. Lifting her face, she could just make out Spock's figure ahead of her but, more than that, she saw that they were finally entering the hills and trees. As they climbed, the way became steeper and rockier. The mud gave way to exposed stone in many areas, but this did not ensure easier traveling. The wet pine litter under foot was slippery and treacherous and Christine narrowly avoided falling several times.

Her luck ran out at last and she went down on her left knee hard, making her cry out in pain. Ahead, Spock turned back around and made his way to her, awkwardly stooping to reach a hand to her in aid. He was overburdened by the large pack he carried and could only offer himself as an anchor as she got back to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her, rain dripping from the end of his nose and running in little rivulets from the corners of his moustache and tip of his beard.

"I'm okay ... I think." She flexed her knee. "That's going to be painful later, though." She let her gaze turn to the trees that disappeared away into the downpour. "Do you think there's anyplace at all we might shelter?"

He turned back to the way they had been heading. "I don't know. Surely there is someplace here in these rocks. We will keep alert for a cave or overhang. Come."

He started onward once more and she followed, ignoring her throbbing knee and trying to see through the rain.

Sapel stirred once more, moving restlessly on her back. "I'm cold, Mama," he said in a weak voice near her ear.

"I know you are, sweet baby," she answered, feeling her heart twist that she could give him no comfort. She reached back to touch his head, covered by the heavy wet hide. "We'll try to find someplace soon to spend the night."

It was all she could offer him and she looked up the trail to find that Spock had paused and was waiting for her to catch up. She struggled up the incline until she reached him and they both trudged on into the rain.

* * *

It wasn't much when they found it, hardly more than a deep crack in the limestone, cold and damp with a sloping floor that channeled the water away from a shelf a little higher up. Dirt had blown into the crack and it still lay thick on the shelf, miraculously dry in its protected niche. But it was out of the rain and they did not complain of the small comfort it bestowed.

There were dried leaves heaped against one wall and some sort of weed, long dead and like paper to the touch. It gave Spock an idea and he dumped his pack, going back out into the drizzle before Christine could question him. She was more concerned about Sapel, who listlessly climbed off her back, then immediately curled into a shivering ball on the dirt floor. Having nothing else, she covered him with one of the sleeping furs, which was itself wet and musty smelling, but drier than anything else they had.

Spock reappeared with an armload of hurriedly gathered kindling, mostly sticks and deadwood that he had picked up nearby. "It is wet, but it will have to suffice," he sighed, dropping the branches on one end of the shelf. Shrugging off his wet parka, he retrieved a mound of the leaves and piled them in a heap around the kindling.

Then he retrieved a curious looking device from his pack ... their sparker. When the Romulans had marooned them on Terra Two, they had left them with bare survival gear, including a firestarter, a little device that held a small amount of flammable liquid that was fed into a tiny pan. A simple trigger generated a spark that ignited the fuel, making a tiny flame sufficient to start a fire.

The fuel bin was long since empty, but Spock had discovered early on that the sparker was nothing more than an elementary friction device that would work with or without an inbuilt combustible. Held close to kindling such as dried leaves or grass, the spark was sufficient to ignite a minuscule flame. Carefully fed, that flame would grow quickly into a proper fire and it was upon this that Spock was now pinning his hopes.

Bending over the pile of leaves, he struck the flint and saw a spark leap out. The leaves didn't catch and he did it again. And again. And yet again before a faint curl of smoke rose from the leaf debris. Quickly he sheltered the ember with his hands and bent to blow gently on it. It flared, sank back, then flared again as a leaf caught. More blazed up and then the entire pile caught.

Soon Spock had a small fire burning and was carefully laying the wood on it, being sure not to damp it with the wet wood. Some of the deadwood was old and rotten and dried quickly in the heat, allowing it to catch. After a while, Spock sat back with a sigh, the little blaze now well established.

"Get him near the fire," he said. "Let's get him warmed up."

Christine was already moving Sapel and in a moment she had the boy as near to the crackling fire as was safe. Underneath the fur, the child was shaking uncontrollably. "Stay with him, Spock," she said and went to dig through their supplies.

Spock bent over his son, making sure that the fur was tucked well around him, and laid his palm against Sapel's face, feeling the unnatural warmth radiating from the boy's flushed skin.

"I don't feel good, Papa," Sapel murmured.

"No," Spock answered softly, stroking the damp black hair out of Sapel's face. "I know that you do not. Rest now, cha'i."

He caressed the little boy's face again, lightly running a fingertip along the dark line of his brow, smoothing his hair over the small pointed ear. A feeling of wonder deep down twisted Spock's heart. This child ... this Vulcan child ... was his. The son he never would have imagined he would have. Spock's thoughts turned to another son that would never be, whose tiny, unformed remains lay deep beneath a willow tree to the north. And suddenly he was gripped with fear for Sapel, that this child too would slip away from him and be forever lost.

Christine came back with a bowl of water in her hands and set it close into the fire to heat. Kneeling beside her husband, she felt his distress through their bond and sent back her reassurances and love. Then she became brusque once more.

"Sapel, sweetheart, Mama's got to check your foot again."

"No! It'll hurt!" the boy cried, starting up.

Both parents pressed him back into the fur warp. "I've got to look at it," Christine said firmly but gently. "I'll be as easy as I possibly can."

She moved to uncover his right foot and unwrapped the bandages from around it while Sapel whimpered in anticipatory fear and clutched at his father's large hand for support. Christine gently manipulated the limb, not liking what she saw, but careful to keep her expression neutral. The wounds were badly infected, scabbed and inflamed, oozing pus when she gingerly touched the turgid flesh. Sapel cried out again and would have jerked his foot away if Christine hadn't had his ankle firmly in her grasp.

She gently set his foot back to rest and said, "Okay, that's all I'm going to do right now. You try to rest now, baby. We'll have some hot broth pretty soon and then we'll all feel better." She got up and moved toward the far end of the shelf, sending a terse mental command to her husband that he join her.

He lifted an eyebrow at her peremptory command, something no Vulcan wife would do, but rose and moved to where she stood with her back toward the fire. "Meld with me, Spock," she whispered, her face grave.

He immediately understood that this was a conversation she did not want Sapel to overhear and he touched his fingertips to her psi points, slipping easily into her mind through their bondlink.

What troubles thee, wife? he asked as soon as their meld was established.

I've got to do something about his foot now, Spock, or I'm afraid blood poisoning or gangrene will set in. We can't go any farther until Sapel is better.

I agree. But what can you treat him with? Your medicine stocks are very low.

I know. I've got to think of something that will draw the infection out and reduce his fever. Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic maelstrom for a moment as ideas spun through her mind, being tested and rejected in an instant. Then hope flashed into him like a ray of sun breaking through clouds. Spock ... when I was hurt and miscarried, you helped me with a Vulcan healing trance. Can you do the same thing for Sapel?

Spock was silent, his mental images swirling in a frantic fog for a few seconds as he evaluated the notion. It would be a bit harder with Sapel because I am not mind-bonded to him as I am to you. On the other hand, his mind is still fluid and easily manipulated. He has not yet learned to shield as does an adult.

Good. Christine's thoughts whirled again but this time it was her orderly mind putting her ideas into sequence. First, I want to get this chill out of him. We'll feed him and get him warmed up. Do you mind going back out into the rain? I have things I need. Firewood. We'll need lots of firewood to keep this shelter warm. And something else ... I need clay. Not mud, but good fine clay.

?? Clay? Spock could not fathom this request.

An old, old remedy to draw out infection. Kaolin, when heated and applied as a poultice, will draw out pus, thorns, fluid...

!!

She looked up into his started eyes, feeling his clear skepticism through the meld. It works! she shot back. My great-grandmother used it on me when I was a child. She flashed a memory to him of the ancient home remedy and saw that he accepted it, even if he didn't understand it.

Very well, he responded. I will go now.

He pulled his mind back away from hers and gently disengaged the meld. She closed her eyes and swooned for a second against him, caught in the wave of vertigo she always experienced following a mind meld.

He gripped her upper arms to steady her, but she waved him off. "I'm all right. Go. Get what I need. Hurry."

"Yes, s'voqi," Spock answered in a serious voice and bent to snatch up his parka, tossing it on and striding back out into the rain.

It was only later that she realized Spock had addressed her as "doctor" and had subordinated himself completely to her authority in this crisis.

* * *

Spock knelt at the head of the fur on which Sapel lay and positioned his knees on either side of the boy's head. His brow furrowed and shaking a little with fear, Sapel looked up as his father bent over him. Spock stroked his son's hair reassuringly.

"Do not be afraid, Sapel," he said in a soft, deep voice. "You know that I would not do anything that would harm you."

"I know, Papa," the child answered but nevertheless looked worried.

"I am going to perform a Vulcan technique called kan-sorn. You saw me do this with Mama when she was hurt so badly. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Papa. You touched her face like when you read her mind."

Spock smiled. "I do not exactly 'read her mind', Sapel. Vulcans are touch telepaths and, when we touch another in a certain way, we are able to access their thoughts and they access ours so that we may talk with one another inside our minds."

"Can I do that, too?"

"I believe that you will be able to do so once day. You are primarily of Human ancestry, but your Vulcan qualities are strong and your telepathic ability is promising. When we return home, I will begin training you." Spock caressed the small dark head once more. "However, that is for another time. I am going to touch your face and come into your mind. It will feel very strange to you at first because you have never before experienced a mind meld. Do not be afraid. I will help you understand it."

"I'm not afraid, Papa."

"Very good. Now, once I have joined with your mind, I will begin the kan-sorn. This is sometimes called a healing trance. It will seem to Mama that we have both gone to sleep, but what we will be doing is concentrating so hard on getting your body to heal itself that we will not be aware of what she is doing. Then we'll wake up. Are you ready to begin?" Sapel still looked a little uncertain, but nodded.

"Very good," Spock said with a reassuring smile. Then he glanced up at Christine, who was kneeling beside Sapel's feet. "I estimate two days. You know what you must do?"

"Yes," she answered.

He nodded once in acknowledgment and then turned his full attention to the little boy. "We begin, Sapel," he said and carefully positioned his fingertips on either side of the small face. His large hands were almost too big to fit onto Sapel's psi points, but after a moment, he was ready. His voice dropping to a whisper and his mind focusing in complete concentration, he intoned, "My mind to your mind ... my thoughts to your thoughts ... we are becoming one..."

Sapel jerked in startled reflex and his eyes opened in near terror, but then he relaxed visibly and took a deep breath, then another, and then his eyes closed again and he went limp. Spock's eyes were closed, too, and his breathing softened to long shallow breaths, his fingers set immovably upon his son's face. Sapel's respiration changed to match Spock's and in a moment they were breathing in unison. The two had become one.

Christine waited until she was sure they were both deep into the kan-sorn, the Vulcan healing trance, and then she went to work. Unbandaging Sapel's foot, she opened, drained and cleaned the wounds as best she could. Then she retrieved a stone pot from near the edge of the fire that was filled with a gooey gray substance. This pot had been sitting in a bowl of near-boiling water, so that the water's heat transferred to the contents.

The clay was hot now, but not so hot that it would burn Sapel's skin. Dipping her fingers into the goo, she began to spread the moist heated substance liberally onto her son's foot. Once the infected wounds were well coated, she cleaned the sticky stuff from her fingers and quickly wrapped his foot in a leather covering, making sure that the heat and moisture stayed in. It would cool and dry slowly and, as it did so, the properties of the clay ought to draw out the deep infection.

Once done, Christine covered her son with a fur wrap to keep him warm and then she draped another one over Spock's shoulders. Both were oblivious to her actions and did not respond. Her work finished for a while, Christine sighed deeply and sat back to wait.

* * *

Sapel was lost in the fog. He didn't know how he'd gotten here or even where he was, but the swirling gray and violet mass was impenetrable. He thought he saw vague shapes in the miasma of formless mist, streaming colors that twisted and merged, but he couldn't be sure. They might have been only places where the fog thickened for a second and then moved on.

The little boy moved forward a few steps, looking frantically around, but there was nothing to see anywhere. "Papa!" he called, turning from one side to another. "Mama!" But only the dead quiet answered him, punctuated by the ceaseless dance of the suffocating wet murk.

He began to shake, feeling the chill and damp clamping around him like a living thing, and tears of fright started in his eyes. "Papa!!" he called again.

"I am here," his father's reassuring deep voice answered from nearby and then suddenly Sapel was not alone anymore. Spock stood beside him, tall, strong, and substantial, his whole aura suffused with a color like lapis.

With a sob of relief, Sapel threw his arms around his father's hips and buried his face against Spock's stomach. "I thought you'd gone, Papa," he said.

"I told you I would not leave you, cha'i," Spock answered and slipped the palm of his broad hand over Sapel's hair. The boy's mixed fear and reassurance radiated through their open mindbond.

"Where are we, Papa?" Sapel ventured a look at the vapors roiling around them.

"Deep inside your mind. These are your thoughts you see. They are chaotic and out of control because you are ill and because you have not yet learned to command them."

Somewhere deep within the muted hues an inflamed red mass became visible, pulsing, writhing. "What's that?" Sapel asked fearfully, for it appeared like a living thing.

"That is the part of your mind that is being consumed by the infection in your body. We are going to vanquish it and direct your body to heal itself."

"It's so big!"

"It will get smaller because we are going to take control of it and make it go away." Spock gently disengaged Sapel's embrace and then reached down and took his son's hand. "Come. We have much work to do. Let us begin."

Hand in hand, they walked through the fog toward the throbbing, forming crimson patch of disease.

* * *

Christine didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but she was jerked into abrupt wakefulness by a tortured choking sound and Spock's urgent cry of "Chris! Chris!"

Adrenalin surging, she vaulted to her feet, hurrying to him. He had never addressed her that way and she could only assume that he was unable to get more than monosyllables out as he struggled to consciousness.

His fingers were still firmly in meld position on Sapel's face and the boy's whole body was tensed, his expression crumpled as if in pain. Spock's was nearly identical, his eyes closed, but gasping desperately for breath.

"Chris!" he called again.

"I'm here, Spock!" she answered loudly.

"Hit me!" he commanded and again desperately tried to pull air into his lungs.

Christine hated this part but knew it was imperative. She reared back and slapped him with all her might, the power of her blow nearly knocking him over. On the return motion, she backhanded him with equal strength, slamming his face the other way.

She did this three times, her hand aching almost unbearably from the blows, until Spock abruptly grabbed her wrist and stopped her, sighing deeply. "Sufficient," he said in a normal voice. He seemed to wilt a little as the tautness left him, then quickly turned his attention Sapel, who was stirring and coughing. Spock had dragged his consciousness back up through the meld and awakened him that way.

Lightly, Spock slapped Sapel's cheek a couple of times, hardly causing more than a sting, and the boy opened his eyes and stared wildly up at his father. "How do you feel, Sapel?" Spock asked forcefully.

"I'm okay," the child answered, still bewildered. "Wha' happened?" He yawned hugely. "I'm sleepy, Papa."

"I want Mama to check your foot again and then you can go back to sleep," Spock replied and glanced up at his wife.

Christine was already unwrapping the bandage from her son's foot and reached for a bowl of water that she'd kept warm by the fire. The clay poultice cracked and flaked off as the bandage was unwound but she could already see normal, healthy skin underneath it. Carefully, she picked at the remaining clay, getting as much off as she could, then she immersed Sapel's foot in the water bowl and let the rest of the poultice dissolve as she gently washed the limb.

When she lifted Sapel's foot from the bowl, wet and dripping, both she and Spock could see that it was healed. The scars still showed red and tender, but they were covered with new skin and there was no infection or swelling.

Christine looked up and her gaze met her husband's. She didn't have to say anything because the happiness she was feeling echoed back and forth between them. He looked exhausted, but his dark eyes were shining with victory.

She quickly went back to her task at hand, drying off Sapel's foot thoroughly, and then making sure it was wrapped in a soft hide covering, something that would protect it but not irritate the still healing skin. Then she removed the bowl of dirty water and set it aside for later disposal.

Spock stroked his son's dark, tousled hair and said softly, "All right. You can go back to sleep now, Sapel. We can all rest now."

The child yawned again and shifted onto one side, pulling the furs up around him. "Okay. 'Night, Papa."

"Qas'ikhor, cha'i," Spock whispered in Vulcan, stroking the tangled black hair one more time.

Christine rose and went to him, offering her hand. He started to refuse it and rise on his own, then faltered as his knees protested being in the same position for so long. He caught her hand and she gave him a helpful little pull to his feet. There, he swayed fractionally and she slipped her arms around his middle.

"You sleep, too," she commanded softly.

He didn't argue, exhausted from the healing trance, and she guided him a few feet to where their own sleeping furs were spread. There, she helped him out of his breeches and moccasins and he gratefully stretched out and let himself go limp. She set his clothing aside and slipped in beside him.

"Was it rough?" she asked in a low voice.

"No moreso than I expected," he answered, his eyes closed tiredly. "He did well. His abilities are quite strong. I will begin training him in mind control techniques once we get back home. If we were living on Vulcan, his education would have begun already."

"He's only three," she answered, slipping her hand into his and lacing their fingers together.

"He is three here, but the longer year makes his chronological age deceptive. If we were on Vulcan or even on Earth, he would be five. It is past time to begin. He is quite developed for his age, in any case." His voice trailed off and he was silent.

"Well, worry about that later," she answered and snuggled against him. "Sleep now. You're worn out."

He didn't hear her. He'd already fallen asleep and begun to snore.

* * *

The wind that cut across the prairie's open expanses bit through Christine's leathers and furs, but she scarcely felt it. It was just the last breath of winter refusing to give up its hold on the land, but already it had lost its battle. Trees were green and carpets of spring wildflowers had spread across the plains, painting them in broad splashes of white, yellow, pink and purple.

In the south, spring was even more advanced, the wet weather causing an explosion of growth, with fruit already beginning to appear on trees and bushes as small green nodules that would swell over the summer into vari-colored sweetness. Here, near their home valley, it was later in coming, but undeniably about to burst into riotous life.

Christine was suffused with that same feeling. She couldn't explain it, but it seemed as if the urgent call of the season had swept over her in an almost palpable wave. She felt energized, full, and eager to begin anew, to leave the hardships of winter and the long journey behind them. And, when she looked up at her tall husband standing beside her, also surveying the way before him, she felt a sudden surge of excitement that caught her completely by surprise.

It must have swept through their mindbond as well, for he looked back at her and his slim brows rose inquisitively, his dark eyes locking onto her blue ones. The hum of urgency sang back and forth between them, although not a word was spoken aloud, and his voice sounded softly within her mind. Is it so, wife? It was a rhetorical question, his Vulcan phrasing clearly translating his meaning.

She felt herself blush and grinned in return. "It's been a long month, husband," she answered in an intimate voice. "A long time to go without you. I can't wait until we finally get home."

His eyes were full of promise as he reached up to trail his paired fingers down her cheek, leaving a trail of fire as he did so. "Do wait, though," he whispered, his touch inflaming her. "The reward of abstinence is its end."

"That's a pretty profound thing to say," she retorted, her eyes shining.

"It is a quote from Surak."

"Pretty sexy quote. I thought all spiritual leaders were ascetics and liked to advocate celibacy."

"Surak had a quite normal sexual life," Spock answered lightly, his gaze now full of mischief. "How do you think I got here?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot he's a direct ancestor of yours."

"Indeed. I shall have to think of more of his advice on sexuality and marital relations." Spock was smiling at her with that roguish expression that she knew so well.

Christine reached up and took his hand, bringing it to her lips. "Meanwhile, if we don't get a move on, we'll never get home and be able to do anything about it."

"Agreed," her husband answered and released her hand. Adjusting the heavy pack he carried on his back, he set out once more with his bonded mate at his side and their young son running ahead to explore.

Ahead of them, the sun broke through the clouds and lit the landscape with the golden light of a new day.

END OF PART THREE