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 FOUR

"D'VEL'NAHR"

Trotting around the corral, Sapel managed to toss the loop of his rope over the head of the stocky yellow horse who was watching him warily. Strictly speaking, the animal wasn't a horse, but it more than anything resembled the primitive equine ancestor mesohippus. Not much bigger than a small pony, it was the color of late summer straw, its legs and flanks striped a muddy brown, upright mane and tail hairs nearly black, with a long brown stripe running down its backbone. Its three-toed hooves showed evidence that at some remote point in the future, several million years perhaps, some incredibly distant descendant would run on a single toe, but for now, its foot more closely resembled that of a tapir than a horse.

This particular one was both family pet and servant, captured by Sapel and his father a couple of hundred miles north of their present location here on the shores of the Southern Sea. The little mare had proven docile and had quickly been broken to pull a travois loaded with their belongings as the family made their way south the previous autumn, following the herds of game they hunted.

Once at Sea Home, they had constructed a corral and lean-to stable and Mezzie, as she was called, had taken up residence beside the family's cabin.

Now it was spring and would soon be time to return north, cutting a fine line between the receding winter weather there and the emergence of hordes of mosquitos here. They had also learned to beware of the return of the seal herds to the beaches near their home. Long-necked sea reptiles resembling plesiosaurs lived in the waters of Southern Sea and hunted the seals ... and anything else that ventured too near the water.

Sapel still bore the scars from such an encounter when he was three. He had narrowly escaped death at the jaws of such a monster and his right foot had the wounds to prove it.

He did not think of that now, though. Nearly eleven, he was more intent today on working with his horse and reacquainting her with the feel of harness and bridle. The tack was crudely fashioned of braided leather strips, but was quite serviceable and he quickly got the mesohippus under his control. Once convinced that she would yield to his mastery, the boy launched himself up onto the animal's back, his feet nearly touching the ground as he straddled her.

She gave a few half-hearted little bucks, then settled down. Her flanks were wide and heavy and she didn't have the energy to put up much of a fight. Satisfied, Sapel gently brought his heels up and nudged her sides, and the animal began a slow walk around the corral.

Leaning on the fence, Sapel's five year old sister, T'Jenn, watched in admiration and a bit of jealousy. "I wanna ride next!" she announced.

"You can't," the boy responded, guiding his mount. "I'm not playin' with her, Jenn. I'm workin' her."

"Well, I can work her, too!"

"You don't know how."

"Do, too!"

"Do not."

"Do, too!!"

"What is going on here?!" demanded a new voice.

T'Jenn spun and Sapel jerked his head around. Their mother was standing at the corner of the corral, hands on her hips. Clinging to one leg was her youngest child, little T'Kai. Not quite a year old yet, the baby was just beginning to toddle and was watching the whole proceedings with wide black eyes, one thumb stuck in her mouth.

"Sapel, get off that horse," Christine Chapel ordered.

"I'm not hurtin' her, Ma. She needs the exercise. She's too fat," Sapel protested, even as he swung his leg over the wide back and dropped to his feet.

"She's not fat, Sapel," Christine responded. "You know very well that she's going to have a foal and probably very soon now. It's not good for you to get on her right now."

He looked sheepish. "I didn't mean to hurt her or anything," he muttered.

Christine's stance softened a bit. "I know you didn't, son. But her insides are delicate and I'm sure she doesn't feel very good. Remember how bad I felt just before T'Kai was born? Okay, then. You can walk her around the corral a little, but don't ride her. And make sure her stall is clean and has fresh bedding in it. From the looks of her, I wouldn't be surprised if she foaled in the next day or two."

"Okay, Mama." Sapel slipped his arm around the horse's neck and patted her affectionately. He was extraordinarily fond of the animal and Christine knew he would do his best for her.

"Good. Jenny, you come help me. I want you to watch Kai-Kai while I get supper ready," Christine said, bending to pick up her baby and park her on one hip.

"Aw, Mama, do I hafta?"

"Yes. Papa will be home soon and we're having marsh duck stuffed with greens. I can't cook that and watch Kai at the same time. Come on."

The tall woman started off, confident that her other daughter would follow. T'Jenn cast a disgruntled glance back at her brother, then trailed after. "Sapel has all the fun," she whined.

Christine smiled in amusement. "Well, if you call mucking out a stable 'fun'," she answered. "How about this? If you're good and do what you're told with a smile ... you can name the foal."

T'Jenn's blue eyes lit up in amazement. "Really? Goldie! I'm gonna call her Goldie!"

"What if it's a boy? And it isn't gold?"

"Mmmmmm ... I don't know. I'll think of something." The little girl skipped along quite happily now, totally focused on the task at hand.

Christine chuckled in return and shifted T'Kai as they came around to the front of the cabin. She'd felt the same excitement with each of her babies, she reflected. Even the ones she'd lost...

* * *

Christine sat with her back against the trunk of the large tree a few steps from the opening to the little cave they called home. It was a warm night with a gentle breeze ruffling her unbound hair, the air heavy with the fragrances of spring. The perfume of the tree's blossoms were intoxicating and she let her eyes close blissfully as she inhaled. Everything around her seemed rife with creation and new beginnings, and Christine felt the same charged energy tingling deep within her as well.

Beside her, Spock settled back against the tree and stretched his long legs out before him. "He is asleep," he said. "I was forced to recite the entire saga of Suvik and T'Lak tonight before he finally drifted off. I am running out of children's stories to tell."

Christine laughed softly. "You'd think, with two planets' worth of literature to draw on, we could come up with enough to keep him satisfied! It wouldn't be so hard if we didn't have to adapt them to something he understands! I didn't think I'd ever get Cinderella translated!"

"I know. He questioned me quite thoroughly on how someone could possibly get into a vinefruit and have it pulled away by six white prairie diggers."

Christine couldn't help another burst of laughter at that, then leaned her head against Spock's shoulder and slipped her arm through his. For a while they simply sat in companionable silence, enjoying the night. There was a gap in the foliage above them, where a large branch had broken and fallen during the previous winter's ice storm. It left a clear view of the sky and they both found their gaze turning to the bright dusting of stars that shown there.

"It's been four full years now," Christine whispered, "and I still find myself looking for a ship up there."

"As do I at times," Spock answered softly. "Logically, I know that we have long since been declared dead, but I sometimes wonder if they are still searching, nevertheless."

"Jim would be. Maybe not actively, but he'd still have feelers out for any sort of lead."

Spock gave a little grunt of agreement. "Indeed. The Captain is not easily deterred."

She looked up at him. "Have you ever tried contacting him? Mentally, I mean? You two were so close."

"Our relationship was not close enough to permit something of that sort without directly touching," Spock responded, dismissing it.

Christine was silent for a moment then said cautiously, "There were those who thought it was, you know. I heard some pretty nasty rumors that went around the lower decks."

"That Jim and I were lovers, you mean?" Spock shook his head. "We were shield-brothers. Nothing more. A sexual relationship would have destroyed the professional and military distance between us that was essential for our positions onboard ship. Jim realized that as much as I and neither of us ever permitted our friendship to go beyond that of brother-in-arms."

Deep down, Christine felt a note of comfort sing within her. Some worrisome little voice of doubt had always been there, like a speck of sand in her shoe, that maybe, just maybe, the rumors were true and that Spock's true love, his true lifemate, was still out there somewhere searching for him. Now she knew and the doubt was gone.

She snuggled closer and smiled, her warmth flowing into him like honey. She didn't have to express her relief. He felt it as surely as if she'd spoken aloud. Turning to her in surprise, he said, "Did you truly fear that I would abandon you? Aduna, you are the heart within me! I have pledged myself to you unto death!"

She felt ashamed and hid her face against his arm. "I'm sorry, Spock," she murmured. "It was foolish of me to doubt you ... after all we've been through."

He touched his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face gently to his. "Never doubt me, t'hy'la. Never. We have joined ourselves into one being, one mind. And half a person cannot live. You are my other half, beloved. I cannot live without you, nor would I want to."

He leaned into her and touched his lips softly to hers, a pledge and a promise. She kissed him solemnly back, asking forgiveness. Their lips parted, then moved together once again, harder this time, more fervently, and he disengaged his arm from her grasp, sliding it around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

She sank against him, tilting her face up farther, her hand going up to rest on his chest. Her fingers found the lacings of his shirt and slid between them, her fingertips sinking through the crisp hair to finally rest flat against his heated skin.

She felt his lips part against hers and the tip of his tongue touched her mouth. Willingly, she welcomed him, meeting his foray with her own. Bringing his other arm up, he completed his embrace, holding her tight and giving himself fully over to the devouring kiss.

After a long moment, he lifted his lips from hers, allowing her breathe, but did not release her. Instead, he moved down her throat, feeling her pulsing lifeblood throb underneath his mouth, and tickled his tongue over the spot, sucking gently at her skin. She gasped at the sensation and felt an answering throb between her legs.

Moving his hand down and slipping it underneath her tunic, he engulfed one breast and squeezed it lightly, massaging until he felt her nipple harden beneath his palm. Gently, but insistently, he pushed her back, bending with her until he had her supine, then he lifted her tunic up out of the way, and quickly replaced his hand with his mouth, pulling her fevered flesh into his mouth and working her turgid nipple with his tongue, sucking just hard enough to make her gasp on the thin edge of pain.

She reached up and softly grasped the point of his ear between her fingertips, squeezing and stroking downward with a matching amount of force. With a sharp intake of air, he abruptly released her, not from any pain that she had caused him, but from the immediate surge of sexual arousal that shot through his groin as a result. She fondled him again, enjoying his reaction, and he bent back to her breast.

For a long moment, they stimulated the other until the pleasure became unbearable. Then he reached up and caught her wrist and returned to her lips, taking her with an ravenous open-mouthed kiss that left her breathless and writhing beneath him.

"Take me to bed, Spock," she whispered against his mouth and captured his lips again, her arms around his neck. He returned it for a long minute, then pulled away, getting to his feet. Taking her hand, he drew her up as well, then suddenly swept her up into his arms. Dizzy from the level of arousal she was feeling, Christine hid her face against his neck, clinging to him as he swiftly bore her to their bedside.

Once there, he set her on her feet again, pulling her firmly against him as he bent to her lips yet again, seemingly insatiable, as his own excitement evidenced itself in the powerful erection pressing between them. With a whimper of pleasure, she reached down to grasp him through the leather of his loincloth, pumping him gently.

He groaned against her mouth and thrust his tongue between her teeth, probing and stroking against hers. By almost simultaneous agreement, their hands sought the lacings of the other's shirt and they worked with almost frantic haste, pulling loose ties and closures, pushing the leather garments off shoulders and arms, all the time, their lips feasting and tasting, then fell back into one another's arms, hand roaming over bare fevered flesh.

She was clad in leather breeches and loin cloth just as he was and his fingers found their way beneath the leather strip between her legs, dipping into her satiny wetness and fondling her intriguing folds and textures. In answer, her hand slid underneath the tie of his loin cloth and her fingers wrapped around the rock hard shaft that demanded immediate release, marveling at the silk over steel and textures she found there. She could already feel the slickness of incipient climax and rolled the moisture over the smooth head of his penis, readying him.

Squirming a little, he stopped her. "Too soon," he murmured to her and drew her hand away from its tantalizing find. Nevertheless, he pulled away a little and undid the tie, allowing the loin cloth to drop, freeing his throbbing erection at last. Quickly he kicked off his moccasins and shoved his breeches down, stepping out of them. Following his example, she stripped hurriedly, impatient, then they fell back together, their hot, anxious bodies twining together in tight embrace.

Feeling his penis pressed against her stomach, hot and hungry, was almost more than she could stand, but he thwarted her every attempt to grasp him again. "Not yet," he whispered between kisses, fending off her hands. "Soon."

"I want you now!" she murmured back, already so aroused that she wondered if she would go mad. "Please, Spock!"

Instead, he dropped to his knees before her and let his hands slide around to massage her buttocks, his lips trailing wet kisses over her abdomen, tongue tickling her. Her flesh quivered beneath his mouth, sending matching tremors through him. He kissed his way down to the dark tangle of hair at the juncture of her thighs and nudged her legs a bit farther apart. Then he dipped his head a little and she felt his tongue slide in between the swollen, sensitive lips at her center.

Gasping, she clutched convulsively at his shoulders to steady herself, nearly falling as weakness took her legs. But he didn't let her fall. Instead, his strong hands supported her and allowed her to sink down onto their bedding, on her back and with her knees bent and apart. Moving his hands up to cup her thighs, he spread her labia wider with his thumbs and ducked his head to the heart of her womanhood, laving the pulsing nub with his tongue.

Her musky scent flooded him as he did so, and reflexively he lifted his head for a second, as if taken by surprise, then he returned to his loveplay, sucking and kissing her with fervor, plunging his tongue into the well of her sweet juices and teasing her until she erupted into a ferocious orgasm. She wanted to scream but didn't dare, and the sound came out through her clenched teeth as a keening sound, her hips arching up beneath him, her body absolutely pulsing with heat as she climaxed against his mouth.

When she relaxed a bit, she urged him up to lie beside her and he moved obligingly. Still intensely aroused, she kissed the evidence of her orgasm from his mouth and face, thrusting her tongue between his lips and pressing her charged body against his, his erection like a shaft of flame between them. Almost without thinking, she grasped him once again and this time he let her.

As they kissed and tongued one another, she pumped him with increasing fervor, growing more excited at the rigid, swelling flesh she held, feeling his arousal intensify more with each stroke. Once more she felt pre-ejaculate seep from the end of his pulsating penis, warm and slick, and, as she had done before, she spread it over the head of his organ, lubricating the tip and preparing him for entry.

But he made no move to mount her, despite the building urgency she felt in him and the way he was thrusting into her hand, his breath coming in quick, hard pants. Suddenly she felt certain that he was content to let her bring him to fulfillment manually and she didn't want it that way. She was hungry to feel him inside her, to experience the incredible completeness of his pounding body atop hers.

To encourage him, she lifted her thigh over his and, still grasping him, guided him into position, rubbing the head of his eager penis in her own secretions before bringing him to the gateway of her beckoning depths.

With a gasp of near pain, Spock pulled his hips back, away from her, and then she knew that something was wrong. Pausing, she peered closely at him, her face only inches from his, and tried to read through their bond the cause. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asked softly. "Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

To her surprise, his face gentled and he offered her little smile. "No. No, I am fine," he answered in a husky whisper. "You did nothing."

"Then what?" She was genuinely puzzled.

"I thought you were aware of the reason," he replied but she only looked more bewildered, obviously not understanding. "I detected a change in your scent during our foreplay," he answered, stroking his fingertips down her cheek. "You are fertile right now. I cannot enter you like this. When you might conceive."

Christine closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her at his words. Logically, she knew that she should be grateful for his consideration, but her body was screaming for completion. The sexual arousal that permeated her went beyond anything she'd ever felt, her genitals swollen, her clitoris throbbing, her very being literally aching for the release of orgasm. And she knew that manual or oral stimulation would not bring her the relief she sought. It went beyond the mere "want" of him. She craved him, had to have him, required the sensation of his pounding penis filling every inch of her with his fire and strength, his maleness melding into her femaleness for absolute completion.

Opening her eyes, she stared intently up into his and whispered forcefully, "Spock, I need you. Please!"

Slowly, he shook his head and caressed her face again. "If I do, you will become pregnant. Another time, t'hy'la. Not tonight."

She nearly wept, her body throbbing in frustration. "Please, Spock! I want you in me more than anything I've ever known! I can't stand it!"

Her distress was coming plainly through their bond and he felt her voracity and urgency. It was like the beginning stages of pon farr and it sent a fresh surge of answering need into his tight, throbbing groin. It was becoming nearly impossible to hold himself back. Still he resisted.

"We decided to wait," he continued in a soft voice. "I will not impregnate you simply to gratify our lust. You would hate me for giving in to it. You would hate the child."

She drew her breath and brought her hands up to cup his face, searching his eyes with hers. "Is that what you think, Spock? Oh, my darling, how could I ever? I love you more than life itself and I will love our child just as much! And maybe it's meant to be. If my body is telling me this strongly to make love to you, then perhaps it's time to listen to it." Her blue eyes were locked onto his deep brown ones, unwavering. "I love you, Spock, and I want you. I want you in me more than anything. And, if a child results, I will bear it with joy."

For a long moment, he exchanged a searching gaze with her, then gently rolled her onto her back, moving into position above her. She opened her legs to receive him, but once more he paused, his rigidity pressed against her very portal. "Are you certain, Christine?" he asked in a barely audible whisper. "Are you absolutely certain?"

She smiled and her face was suffused with complete love. "Yes, Spock. Oh, yes..."

He did not speak again, except with the intent gaze he held locked onto her eyes. Never breaking eye contact with her, he slowly and deliberately pressed his hips forward ... and was suddenly inside her. She gasped softly as he penetrated her, her incredibly sensitized passage clutching hungrily at his hard masculinity.

Still looking deeply into her eyes, he began to move, thrusting gently into her depths. Gradually, his thrusts gained speed and force, until he abruptly clenched his eyes shut and shuddered, drawing his breath in with almost a sob, and she felt the liquid heat of his ejaculation flood her.

She held him close until he was finished and then kissed him softly as he leaned his head down to rest against her neck. He was still buried within her, still hard and tensed, and now that the threshold had been crossed, he had no reason to hold himself back. With small, almost imperceptible motions, he began to move in her again and it was like striking spark to ready tender.

Arousal blazed back up between them full force and he made a sudden adjustment in his position and plunged into her hard, his hips pumping with power and excitement. She responded, bringing her legs up to grip him and digging her nails into the bunched muscles of his back. As gentle as he had been before, he was that unbridled now, lifting himself onto corded forearms and pounding into her with passion and flame. She felt the primitive Vulcan in him surging forth, the savage who took his mate with all his emotions laid bare, and it excited her beyond anything she could imagine.

Throwing her head back, she clung to him and let herself spiral into an unparalleled climax, nearly losing herself in the rapturous whirlpool of total orgasm. United through their bond, she took him with her and, when he slammed into her and erupted into her eager depths, filling her with the essence of his being, they had dissolved into entities of pure light and sensation, reaching another level of existence.

Christine slowly came back to her corporeal body, her mind separating itself from Spock's and whirling with latent impressions and thoughts. He was still lying atop her, within her but softening, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he too sorted things back into perspective. Gently, she pulled him down into her arms and rested his cheek against her shoulder, stroking his hair and simply savoring his nearness.

A small sound pulled at her attention but she was too enervated to move. Spock, however, was more responsive and lifted his head, staring in the direction over her shoulder. She saw his face harden with displeasure and, when he spoke, his voice was soft, but edged with absolute, inarguable authority. "Sapel, you will return to your bed and stay there. You will not leave it again. Turn away from this direction and go to sleep. We will speak of this in the morning." He continued to glare unblinking in that direction for another minute, then eased his stance and seemed to go limp.

Christine covered her eyes with one hand and murmured, "Oh, God..."

"It was inevitable," Spock sighed in a voice only for her hearing. He lifted himself off her and rolled onto his back at her side, pulling the fur coverings up over their bodies. "I will take him aside tomorrow and talk with him. It is time he understood."

She sighed as well and snuggled against his side, letting her hand come to rest in the hollow of his chest. "Meanwhile, try to get some sleep. I am. That last session was absolutely unbelievable!"

He covered her hand with his own and pressed it gently against him. "Aduna t'hy'la," he murmured in exhaustion and satiation, "the fusion of our souls brings completeness to all things."

She chuckled softly. "Sounds like another saying from Surak. I'll take it as a compliment. Go to sleep now, my adun beloved. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

* * *

Christine looked up from her job in sick bay to find the infirmary empty of patients and personnel. Where had everyone gone? she wondered. She hadn't noticed them leaving, nor had anyone spoken to her. Everything seemed normal, except there were no people around. As she was about to call over the intercom to locate someone, Spock entered, a fevered look in his eyes. He was wearing a Vulcan robe of black that stretched to the floor and had silver piping embroidered down its front. He spotted her and approached her without hesitation.

"It is Time, Christine," he said in a low voice. "You are fertile and it has triggered this condition in me. We must mindbond immediately." So saying, he parted his robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing that he was totally nude underneath. He also was enormously erect and Christine felt an immediate answering surge of arousal at the sight of his extended penis.

Still, she maintained a clinical detachment. "I must examine you first," she answered and directed him to get onto one of the beds. He did so, his rigid shaft protruding prominently. With neutral professionalism, she bent over him and inspected his genitals closely, noting the raised veins along the sides and the fact that his testicles had increased in size as well. His organ was a dark olive green, tight with the blood pumped into it, and she could feel the heat radiating off it.

She raised up and said, "It's pon farr, all right. I'm afraid there's only one treatment but you'll get me pregnant in the process. I hope you don't mind."

"If that's what you want," he answered evenly.

"Of course, it is," she responded. "What a silly thing to say."

Abruptly she was naked, not entirely sure she was ever clothed to begin with, and she climbed up onto the bed to straddle him. Settling onto his hips, she felt the hard, heated phallus lodge into place against her vagina and then push into her as she sank onto him. When he filled her completely, she began to move rhythmically, rocking against him, growing more and more excited at the sensation of his rigid, swollen penis tight within her.

He closed his eyes and groaned, then she felt him pulse deep inside her and wetness flood into her depths. After a moment, he looked up at her and said, "I require another ejaculation. That wasn't enough."

For a second, her senses turned inward and she could picture sperm swimming toward a large, slowly turning egg. He was right. They would never reach the ovum in time. Obligingly, she began thrusting atop him again, her breasts bouncing and her hair falling around her face. He reached up with both hands and grasped her full breasts, squeezing them in time with her thrusts. It sent her soaring up even higher and she leaned forward to rest her hands on his shoulders, using his sturdy body as an anchor. In a moment, he bucked up beneath her and once more liquid gushed into her. This time, she felt it running out of her, flowing slickly between her thighs and his hips. It made her passage so slippery that she wasn't sure she could keep him in her.

"It's coming out," she sighed.

"Then you need to be on bottom so it will stay in," Spock said reasonably. Without either of them seeming to have moved, she found herself on her back with Spock lying atop her, working his hips determinedly, jamming his still hard erection deep into her, heedless of the squelchy sounds his repeated entries and withdrawals were making against her drenched genitals.

"I need to wipe myself," she told him.

"No, I'm coming again," he answered and held her tight against him, slamming himself hard against her once more. Another surge and a fresh gout burst into her, and this time he sighed contentedly as he emptied himself. "Ahh ... that one did it. You will conceive now."

"Good. But I need to clean up," she said. "I've got work to do."

He didn't move off her or withdraw his penis from her body. "Dr. McCoy has excused you from duty," Spock answered. "It is more important that you remain here and serve me. Come, I want to do it again."

She pushed at him to stop him. The surface underneath her was suddenly very hard and unyielding. It didn't feel like a bed at all. Turning her head to one side, she realized with a start that she was no longer in sick bay ... and she was no longer alone with Spock. In horror, as he began to pump into her again, she realized that she was sprawled on the conference table in the main briefing room - and the Captain and all the department heads were sitting in their customary chairs around the table, watching dispassionately as Spock began to pump into her once again.

* * *

Christine jerked awake in the pre-dawn darkness, for a second unsure of her surroundings, then she felt Spock's strong arms protectively holding her and his body pressed against hers in their bed of furs.

"It's all right," he whispered. "It was merely a dream."

She was shaking. "What a dream! I thought I was--"

"I know. You were broadcasting quite strongly through our bond. It awoke me. Try to go back to sleep."

Her mind was whirling. "I don't know if I can. I'm really agitated right now. I'm horny and angry and upset all at the same time."

"Shall I assist you in finding calm?" he asked from behind her, his deep voice very soft in her ear.

"I don't think I want to have sex, if that's what you mean," she whispered back, still uneasy.

"No, although I would gladly make love to you if that is what you need to release this tension. I was referring to a light mind meld," he answered. "I believe I can soothe your thoughts and allow you to find serenity again."

He pulled her against him, not aggressively or in a sexual manner, although they were both naked and he could feel the latent arousal generated by her dream still buzzing through her like a live current. Another time, he would have welcomed the raw stimulation he felt in her, but this was not the time to respond to it. Instead, he projected calming thoughts to her, gently smoothing down the ruffled emotions and jangled nerves. Slowly, she began to relax against him.

"You were fucking me in front of everybody," she whispered after a while, though calmer. "They were all just sitting there watching us."

He continued to soothe her through their mindlink. "And this is the part of the dream that has upset you the most?"

"Yes. I don't know why. I know it was just a dream but..."

"Is it because Sapel observed us last night in the act of intercourse?"

"Yes ... I don't know." Her agitation level began to rise again and he sent another wave of serenity to move over her. "My mother..." she murmured, her tone introspective. "It's my mother that upsets me."

"Your mother was in the dream?"

"No. But having those people watch me made me feel ... dirty. Sinful. Ashamed." She trembled a little and he nuzzled into her hair, holding her closely against him.

"Privacy was important to your mother," he guessed.

"More than that. She was very religious. She thought sex was only for reproduction and you weren't supposed to get pleasure from it." Christine laid her hand atop Spock's and interlaced her fingers with his. "I thought I'd worked all that nonsense out of my brain years ago. I guess having Sapel catch us just dredged it all back up from my subconscious. It was like my mother had caught us. I felt like I was 15 again, having a quick lay with my boyfriend and half afraid that my mother would come in and find us."

Spock murmured a small sound, feeling her relax against him. "How do you feel now, t'hy'la?"

"Better. That's what was troubling me, Spock. I'm sorry. This is all too silly for words." She twisted in his arms and brought her face close to kiss him. "How do you put up with me?"

"I daresay there are some demons in my soul that have my father's face on them," he answered wryly. "It gives me pause on what I shall say to Sapel today. I do not want to do to him what our parents did to us!"

"Absolutely! No condemnation or guilt."

She kissed him lightly again, then again a bit harder. Now that her nightmares had been vanquished, the erotic aspects of her dream drifted back into her mind and she found herself responding to the wonderful closeness of her husband's naked skin pressed against hers. Her arousal surged up and she felt his answering twitch of interest against her pelvis.

"I was endeavoring to lull you back to sleep," he whispered in an amused tone.

"Mmmm ... one quickie to help us relax and then I promise..." she murmured back, lifting her lips once more to his and slipping her arm around his shoulders.

"You will try not to derive any pleasure out of it, won't you?" he responded teasingly.

"I'll hate every minute of it," she promised him and they came joyously together in the warmth and security of their entangled furs.

* * *

The new spring grass was ankle deep and cool as Spock climbed up out of the valley to the plains beyond and paused to make sure that Sapel was following him. The morning sun had burned away most of the dew but the grass was still moist enough to dampen their leather moccasins as the two waded through the green sea toward the herds of mesohippus, antelope and other browsers, all taking advantage of the sweet vegetation and foliage.

Sapel had been apprehensive when his father had directed him to get his things and accompany him hunting. He had not forgotten the cold anger he had felt the night before as he rose from his bed to investigate the noises coming from his parents' bed and had stood dumbfounded as he watched the strange goings-on. Now, he was certain that this hunting trip was an excuse for punishment of some sort and he followed his father reluctantly.

However, the emotional emanations he felt from Spock were contented and confident, if with a dash of concern tossed in. It puzzled the boy but he went along dutifully.

The two walked for a half hour then came to an outcropping of rocks not far from the grazing herds. Here Spock paused and found a place to sit in the warm morning sun where he could gaze out across the plains to the distant mountain range on the horizon. The peaks were still swathed in snow and stretched across the skyline like an endless line of jagged teeth, so far away that they were barely visible in the blue haze of the atmosphere. Someday, he decided, he'd explore in that direction and see what lay between their camp and the far-off mountains.

Spock motioned for Sapel to join him and the boy climbed up to sit beside his father, sensing that Spock would soon get to the real purpose of this journey. But for a good while, Spock merely sat and watched the herds, as if studying them and selecting a potential candidate for their hunt, as he well may have been doing.

As Sapel was beginning to relax and watch the new colts and calves gambol among the grazing adults, his father said in a soft voice, "It is time we spoke, Sapel. You are growing up and it is time you began to learn of your heritage and of the reasons things are the way they are."

"What do you mean, Papa?"

Spock took a deep breath and continued, "You are aware that your mother and I are not of the same backgrounds. She is Human and a native of the planet Earth. My own mother ... your grandmother ... whose name is Amanda, is also from that planet. However, my father, Sarek, is from the planet Vulcan."

"That's why you look different from Mama, and have pointed ears and green blood and all," Sapel broke in. "Am I from Vulcan, too?"

"No, technically, you are from here, Terra Two. Terra, by the way, is another name for Earth and we gave this planet that name because it reminded us both of your mother's planet. But, back to the subject of your heritage ... even though you have Vulcan characteristics, you are three-quarters Human. You are a hybrid of the two species, like me, except that I am half-Vulcan and physically am Vulcan."

The boy was looking puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand," he said.

"You will when you are older. Do not worry about it now," Spock said. "What I want to begin to teach you is the way of life on Vulcan. It is a very special way of living and one that takes much study and discipline. However, we feel that it is worthwhile and the preferred way. It is called d'Vel'nahr, which means 'Vulcan by choice'. It is how I have chosen to live the majority of my own life."

"Okay," Sapel said, if a little hesitantly. The word "discipline" had made him wary.

Spock nodded in satisfaction and continued to gaze at the herds, his eyes slitted against the sunlight. After a moment he said, "Our first lesson will begin now. Sapel, do you understand why I was upset with you last night?"

Sapel looked up at the tall man beside him and squirmed a bit. "I wasn't s'posed to see what you and Mama were doing?"

"Why do you think you were not meant to see it?" Spock questioned.

The boy looked down, searching for the correct answer. "'Cause it was ... bad?"

Spock glanced at the boy in a reassuring manner then turned back to the animals. "No, Sapel. What we were doing was not bad." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "When a man and a woman are bonded -- married -- they want to be as close as possible to each other." He hesitated again, trying to make this come out the way he wanted it to. "One of those ways is a ... physical joining of their bodies. For a Vulcan, it also involves a joining of minds, but Humans do not have that ability. What you saw us doing last night was a physical joining."

Sapel was silent and thoughtful, his brow furrowed together. "Like I've seen the animals do sometimes?" he suggested.

"Somewhat. When you see a buck or stallion get onto a female's back, they are mating. But it's not the same with people. A man and woman like to join as an expression of their love for one another. Animals are merely following an urge to reproduce."

"How do people reproduce then?" Sapel wondered, turning his wide brown eyes up to his father.

It was Spock's turn to squirm a little bit. "Um ... well ... when a man and woman join this way, sometimes a baby is started inside the woman as a result, but it's not always the case."

"Did I start that way?"

"Yes."

"Did Mama start a baby last night?"

"I don't know, Sapel. We'll just have to wait and see." Spock took a deep breath and said, "But we are straying from the subject. When a man and woman want to be together this way, they want to be alone. It is an intensely private thing and not for others to observe."

"But I sleep in the same space as you, Papa. You woke me up last night. I couldn't help but see you," the boy protested.

"I know. It is difficult." Spock was silent as he pondered how best to explain it. "What you must learn to practice is the Tenet of Privacy."

"What's that?"

"It goes like this: 'Harm no one's internal, invisible integrity. Leave others the privacies of their minds and lives. Intimacy remains precious only insofar as it is inviolate: invading it turns to torment. Reach out to others courteously: accept their reaching in the same way, with careful hands.' That is one of the Tenets of Surak, which I will begin to teach you. We will begin with this lesson since it is pertinent to our discussion."

"Who is Surak?" asked the boy, trying to get his mind around the long quote.

Back on secure ground, Spock began the tale of the great Vulcan leader, explaining the long, barbaric history of his people who were on the point of annihilation when Surak offered them another way. Sapel sat wide-eyed throughout the tale, asking questions here and there, and silently absorbing his father's words.

"So, you see, cha'i, when you become aware that there is a need for privacy, you must try to close your mind and your senses to what is happening around you. In a normal environment, on either Earth or Vulcan or hundreds of other worlds where people live, this would not be a problem, because we would live in a house with private rooms. But here we must imagine those walls and erect mental barriers to achieve privacy. Do you understand now?"

Sapel nodded slowly. "I think so, Papa. I'll try."

"Very good," Spock answered with a small smile. "Now, we must begin our hunt. Which animal would you choose?"

"I don't know, Papa. There are so many."

"Then I will tell you. I am after an antelope today. Not a buck, because their meat is tough and stringy this time of year. They have just come off winter feed and have not fattened up yet. Not a doe because she is most likely nursing a fawn and it would be cruel and unnecessary to orphan the fawn."

"Won't one of the other mamas feed it?" Sapel asked.

"No," Spock answered. "A doe will only care for her own offspring. An orphaned fawn will die very soon thereafter, either by starvation or more likely falling prey to one of the predators. No, what we are hunting today is a yearling. It is grown, but the meat is still tender and it has most likely continued to nurse a bit until this year's fawn is born and the mother rejects it."

"Isn't it cruel to kill a yearling, too, Papa?" the boy wondered.

"We kill to survive, Sapel," Spock replied. "The meat sustains us, the hide clothes us, and we use other parts for various things. Very little goes to waste. I dislike being forced to kill another living being. It is abhorrent to my way of life, to d'Vel'nahr. But logic dictates that it is necessary for survival and therefore is not wrong in such a case. Now, wait here and watch. I hope that this will not take too long."

Spock gathered his bow and quiver of arrows and set out in a roundabout path toward the herds, moving low and silently until he was within striking range. Within about half an hour, he had crept close enough to be able to pick a target among the herds, a young, healthy yearling buck that had wandered to the edge of the herd and was more intent on grazing than watching for danger.

Sapel saw his father nock an arrow and draw his bow back, taking aim.

He never saw the flight of the arrow itself, only saw it suddenly sprout in the buck's ribcage and the animal give a compulsive squeal and leap in the air. The rest of the herd reacted instantaneously, bursting into a stampede of bawling bodies and dust. The wounded buck tried to follow, but went down almost immediately.

Spock was already running toward the buck and Sapel saw him draw his knife from the scabbard at his side, but the animal was dead, shot through the heart. Spock straightened, beckoning to Sapel to join him.

The boy slipped off the rock outcropping and raced to his father's side. Spock had squatted back down and was gently working the arrow out of the antelope's side. Once he had it extracted, Spock cleaned the blood off with a handful of grass and slipped it back into the quiver, then he looked over at his son.

"Let's get this back to your mother in camp," he said. "She will be pleased to see us return so soon."

"Okay, Papa, but first I require Privacy," Sapel announced and turned to walk a few feet away.

For a second Spock was puzzled then he saw his son fumbling with his loin cloth and understood. Dutifully, Spock turned his back and blocked any notice of Sapel's actions, glad that his son could not see the eyebrow he raised in irony and amusement.

* * *

Christine smiled faintly as she felt large, warm hands press a cold compress against her forehead, but she didn't open her eyes and risk upsetting the delicate equilibrium she and her stomach had managed to obtain.

"Better?" Spock asked softly.

"Mmmm..." She gave a little sigh and continued to breathe evenly.

"It should pass soon," he said in the deep, husky voice that made her feel wrapped in lamb's-wool and down. If only he knew how much he comforted her when she was sick and it was a battle just to keep her head from falling off her shoulders!

His gentle chuckle sounded in her mind. But I do know, aduna t'hy'la, his voice whispered.

She cracked open an eye at that point and pinned him with a withering look. "Then you also know I'm about to barf my guts up," she murmured, but tempered a bit with amusement.

"Indeed. I find your nausea the most distressing thing about your pregnancy," he answered, smiling sympathetically. "It is a definite negative in a marital bondlink. I have often wondered if my father shared my mother's--"

"Spock! Shut up!"

"Yes, my wife. I have no desire to distress you further." He settled back cross-legged on the furs beside her, watching to make sure she was all right.

Sapel finished his breakfast by the hearth and put his bowl down, coming over to join his parents. "Mama? You okay?"

"Sapel, don't bother your mother--"

"It's okay, Spock," she interrupted. "Yes, sweetie, I'm okay."

The boy squatted down to peer closer at his mother's pale face. "Why's your baby makin' you sick, Mama?" he asked.

"Because my body's not used to having it there," she answered. "It thinks the baby's a germ or virus that doesn't belong there and my body is fighting it."

"You gonna be sick all the time?" He looked distinctly worried. He didn't like it when either of his strong, seemingly invincible parents were felled by illness.

Christine smiled gently at him. "No, honey. In a couple of weeks, my body will understand that it's okay for the baby to be there and I'll feel fine. In fact, I'll feel fine in an hour or so and can get up. But right now I need to rest."

Spock took the hint and got to his feet. "Come, Sapel, I want you to help me find a straight sapling today. I'm going to make a new hunting spear. Let's leave your mother in peace and let her sleep a bit more."

"Okay, Papa." Sapel suddenly leaned over and kissed Christine awkwardly on the side of her face. "I hope you feel better soon, Mama."

She smiled radiantly at him. "I already do, sweet boy."

Embarrassed now by his impulsive action, Sapel vaulted to his feet and raced outside. Spock knelt back down and bent over his wife, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips. "We won't go far," he said. "If you need me, send. I will keep my mental barriers low and will come immediately."

"I know, love. Don't worry about me. I'll be up and about by the time you get back." She squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back and then rose and strode from the cave. Christine sighed and gulped as her stomach did a little dance of protest. Closing her eyes again, she pressed the wet compress against her forehead and willed herself into calmness and serenity and her nausea to fade and leave her in peace for another day.

* * *

"Good, but not great. Say them again," Christine instructed Sapel. She continued to work at scraping the hide she had stretched between poles underneath the shade tree.

He rolled his eyes heavenward in appeal. It was a fine early summer day and there were a hundred things he would rather be doing, but, knowing he would not be allowed any of them until he finished his lessons, he began to laboriously recite, "A ... B ... C ... D..." He got through the alphabet this time and smiled in triumph at his mother's satisfied nod.

"Now in Vulcan," came his father's voice behind him. Spock continued past with the load of firewood he carried.

"Aw, Papa!" Sapel protested. "There's too many of 'em!"

"S'ti ht'laktra," Spock replied dryly and dropped the wood on the pile of new-cut wood deposited here to season.

"What? Papa, you know I don't talk Vulcan," Sapel whined.

"I said 'I grieve with thee', and you will 'talk Vulcan', as you so quaintly put it. Now, recite the Vulcan letter families."

"You don't make Mama do it," the boy hedged.

"That is because Mama does not possess the physical ability to do it. The human larynx cannot properly form certain sounds essential to spoken Vulcan," Spock replied.

Sapel brightened, thinking he saw a way out. "Well, I don't either!" he announced.

Spock was not impressed, but stood as straight and immovable as the oak they were under and folded his arms, waiting. His elevated eyebrow was all the answer Sapel got or needed.

The boy moaned in protest and began. It was a long and painful process, for both the one reciting and the one listening. Even Christine could see the expression of anguish that slowly crept over her husband's carefully blank features. She felt a great deal of sympathy for Sapel, for speaking Vulcan was like having your tongue tied in a knot. Undoubtedly being born into a society of native speakers facilitated its usage, but attempting to learn it without being immersed in it could be an exercise in futility. And perhaps Sapel was right ... perhaps he simply could not speak it properly.

Still the boy persevered and got through the basics. He peered at his father expectantly, but Spock remained silent for another moment. Finally he said, "Adequate. You mangled the second grouping, however. We will work further on that."

Sapel's face fell. "Now?" he quavered.

Christine shot Spock a mute plea on their son's behalf and Spock's stance softened. "No, not right now. I interrupted your reading lesson. I ask forgiveness, my wife. Please continue." He started back toward the creek, where he had been chopping brush and saplings.

Sapel looked after him, in obvious agony. Christine took pity. "All right. I can see that I'm not going to get anything else out of you. School's out."

"Yippee!!" Sapel leaped to his feet and raced after his father.

She shook her head and returned to scraping the hide. It was a small one, the pelt of a hare, one of a great many that she had cured and stored. Not very good for clothing, but useful for the miscellaneous small leather goods they always needed. She'd been contemplating whether she could make baby clothing out of them or perhaps sew several together to form a blanket.

Sapel's lessons were prominent in her mind as well. One of the real obstacles in teaching him to read and write was the fact that they had no books or paper. The previous winter, while they were living at Sea Home, she had searched for some substitute but had only come up with a slate and chalky limestone fragments to begin teaching him his letters. It worked but not well.

She had been turning the problem over in her mind, wondering what she could use to produce reading material for him. There were no trees here with suitable bark nor any reeds that she might be able to weave into papyrus sheets. She wanted something on which she could set down written words ... stories, poems, passages from the Bible ... whatever she could pull from her memory.

Pursing her lips in thought, she continued to work her shell scraper over the creamy leather, smoothing it, softening it, making it pliable and usable.

Suddenly her hands stopped their work and she stared in revelation at the pelt, flat and pale in color. She abruptly had a vision of another piece of leather that she had seen once in a museum. It was covered with crude paintings and markings, a visual record of a battle set down on antelope hide by a 19th century Cheyenne warrior.

As the proverbial light bulb went on over her head, her lips pulled into a wide grin of pure revelation. Why hadn't she thought of this before? she wondered. Turning her gaze out toward the plains that stretched away on the other side of the creek, she saw a veritable library hopping through the waving miles of grassland.

* * *

Christine stirred uneasily in her sleep, caught up in the vivid dream.

She was watching a mesohippus mare give birth. The animal struggled to deliver the foal, straining with powerful contractions. Christine was not a veterinarian, but she had studied obstetrics as a matter of course. Now the medical professional in her quickly analyzed the problem. The colt was too big and was possibly stuck in the vagina.

To make matters worse, Christine could see the eyes of predators in the surrounding darkness. From the looks of them, they were werewolves, the horrors that had nearly killed Spock three years before on a winter hunting trip. They haunted the northern woods but often ventured onto the plains to take what they could catch. Now they were waiting to attack the mare or snatch the newborn foal.

The mare was aware of their presence but there was nothing she could do. Her body was caught in its most vulnerable time and she was committed to the birth process. She strained again and this time Christine saw feet appear from her vagina. With another strong heave, the colt was out, still encased in its amniotic sac.

The mare turned immediately and began to lick and nuzzle her baby, breaking the membrane and prodding it urgently. Instincts were strong and the colt struggled to untangle its too-long legs and get to its feet. Newborn muscles wouldn't work immediately, though, and the little foal went down again and again, while its anxious mother licked it dry and snuffled it with her muzzle.

With a supreme effort, the foal finally remained standing on its wobbly legs, snorting and blinking. The mare's flanks shuddered again and she delivered the afterbirth and birth fluids. Normally she would have disposed of them, but now she was too frightened by the slowly advancing predators. She nudged her colt and he took an uncertain step, then another as strength began to flow into his long legs.

The mare looked around anxiously for an escape route, but the werewolves were closing in. She turned from one direction to another, but they were all around her now. The scent of blood was strong in the air and it inflamed the wolves' hunting instincts.

One abruptly pounced and the colt died in its crushing jaws before it was even aware of the danger. Triggered by the move, the other wolves leapt in at once, and the mare went down under their assault with a terrified scream. Then there was only the snarling and ripping sounds as the predators feasted and fought.

Christine came awake with a start, her heart pounding and her breath short. Spock, startled awake by her abrupt mental activity, rolled over and raised up on one elbow, laying his other hand on her trembling shoulder. "T'hy'la, what is it?" he asked in a whisper. "Are you ill?"

She shook her head and tried to calm herself. "Just a bad dream," she answered.

"About the baby?" he persisted.

"No." More shaken than she wanted to admit, she rolled to face him and slid her arm across his ribs and around to his back, burying her face against his chest.

He pulled her close to him and held her, feeling her turmoil through their bond. He had not picked up the dream, his routine mental shields subconsciously protecting him from being bombarded by the dreams of others, a technique he had learned in early childhood and did not even think about any more. Now he wished he had experienced her dream in order to be able to calm her.

Gradually, her trembling stopped but she continued to hold him. He sent generally soothing thoughts to her and felt her respond. When he felt she was ready, he asked softly, "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Oh, it was just a nightmare," she murmured back. "I dreamed I saw a mare give birth and then wolves killed them both."

He stroked her hair. "Undoubtedly a subconscious anxiety about your own baby," he said. "You fear losing this child as with Soren. You were about at the same point in that pregnancy, if I recall correctly. I believe the wolves represent the forces of nature that we face daily, but which are particularly fearsome to you now."

"I had no idea you were a soothsayer," she smiled, snuggling into his warm chest and feeling the dark crisp hair tickle her cheek.

Stroking her hair again, he said quietly, "And my prediction now is that you will go back to sleep and have only pleasant dreams. Because I will make sure that you are safe and no harm comes to our child."

She hugged him close. "I love you, Spock," she whispered.

"As I do you, my t'hy'la," he replied. "Sleep now."

Warm and protected in his strong arms, Christine slipped back into slumber. If she had more dreams that night, she did not remember them.

* * *

The making of ink proved to be harder than Christine had anticipated. Starting with a base of charcoal from the hearth, ground into a fine powder, she searched for a binder that would be suitable. Mixed with water, it was a disaster and she realized that she needed something to thicken and hold the soot particles. Saliva worked fairly well, but there was a limit to how much spit and, therefore, how much ink she could produce that way. She abandoned that approach and went back to searching for a substance that would blend with water and combine into a paste that could be thinned down as needed.

Spock suggested plant sap or resin and Christine pursued that avenue, collecting various samples during the day as she went about her food gathering , and then experimenting at night until she finally gave up in exhaustion and went to bed.

This night she had worked late, convinced that she was on the right track with a pine gum, water and charcoal mixture, and Spock had already put Sapel to bed. Now he came and stood over her. "Enough for tonight, Christine. It will be here in the morning."

"I really think this is it," she answered, adding a little more water to the thick mixture.

He squatted down and caught her wrists. "Enough!" he repeated softly. "You are tired and pursuing this with your usual relentless determination. It is necessary that you rest ... for both your sake and the baby's."

That stopped her and she looked ruefully up to meet his eyes. "You're right," she admitted and gently pulled out of his grip in order to put away her mixing tools. Then, turning her hands over to look at them, she laughed. "I'm as black as this charcoal I've been handling. I think I'll go down to the pond and have a bath before I turn in."

"Excellent idea," he agreed. "A swim will relax you."

He stood and then caught her hands, pulling her to her feet. She laughed again and said, "Perhaps you'd better join me. I've gotten this stuff all over you now!"

He cocked an eyebrow as he examined the coating of soot his hands sported. "I believe you are right." He moved to catch a large piece of chamois they used as a towel and wiped the majority of the dust from his hands. "There ... let me help you undress so you won't smudge your clothing so badly."

She stood while he pulled her leather tunic over her head and helped her off with her leggings and loincloth. Spock paused to let his gaze roam over her naked body, golden in the light of the fire. Her breasts were already a bit larger than normal and her abdomen was just beginning to show a hint of the roundness to come.

With wonder suffusing his face, he placed one large hand against her stomach, hoping to feel movement within her, to experience the life she carried. Smiling, she reached up to caress his face, unwittingly leaving a dark smudge on his cheek. "It's too early yet, Spock," she whispered. "I'm only about three months along."

He bent to kiss her, long and gently, his love for her spreading through her like honey. Then, as he pulled back, he glanced down and almost chuckled. There was a dark handprint adorning her belly now. She did laugh at that and said, "Now I really need a bath. I'll meet you there."

Finding another chamois and a lump of their crude homemade soap, she went out into the darkness of the summer night. Spock checked on Sapel, then quickly shed his own clothing, grabbed the spear propped beside the door and then wedged the door-guard into place. It was a warm, clear night, the moons at crescent phase in the west and the stars scattered overhead like diamonds.

Gentle splashing told Spock that Christine was already in the water as he went down the path to their pond. Placing the spear where he could get at it should he need it, Spock waded into the water, as always shocked for a moment by the coolness of initial contact.

Then his body adjusted and he waded out to where he could see his wife waist deep in the dark water, its surface glimmering in the starlight. He moved up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, savoring the feel of her warm, naked skin against his own. She snuggled against him in return, then twisted in his arms to face him, and they spent a long time exchanging kisses and caressing one another.

After a time, Spock said, "Perhaps we should finish our baths before we forget what we came here for."

She could already feel his substantial erection pressed against her groin and chuckled. "I think you knew from the start what we came here for."

He made a non-committal sound and stepped back away from her. "Where is the soap?"

"On that rock."

He retrieved it and dipped it into the water, rubbing it vigorously between his palms to generate lather, then smoothed it over her shoulders and arms. She did the same for him and scrubbed the bubbles over his chest and stomach. Reciprocating, he moved his hands over her chest, carefully avoiding her breasts, then turned her and did her back.

"Oh, that feels good," she murmured as he massaged her shoulders and worked his big strong hands down her backbone. She placed her hands against one of the big rocks that protruded up from the bottom of the pond and broke the surface of the pond, leaning forward and anchoring herself. He took advantage of the invitation she offered and rubbed his soapy hands over the curves of her buttocks.

Not content with that now, he slipped his hands up around her torso and slicked lather over her breasts, gently massaging and squeezing as his palms moved over the stiff nubs of her nipples. She moaned and thrust her hips a bit closer in his direction and he moved nearer to her, snuggling his groin against her bottom.

In response, she stepped farther apart, opening for him. His manhood ached to be in her, but he wanted to tease her a bit more. Slipping one hand down her smooth belly, he reached to discover the hot folds of her center and his fingers explored the thicket of rough hair and then the amazingly soft lips below it, finding and fondling the sensitive mound of flesh between them. Even under water, he could feel the hot, slick juices she released as she groaned in response, and he probed deeper to find the source.

Christine was rubbing her buttocks against him as she wended her way to a blissful state of arousal and it served to erode all the controls he had put up between them. The head of his penis pulsed madly as it nudged between her folds and, almost of its own accord, pushed its way to lodge against her gateway. Her erotic exhilaration, heightened by engorgement of her pregnancy swollen female organs, shot through their mindbond to engulf him, sending him to teeter on the verge of a sexual excitement that rivaled the plak tow in its intensity.

Sensing the frenzy of the blood fever igniting within him like a hearthfire gone mad, Spock gave in to the inevitable, moving his hands to steady her hips, and drove a powerful lunge forward with his own.

She gave a small cry as his rigid length suddenly filled her and bent forward even more to give him better access. So deep had his initial thrust taken him that he could feel himself bumping against the barrier of her cervix and the unexpected touch so fully within her seemed to set her aflame. Squirming against his wondrous impalement, she moaned in ecstasy and urged him on, her body gripping his like a glove of liquid fire.

The need to move overwhelmed him and his hips began to thrust against her, softly at first then with increasing vigor and speed. He let himself go and pumped into her hot depths with abandon, her wild passion and rapturous arousal serving to wrap him in the same charged emotions. He gripped her around her waist and rode her with almost animal fervor, but she was far beyond protesting, so lost in a building climax that she was near to screaming with the intensity of it.

His veneer of civilization fell away and the savagery of his ancestors surfaced before he quite realized what was happening. Suddenly they were both as much a part of this prehistoric world as the bison and deer that roamed here, wild and free and unbound. They both felt it, reveled in it, and the ferocity of the moment sent Spock past the limits of his control.

Slamming his hips into her so hard it lifted her off her feet, he erupted with a massive orgasm, pumping into her for an endless time while she peaked with a high keen of exaltation.

Then it was over and he was bent over her back, panting with exhaustion, sweat dripping off his torso onto hers. Stunned, she slowly brought herself back to the present and mentally felt him doing the same, sorting his jumbled thoughts back into their usual order. Aware that he was essentially lying atop her, he quickly straightened, withdrawing from her trembling body, and asked in concern, "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she answered, although she felt a bit dizzy as the blood volume in her body readjusted itself to normal levels. "Gods, that was incredible!" She shuddered in reflex as electrical aftershocks pulsed through her insides. "I think I'd better sit down before I fall down!"

Quickly, solicitously, he slid an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a spot where the rocks formed a little ledge big enough for two people to sit close, still submerging them waist deep in the lapping water. He pulled her into his arms and held her, himself enervated by the intense sexual activity, and for a long time they snuggled together, enjoying the quiet of the night.

* * *

Later, as they lay together in their bed of furs, Christine snuggled within the shelter of Spock's strong arms and listened to the muted rhythm of his heartbeat as she pressed her ear against his chest. His heart wasn't in the center of his ribcage, of course, but she could still hear it beating within his lean, warm body, seeming too fast to be normal. But it was reassuring, nonetheless, and she sighed happily, bemused once more that she should find herself exactly where she had longed to be for so many years.

There were times when, in the drowsy state between sleep and awakening, she was convinced she was in her own bed on the Enterprise, and that all around her had merely been a very long and complicated dream. That, surely, she would rise and dress and make her way to sick bay to begin her duties and, if she saw Spock at all, it would be in the course of her day and he would be visiting sick bay on business and he would be his cool, logical, unemotional self. If he acknowledged her at all, it would be with a dispassionate nod or glance, then he would be gone and she would be left with the little ache that lived within her all the time.

But then she would open her eyes and he would be there, lying beside her in the dim light of dawn, real and alive and substantial, his face close to hers. She would watch him in slumber, his features relaxed, his dark lashes lying against his cheeks, his raven black hair falling over his forehead. She would reach to touch her fingertips to his bronzed, naked skin as if to assure herself that he really existed, and she would feel the preternatural heat of his body, the crisp, dusky hair covering his exquisitely male chest and stomach, and the warm stirrings of his breath as he slept. She would trail her fingers up to his lean, angular face and touch the stubble on his cheeks and chin, the soft moistness of his mouth, the dark upswept angle of his brow.

He would be awake by then, watching her with amusement and indulgence, allowing her to explore his features once again, as he would be visually exploring hers. Then her touch would move up the curve of his ear, and she would be well aware of what that did to him, as she stroked and fondled the sensitive tip again and again. He would pull her close to him and bring his mouth down onto hers, his tongue gently probing for entry. And, as he held her firmly, he would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was no dream, but wondrous, incredible reality.

In the here and now, Christine smiled and wriggled a bit against him, her eyes closed and half asleep. But he had been aware of her every thought, the mindbond fully opened between them, and Spock was very much awake, both in body and mind. As she snuggled against him, the sensuous nature of her movements obvious, he sent a mental comment through their bond:

*Do you hunger yet again, my wife? I thought thee had found satisfaction.*

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her blue gaze sleepy but with desire burning deep within. *I will never be satisfied, husband. Just being with you makes me want more.*

He raised an eyebrow, amused, but responding to her nevertheless. *Perhaps thee has more stamina than I do, wife. Even a Vulcan has a limit to his endurance!*

Now fully awake, she grinned wickedly. *Then just lie there and let me do the work.*

Both eyebrows went up at that, but he settled back, slipping one hand up to rest underneath his head, the other softly caressing her long sun-streaked hair.

She set to work kissing the nearest part of him, his chest, nibbling and teasing the solid pectoral muscles until she found the firm little nubs of his nipples. Tickling one with her tongue, then latching on and sucking vigorously, she felt it rise up under her ministrations, meanwhile rubbing the other and rolling it between her fingertips until it was also hard and extended.

She moved down to the softer flesh of his stomach, knowing where he was ticklish and teasing him just enough to make him quiver reflexively beneath her mouth. Then she settled over his navel and began to work her tongue in and around it, sucking gently as she did so. And while she was doing that, her hand slid still lower, following the line of short dark hair across his abdomen until it merged into the thicker patch at its base. There she encountered the goal of her search, the solid column of his penis, already erect and growing harder with each passing second.

She grasped him and gently ran her hand up and down the pulsing shaft, marveling at the silky covering over the steel within. Shifting to kneel over him, she flung the covers away and for a long moment simply gazed at him, caressing and stroking the wonderful evidence of his masculinity, again marveling that she should actually be engaged with him in so intimate and erotic a thing as this.

Then she lowered her head and kissed him, feeling him throb in answer beneath her lips. Her tongue crept out to taste him, then swirl in circles around the smooth, slick head. As it did so, she heard Spock groan and his fingers buried themselves in her hair, holding her where she was. Smiling a little, Christine stepped up her actions, teasing him with little kisses and nips, stroking him with her fist, and finally taking him as far into her mouth as she could, sucking gently but steadily.

His hips lifted beneath her in response and she heard him gasp. Working him against the roof of her mouth, she tasted a salty bitterness in her mouth and knew that he was close to culmination. But she had no plans to bring him to climax orally. She wanted him in her and knew that he preferred that as well.

Abruptly she released him and sat up, the shock of the cool air on his wet penis jerking him back to reality. He stared up at her, his face now flushed with arousal and waited her next move. She was in no mood by now to prolong that wait any longer, and as she locked her eyes onto his, she swung her leg over his hips and began to settle onto him, her hands resting on either side of his stomach.

For a few seconds she paused, watching him expectantly, and he understood what she wanted. Reaching down, he grasped himself and guided his erection into place, and she slowly and deliberately descended onto the rigid shaft, savoring every sensation as it sank into her. When he was buried as deeply within her as he could go, she closed her eyes and for a moment simply enjoyed feeling him fill her, enhancing it by slowly moving her hips in a circle, her back arched inward and her breasts thrust out to him enticingly.

He accepted her invitation and reached to grasp the rosy-tipped globes, running his thumbs over the nipples until they were fully erect in his hands. Overcome by now, she began to thrust against him, picking up speed as her arousal grew.

Watching her face transform with wanton desire, he let his hands slide down to her waist, then inserted one finger between the soft, wet lips grinding into the hair at his groin, finding and massaging the swollen mound between them. She gasped and threw back her head, moving even faster and, through their bond, he felt her climax rapidly approaching.

He quickly grasped her buttocks, holding her firm as he bucked up hard beneath her. She burst into rapture, her hips pumping against him, her body gripping him so tightly that he lost any semblance of control he might have had remaining. With an involuntary gasp, he slammed into her as deeply as he could and felt his gut erupt in consummate release, flooding her with lava, his whole being encased in a nova-bright explosion of indescribable sensation.

It took his breath away and seemed to last forever and yet was over much, much too soon. She collapsed atop him and then rolled off him to lie exhausted at his side, pulling the bed covers back over them. For a long moment, they both lay weak and helpless, then he moved to kiss her softly.

"And now, my wife, go to sleep," he said in a murmur. "Or I shall be bedridden tomorrow and possibly incapacitated for a week!"

She chuckled almost silently against his shoulder. "Yes, my husband. I promise I will let you rest. For a few hours anyway."

He groaned and rolled over so that his back was toward her, falling asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Christine wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and leaned back against the trunk of the shade tree. The day had been oppressive, the air heavy and still. High humidity had her practically dripping but she was engrossed in her writing project and didn't want to stop.

Spock and Sapel were off hunting and she was taking advantage of the quiet afternoon to put down more stories on the leather scrolls. She had finally perfected her ink and had been experimenting with various writing instruments -- a sharpened quill, a horse hair brush, twigs and plant stems. All produced different effects and she had also begun to work with various plant materials to produce colored inks and paints.

Spock had become interested in the project as well and had been setting down Vulcan legends in w'l'quanno, the flowing vertical script of his people. She was learning to read it along with Sapel and loved to watch as he plied the brush to the parchment and the magical figures appeared. Christine was reminded of Japanese brush writing, for he worked in graceful, fluid motions, each one precise and measured.

He wrote in English as well, his nearly photographic memory holding entire texts that Christine couldn't hope to remember. Studying what he had written, she realized that, except for his signature on orders and reports and the occasional scribbled note on a duty board, she had never seen his handwriting. It wasn't surprising to find that he wrote in English in the same neat, ordered hand as he did in Vulcan. The letters were perfectly formed, yet unmistakably his own, masculine and unadorned, slanting a bit to the right, for he was right-handed, put down with a bit more force than a woman would write them.

Comparing her handwriting to his, Christine made a rueful face. Her script was sloppier, reflecting her impulsive attitude and impatience with things. She sighed and dipped her pen again into the ink, turning back to what she was writing. The leather sheet was spread flat on Sapel's slate and supported in her lap. It had taken her a little maneuvering to find a comfortable position, now that her abdomen was beginning to protrude more, but she had finally achieved a workable set up and had been laboriously setting down the 23rd Psalm , one of the few passages from the Bible that she knew straight through. To keep herself focused, she recited as she wrote:

"...yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."

She had been dismayed at the start of her project to discover how little of the Bible she actually could quote. She knew bits and pieces, dredged from her memory of childhood religious training, but she couldn't pin down much more than that. Fortunately, Spock's encyclopedic knowledge filled in the gaps, although his information came from simple academic study of the book and not a religious conviction to it.

He could, instead, quote all of the Tenets of Surak without missing a beat and, if he'd put his mind to it, could have recited the Starfleet Regulations Manual straight through, although even he admitted there was not much point in such an exercise. Being able to quote precisely the proper length of a dress uniform and the placement of military decorations on said uniform did not have much practical application in the current situation.

Christine had broken into hysterical laughter at the image of Spock, attired immaculately in his dress tunic and medals ... over buckskin trousers and a loin cloth. And he had, in turn, pointed out that she would be as comical in a satin dress accessorized with moccasins and a water bag fashioned from a deer's stomach.

She smiled again at the memory and concentrated on her writing. "...for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me..."

A faint wisp of breeze ruffled her hair and she looked up, hoping that there was relief on the horizon, but it was only a tease. What she did see on the horizon, far to the northwest over the tips of the mountain peaks, was a long gray bank of clouds, stretching as far in each direction as she could observe. A front, perhaps. Maybe they would get some rain and it would cool off a bit.

Once more, sweat trickled down her temple and she wiped it away, going back to her project. "...Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over..."

* * *

"Wide experience increases wisdom, provided the experience is not sought purely for the stimulation of sensation," Spock quoted as Sapel sat solemnly facing his father. They were engaged in another lesson on the teachings of Surak and Spock was just beginning to warm up to his subject. "Do you understand what this means, Sapel?"

The boy dropped his gaze for a few seconds than answered, "We shouldn't go looking for stuff just 'cause it's there?"

"Hmmmm ... not exactly," the older Vulcan mused. "Surak means here that we should cherish all that we encounter in life and all that happens to us, because each experience adds to our knowledge, but that we should not deliberately seek to make such experiences happen purely for the sake of having lived through them."

Sapel thought that over. "But if we learn from everything we do, isn't doing it a good thing?"

"It depends," Spock replied. "For instance, you would certainly learn from the experience of falling out of a tree, but is this something you would actively seek to do, just so that you could say that you'd done it?"

"No, but that's a silly example," Sapel answered. "Who'd deliberately climb up a tree and then fall out of it? That's stupid."

"How do you know that?" Spock prompted.

"Well, you'd get hurt for one thing," the boy retorted.

"And how do you know you'd get hurt?"

"Cause I fell off a rock once and it hurt--" Suddenly Sapel's brown eyes widened in understanding. "I learned that falling off things hurt and I shouldn't fall out of trees because of that!" he declared.

"Exactly," his father answered, pleased. "You learned from the experience of falling off the rock. Therefore, it was unnecessary to repeat the experience in a tree. You learned the wisdom of experience, cha'i."

"But won't that make you afraid of doing anything?"

"No," Spock answered. "On the contrary, it makes us unafraid of new experiences. We know that we will add to our wisdom and therefore can look forward to new experiences with eagerness. However, because we learn, we begin to differentiate between worthwhile happenings and those which are dangerous and foolish."

"Like not stickin' your hand in fire or knowing to be careful with a knife," Sapel suggested thoughtfully.

"Precisely."

Spock straightened as a light breeze shifted his long black hair about his face. The heavy humidity of the afternoon had been quite uncomfortable, one of the reasons he had chosen to rest with his son in the shade while he taught this lesson. Now, hopeful of a change in the weather, he scanned the horizon and studied the bank of clouds lying there.

Towers of cumulus were beginning to build into the dull blue sky all along the front and what he could see of the bases were dark and ominous with rain. The squall line was still quite far away and did not present any immediate danger, but Spock resolved to keep an eye on it. He and Sapel had come a long way this morning in search of game and it would take them more than an hour of brisk travel to get home. They had snared a clutch of small game - two hares and a small, plump ground-dwelling bird - and Spock decided to wrap up his instruction and start for home.

"Surak teaches us another thing with this saying," he resumed. "Can you tell me what that is?"

Sapel puzzled but couldn't come up with an answer. Spock, his intuition of danger beginning to tickle the back of his mind, did not prolong the questioning. "The experience is not sought purely for the stimulation of sensation," he said. "Never should you do something purely for stimulation. That is not the Vulcan way. We are forced to compromise here in some ways, but such a teaching still applies. For instance, we have hunted and killed these animals because it is necessary for our survival, but hunting and killing for pleasure is an abomination. We reverence the lives of these creatures and deprive them of that life in order to sustain our own. But you must never feel pleasure in doing so. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Papa," the boy answered. "But aren't there things that we do because we like them and which aren't bad to do?"

Spock cast a glance once more at the clouds. The front seemed closer. "There are such things, Sapel, but we do not have time today to discuss them. We will continue this conversation another time. Right now, we must start for home. I fear that the weather is going to catch us as it is. We must make haste."

The boy took in the looming wall of building clouds and saw, very far away, the flash of lightning from the base of one thunderhead. He also felt his father's urgency and quickly gathered his miniature hunting instruments together, then fell in beside Spock, trotting to keep up with his parent's long-legged stride.

* * *

Christine was feeling decidedly uneasy as she stood on the western side of the valley and strained to see any sign of her husband and son. The long, seemingly endless line of clouds had advanced across the plains and grown higher and more ominous as it did so. Far out ahead of the main front, the anvils off the huge storm cells stretched out to cover the sky, dimming the sunlight.

Behind them, the towers continued to build along the squall line, shooting up so fast that she could see their movements with the naked eye. Lightning crackled and flared almost constantly in the boiling white masses and the rumble of thunder reached her now, although it was still a long way off. Worst of all, the sky had taken on a weird greenish tint, something that Christine knew meant hail. This was going to be a bad one.

Again, she searched for any sign across the distance of moving objects that might be the two people she sought. But all she could see were the animal herds, restless and beginning to seek shelter, and the endless waving miles of grasses, billowing in the wind like a golden sea.

A sudden gust of strong, cold wind washed over her, nearly knocking her off her feet with its strength, and below her, in the valley, she could hear her tanning poles go down and things begin to blow about. The downburst off the lead storm cell had slammed into the ground beneath it and was curling outward in all directions. She could see the dust and debris whirling as the heavy outflow spread out like water.

Lightning forked downward out of the storm, the crash of thunder following it a second later. Too close for comfort. Christine decided that standing on this hill was a very dangerous place to be and she turned and hurried down into the valley. Spock and Sapel were nowhere in sight and she could only hope that they had holed up somewhere until the storm passed. Meanwhile, she quickly made her way down to their campsite and began snatching up tools and materials that were blowing about in the wind, getting them inside before the downpour started.

She barely made it before the first huge raindrops began thudding into the ground around her and the storm hit with all its fury.

* * *

The strong gust front of cold air knocked Sapel off his feet and he went down into the grass with a cry. Instantly, Spock crouched and pulled him up and into his arms, holding him tightly against the rush of the wind whipping about them. Thunder shook the ground beneath them as lightning forked overhead.

Continuing to squat low, Spock turned his gaze on the storm building above them and knew that they were only minutes away from being caught in the deluge that blackened the cloud base. He could already see a strong, thick rain shaft falling just to their north and his attention was held by the odd greenish hue the clouds had assumed. He didn't know what it meant, but something within him screamed "danger".

Then something else seized his notice and he stared, both perplexed and fascinated at what the clouds were doing. A large, striated section of the cloud base had lowered somewhat, hanging thick and gray like a gigantic flat cylinder. Lightning struck out of it repeatedly and blackish scud clouds were moving at a right angle to it. The wind had turned around and was blowing strongly back toward the ugly lowering, the updraft sucking air back into it.

Something in Spock's memory registered and suddenly he knew what he was witnessing. He had never encountered anything like it in all his travels, but he had read of it and seen holos of the phenomenon. Abruptly he knew that he was seeing the birth of a tornado and he hugged Sapel harder against him, feeling the boy begin to cry in terror.

Beneath the wall cloud dust swirled on the ground, although nothing appeared to connect the two. But a few seconds later, Spock could see a thin, ropy form appear out of the bottom of the wall cloud and begin to move downward. At the same time, the dust swirl grew higher as the wind's velocity increased and a shell of debris spiraled upward around the rope until it reached cloud base, and the condensation funnel of the tornado was complete.

"Heya save us," Spock whispered to himself, unaware that he had evoked the Vulcan deity of legend.

Get to a low spot, something told him and he looked around wildly for shelter, but there was nothing. No creeks or gullies traversed this part of the plains and the grasslands undulated away, featureless on either side. The only thing he could see at all was a buffalo wallow, a depression worn into the sandy ground where the huge beasts took their almost daily dust baths.

Rain was already beginning to fall around him and he could hear the dull, deep roar of the twister as it tore its way along beneath the moving thunderstorm. Leaping up, Spock made an awkward dash for the wallow, Sapel clutched hard against him. It wasn't far, but still the downpour caught them as Spock dove into the sparse shelter, throwing Sapel down flat and stretching himself out belly-down over the child, covering him with his own body, protecting the back of his head with his hands.

Buckets of hard, icy rain pounded down, thrumming into him and soaking him within a minute. Then something like a fist struck him in the back and then another and another. Within another second, hail was pummeling him unmercifully. Spock could do nothing except squirm closer against the side of the wallow and keep his head covered as best he could, thanking the gods that the hailstones were only an inch or two across and not the lethal baseball-sized missiles that were possible in storms this size.

The hail lasted only a minute and then that part of the storm moved away, along with the rain, but still Spock dared not move. For the air was now filled with the howling roar of the cyclone and the rain and hail had been replaced with things even more deadly -- the whipping debris and dust rocketing about the tornado's funnel as it moved across the landscape, pulverizing everything in its path.

Dirt, chunks of rock and detonated bits of trees blasted over the huddled form, ripping at his clothing, driving needles of debris into his body, scouring his exposed skin with its sandpaper ferocity.

And then there was an explosion of pain that eradicated all else around him and Spock's world went totally black.

* * *

Christine had been standing inside the shelter of the cave entrance, watching the rain pour down, so thick that she could barely see the big shade tree whipping in the wind. Abruptly, something crashed into the rock wall just to the right of her, then another and another. Without warning, hail was pounding the ground and cliff face, stripping the leaves from the tree and setting up a din that nearly drowned out the thunder that boomed and rumbled constantly.

Ducking quickly back inside, Christine wedged the leather-covered door barrier into place, flinching as the hail threatened to beat it down despite its sturdiness.

She moved back well away from the door and listened fearfully to the storm raging outside, desperately hoping that Spock and Sapel were not caught in its fury. She could only feel concern through the light link of the mindbond, but knew that Spock was all right, wherever he was.

The hail stopped and the rain slackened as the storm moved across the valley to the northeast, but there was still something wrong. Christine could hear the tree outside groaning and thrashing in the wind and, underlying that sound was a deep, almost subsonic roar that didn't sound like thunder. Puzzled, she stood and listened for a few seconds, trying to identify it, then with a realization like a physical blow, she recognized the sound.

She'd been raised on Earth in the Ohio River valley and had seen Midwest thunderstorms rumble through the area every spring and summer. There was a spring she had nearly forgotten, when she was a little girl ... a spring with one horrifying evening when she'd huddled in the basement with her mother and sisters and listened to a sound like that, and had emerged later to find a path of destruction that had nearly obliterated their neighborhood, though their own home had been miraculously spared.

Panic seized her and her immediate instinct was to run and hide. Almost without volition, she whirled to find the basement stairs and then realized a split-second later that, of course, there were none here. But the urge to get as deep underground as possible stayed with her and in the next second she was running for the little off-shoot cavern where their indoor latrine was located. It branched off to one side and downward before coming to the little narrow room, not much more than a crack in the rock.

It was nearly black-dark inside, but she knew its contours by heart and avoided stepping into the deep crack in the floor that they used as the toilet. It opened to a deeper chamber, with a running stream at its bottom, and made an ideal bad-weather facility.

But now, all Christine could think of was huddling at the far recesses of the little room and she made it with no time to spare. The ground underneath her was trembling with the force of the cyclone and, outside, she could hear the big shade tree snap with a sound like bone breaking.

The roar of the twister filled the outer room and she heard the door barrier splinter and burst. As the tornado moved over the valley, its voracious winds set everything in their living quarters flying and, for a moment, Christine was terrified that the vortex would seek her out and pull her into the maelstrom of debris as well.

And then suddenly, in the midst of the terror that nearly threatened to overwhelm her, she felt white-hot pain tear through her upper back and right shoulder and she crumpled to the floor, oblivious to the swirling hell around her.

* * *

"Papa! Papa, wake up!"

Gradually, Sapel's voice penetrated the fog that filled Spock's brain. The boy was still lying pinned underneath him and was pushing with all his might to move his father's crushing weight off him. He had managed to squirm out enough to breathe, but now he pounded with his small fists on Spock's arm and shoulder.

Spock lifted himself up with a groan so that Sapel could wriggle free, then nearly blacked out again as a terrible pain shot through the back of his head. Gingerly reaching up, he found his hair wet and sticky, matted together with congealed blood. Managing to get his eyes open a crack, he found his fingers dripping with dark green liquid and discovered that Sapel was also splattered liberally. It took Spock a moment longer before he understood that Sapel wasn't hurt, remembering that his son bled crimson instead of green.

Spock tried to get up, but went down immediately onto his hands and knees as the lightning blast of pain struck him again. His stomach revolted at the vertigo and for a few long minutes he vomited uncontrollably.

When nothing more would come, he collapsed into the mud of the buffalo wallow and lay for sometime, trying to get his thoughts to settle down, trying to control the pain, trying to evaluate his injuries. Sapel huddled next to him, sniffling softly in shock and fear.

After a while, Spock managed to gain control enough of his pain to work his way through a mental checklist. His head ached abominably and he decided that some flying piece of debris had struck him hard enough to knock him out. He was obviously concussed, for when he tried to open his eyes, his vision was blurred and maddeningly double, and he felt exhausted and confused. It was an effort to think.

Other than his head, he had sustained a number of smaller injuries. His back, shoulders, hips and legs were terribly bruised from the pounding hail and he could feel innumerable places where smaller pieces of debris had been driven into his skin. And the soaking rain had left him chilled and shivering. That might be due to shock as well.

When he could extend his thoughts a bit further, he reached out and touched Sapel's leg. "Are you hurt?" he asked, wincing at the effort it took to speak.

The boy sobbed and answered in a small voice, "I don't know. Papa, I'm scared!"

"I need you to tell me ... uh ... if you hurt anywhere," Spock insisted, his eyes tightly closed to alleviate the pounding pain.

Sapel was silent for a moment then said, "I think I'm okay, Papa. Oh, Papa, I don't know what to do!"

"We need ... to get home ... to Mama," Spock grated through clenched teeth. He latched onto that thought. Christine was a nurse, her training so extensive that she qualified as a doctor in most respects. They had to make it home. Christine would know how to treat his injuries. If he could just get up and get moving...

"Sapel ... see if you can find ... my spear," Spock directed his son. It was sturdy enough that he could use it as a walking stick, lean on it.

For an indefinable period of time ... minutes, days, weeks ... Spock lay nearly insensate, drifting in and out of consciousness, then suddenly Sapel was shaking him again. "I couldn't find it, Papa," the boy said.

Spock roused himself a little. Find what? he wondered. Then he remembered that he had sent his son on an errand and that only a few minutes had passed.

"I found this, though," Sapel continued and Spock managed to focus on what the boy held. Sapel had found a slender limb nearly as tall as Spock himself, a piece of debris dropped by the raging wind.

"Good boy," he murmured and reached out to grasp the makeshift staff. With an effort, he got onto his knees, then laboriously managed to stand. The world wheeled around him and he thought he must be falling, but when his head settled down again, he was still clutching the tree limb and was still on his feet.

Home ... they had to make it home ... Then, with dismay, Spock realized he didn't remember which way home was. His dazed brain simply would not identify any landmarks or directions.

Looking around him, Spock felt a hopelessness drift over him. Finally, he asked, "Sapel ... which way do we need to go?"

The little boy stared at his father with a shocked and frightened expression, then seemed to rally himself and take charge. His Papa was hurt and it was up to him to get them both home to Mama. Quickly, he surveyed their surroundings and spotted the familiar outline of the bluff above their valley, about a mile away.

"It's this way, Papa," he said with determination. "Don't worry. I'll help you."

Spock would have been delighted and profoundly pleased at the maturity and stamina his young son showed, but just this minute, he had his hands full putting one foot in front of the other and keeping his mind focused enough to keep from losing consciousness once again.

* * *

Christine groaned and tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be matted shut. With an effort, she managed to get the lids of one eye slightly apart, then was confused that she couldn't see anything. She started to reach up to touch her face, but white hot pain shot through her right shoulder and arm, making her cry out at the shock of it.

She lay still and slowly assessed her situation. First, she couldn't see anything because it was pitch dark where she lay, in the "bathroom" of their cave. Normally a little ambient light seeped in from the outer chamber, but either night had fallen or something was blocking the door. She vaguely remember the tree outside breaking in the tornadic winds and suspected that it was lying up against the cave opening.

Second, she was injured, although how badly she couldn't tell. She was lying on her left side, nearly over on her face, and her right shoulder and upper back felt as it they had been impaled. It was likely that they had been pierced by flying debris and whatever it was could still be in the wound. She hurt too much to know. Her shoulder might also be broken, but she couldn't be sure of that either.

Her matted eyes were likely stuck closed with blood. She must have taken a scalp wound and blood had run across her face.

Her next thought turned to her baby and for a number of tense moments, she turned her self-inspection inward, searching desperately to feel movement or some sign of life within her. She had no pain there but that didn't mean much.

Oh, baby, please... she begged mentally. Please, just be all right.

Miraculously, she felt the tiniest of butterfly wings deep within her abdomen, something she wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't been so focused on the area.

Tears leaked out of her matted eyes and she sobbed with relief. It was all right! Cushioned in its amniotic ocean, the tiny fetus had ridden out the storm in good shape. Christine didn't know if the movement she'd felt was in response to her plea or just coincidence. Spock's baby was quite likely already endowed with the most rudimentary form of Vulcan telepathy, but at the moment she didn't care one way or the other. As long as it was all right!

Spock! Sapel! Desperately, Christine tried to feel her husband's mental signature through their bondlink, but she felt nothing. That sent a shot of panic through her. Was he hurt? Unconscious? Or ... oh, please, God, no ... dead?

No, not dead. At the most basic level of their mindbond, she could still feel his lifeforce. Something was definitely wrong, but he was alive. She wanted to go to him, help him, but she couldn't move herself. All she could hope was that, somehow, he could make it home to her and was not hurt. Because this time she needed him to help her!

Exhausted by her mental and limited physical activity, Christine laid her face back on the rough, cold floor and slipped once more into darkness.

* * *

It had taken weeks, it seemed to Spock, but at long last, he and Sapel stood on the western rim of their little valley, looking down at the destruction that had been their home site. Spock had fallen twice on the way here, his head spinning and his vision refusing to focus, and he was forced to lie quietly each time before he could pull himself upright once more and resume the journey.

Sapel had urged him on, desperate that his father make it home, but also feeling a growing disquiet where his mother was concerned. He had always felt a mental link to her, a telepathic bond that had developed in the womb, although it was not as strong as the one projected by his father. Ever since the healing trance Spock had used to save Sapel after the water monster attack at Sea Home, he had been extremely close to the older Vulcan through the link that had formed at that time.

But now he could sense pain and confusion from his mother and it forced the boy to continue goading his father whenever he faltered. Sapel was doing his best to fight down the terror that threatened to take him, for he had never seen Spock like this. He had come to consider his papa indestructible and infallible. It frightened him to see the man he idolized limping along, barely able to stay upright, bleeding from numerous small wounds, his brow furrowed in tortured concentration.

Nevertheless, at long last, they had traversed the way home and both of them now stood dismayed as they gazed at what the storm had left in its wake. Debris of all sorts littered the valley and the pond was scummed over with a floating cap of leaves, branches and blasted bits of wood. Worse, the huge shade tree not far from their doorway had been twisted and snapped off at its trunk and the shattered remains lay up against the cliff face, completely hiding the cave entrance.

Christine! Spock thought frantically and Sent to her through their bond, calling to her mind. Nothing answered him back and panic stabbed through him. He started down the gentle slope to the creek as quickly as he could manage, leaning on his make-shift staff for support, Sapel wanting desperately to run to his mother's aid but loyally staying at his father's side.

When they had reached area of the entrance, Spock cast aside his walking stick and steeled himself to do whatever he must. The downed tree lay on its side, its branches forming a thicket of limbs that blocked his way. Gritting his teeth and commanding his body to cooperate, Spock seized one of the bigger limbs and began pulling with all his might. His strength seemed to have left him, though, for the tree barely moved. He didn't notice Sapel pulling, too.

Spock concentrated his effort into a powerful heave and the tree shifted. It knocked the Vulcan backwards and he sprawled flat out for a long moment, panting and squeezing his eyes closed as vertigo again made him feel as if the world was spinning out from under him. After a time, he managed to sit up and open his eyes. For a few seconds, he saw double then things came back together.

His son was nowhere to be seen and Spock looked frantically around him, then unsteadily got to his feet. "Sapel!" he called loudly, terrified and confused. Sapel had been with him crossing the creek. Where was he now? Had he been swept away? His mind was still suffering from the concussion and for a moment his short term memory went blank. He forgot why he was bothering with the tree and was only concerned in finding his little boy.

Just as Spock was about to turn and go back the way he had come, Sapel emerged from behind the forest of branches and ran to him. "Papa! I'm right here! Come on! We can get in now!"

Get in where? Spock pondered, then he remembered where he was and what had happened. Christine! As fast as he could, he followed Sapel around to the where a small space had been opened between the tree and the cliff face, just enough to allow them to squeeze by and enter their cave home.

Inside it was dark and cool and nothing was where it should have been. The interior of the cave was in chaos. Out of nowhere, Spock's disordered thoughts plucked a phrase his mother had said to him once when he was very small and had scattered his toys across the floor of his bedroom: "This place looks like a tornado struck it!"

Involuntarily, a single laugh burst from him, startling Sapel who stared in disbelief up at his father. But Spock's face held anything but humor. His eyes were frantically searching the gloom and destruction for his wife's body, looking for anything that might be the form of a broken human.

He couldn't find her. "...Christine..." he whispered in a near-sob, his ravaged emotional controls beginning to fray apart. He took a step into the room, beginning to feel panic and grief overwhelm him.

A human wouldn't have heard it, but his sensitive Vulcan hearing zeroed in on the small sound that came from the side cave, the latrine area. Quickly, Spock stumbled toward it, falling over debris, the sudden action causing his tenuous hold on consciousness and concentration to waver dramatically. He went down onto his hand and knees, crawling toward the sound...

...and found his wife lying just inside the entry of the side cavern, covered with blood, her left arm stretched out toward the doorway as if trying to reach him when she'd passed out.

Weakness took the last grains of control out of his muscles and he collapsed just before he could get to her. His vision was tunneling down to her outstretched hand and with his last strength, he reached out and threaded his fingers through hers. That was the last thing he knew.

* * *

For a long time, Spock thought he was asleep in his own bed, but there was something very wrong with it. After a time, he became aware that he was lying on the packed dirt floor of the cave and there was a fur robe spread over him. Something warm was snuggled against his side, curled up like a small animal, and he discerned this to be Sapel, lying atop the fur, but burrowed into his father's ribs, asleep.

Spock raised his head a bit, expecting to feel pain club him senseless once more, but it had receded to a dull ache at the back of his skull. Moreover, his mind was clear again and he felt incredibly better than he had on the nightmarish journey home. He was still aware of the intensive bruising he'd sustained and the fact that his back, hips and legs were shot through with innumerable little wounds, most of them with debris still buried in his skin. They would all have to be opened and cleaned ... eventually.

His attention turned fully now to the figure of his wife, still lying where he'd found her, but also now covered with a fur. As Spock moved, Sapel awoke and sat up, looking disoriented, then he cried, "Papa!" and threw his arms around his father's neck, hugging him fiercely.

Spock took a moment to embrace his son, sending reassuring thoughts to him through their mindlink, then gently pushed the little boy away. "Sapel, are you all right?"

"Yes, Papa. You've been asleep a long time. So has Mama. I couldn't get either one of you to wake up." He paused as his lip trembled. "You were both so cold... I found the blankets and covered you both up."

"That was exactly the right thing to do," Spock assured him. "I am very proud of you, cha'i. You have been extremely brave. Now, do you think you can find the water bag for me? We all need a drink of water."

"I think I know where it is." The boy stood and moved off toward the doorway. Spock could see that it was light outside, although the big tree blocked most of the illumination from the opening.

It was enough, though, and he turned quickly to his wife. "Christine," he said in a low voice, bending to stroke her blood-matted hair. He was rewarded as she opened her eyes and looked up at him with a dull, glazed expression. "How badly are you hurt?"

She moved her tongue in her dry mouth, trying to work up enough saliva to speak, but couldn't. Sapel came back with the water bag and Spock carefully dribbled a few drops across her lips. Gratefully, she licked them in and he gave her a little more, then handed the bag to his son. He knew Christine must be parched, but he didn't dare give her too much too quickly.

"Try to speak, t'hy'la," Spock said, bending over her again. "How bad is it?"

This time she managed a weak voice. "My shoulder ... back ... something's stuck in it. Think shoulder's broke."

"Don't try to move. I need a light to examine you." Spock looked around at the jumbled chaos and located one of their little oil lamps. The tallow had hardened in the bowl, the candle still clinging to its container, and he quickly pinched the twisted grass wick up high enough to light. Then he had the problem of making fire, for their hearth was buried and the embers were dead.

Working as fast as he could, Spock set the hearthstones back in order and laid kindling and tinder down, then looked for a fire starter. He couldn't find either, then spotted the little container of scratch sticks they'd inherited from the Romulans. They had hoarded them like gold and had only used a half dozen in the whole time they'd been here. Now Spock snatched up the waterproof holder and opened it, extracting one of the chemical matches, dragging it across one of the stones to set it off.

Within minutes, he had the fire going and was feeding wood onto it, snatching it up from the various shattered pieces that littered their home. Then he lit the candle and went back to Christine's side, stepping over her into the toilet area.

Setting the candle down, he knelt at her side and gently lifted the fur off her body. His jaw tightened as he surveyed the damage. Her back and right shoulder were mangled, lividly colored with contusions and streaked black with dried blood. Protruding from her shoulder was the broken stump of a piece of wood, possibly from the shattered shade tree, possibly blown in from somewhere else. The whole area was grossly swollen and inflamed, infection already setting in.

Spock's throat went dry when he saw the injuries his wife had sustained. He wasn't a medical professional and this called for a surgeon. That fragment would have to be removed somehow, the wound cleansed and possibly cauterized, her shoulder set and long-term recuperation prescribed. And the first thing he had to do was get her up and off this cold floor, something that was likely to be agonizing for her.

"How bad?" she asked in a small voice, aware of his silence and distress.

"It is not pretty," he admitted, attempting to play down the seriousness of the situation. He settled the fur back over her so that she would not be chilled and leaned back down so that he could see her face. "Christine ... the child..."

"Okay, as far as I can tell," she answered tiredly.

That was a relief, in any case. He stroked her forehead and stated, "I know it is uncomfortable for you, but I cannot move you just yet. I am going to prepare bedding for you, then I will attempt to block some of your pain with a mind meld before I take you there. Do you want more water?"

"Just a sip," she answered, closing her eyes, her brow knotted in pain. He put the spout of the water bag against her lips and allowed her to have another small drink. Then he set it aside and turned to the task at hand. Quickly, he and Sapel cleared out the space where the adults' bed lay and laid down several of the fur robes they used.

When Spock was satisfied, he went back to his wife and crouched beside her, pondering the best way to transport her the short distance with the least trauma to her. There wasn't any good way but he wanted to keep that shoulder as immobile as he could in the process.

"Christine, I am going to meld with you now. I will shroud you in a euphoric state, much like the one you experienced during my pon farr. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"I am going to slide my arms underneath your body and lift you with as little movement as possible. Your legs will be dangling, but I cannot help that."

"Do what you have to, Spock," she answered, her eyes still shut.

He paused then pressed his fingertips into the psi points on her face and reached into her mind with his. At first it was difficult to penetrate the wall of pain but he began to contain it, to encase it in mental barriers, to make it manageable. Then he mentally took her to a place her memories told him meant comfort. She was at home in a big, old-fashioned Terran house, snuggled on a couch, wrapped in a thick afghan. There was a fire on the hearth and she was sipping steaming cocoa from a mug that she held between both hands.

He left her resting there, dozing peacefully, and gently dissolved the meld. Then, hoping that it would hold long enough, from the right side of her body he worked his hands underneath her torso, palms up, until he had her securely. Slowly standing, he lifted up his awkward burden, supporting her injured shoulder against his chest, and moved quickly and purposefully the short distance to the bed.

There he gently laid her down in the same position, the soft bedding now cushioning her. Sapel was standing by, per his father's instructions, with a couple of smaller furs, and Spock hurriedly rolled these into a pillow and a support for her shoulder. Then he retrieved the fur she had been covered with and laid it over her. Once done, he gently touched her mind again and led her back to the present.

Coming to, she frowned and whimpered in pain and he bent to her once again. "Is there something I might give you? Some pain killer?"

"No," she murmured.

"The opium-like medicine, perhaps?"

"No, Spock! I don't know how it would affect the baby," she said through clenched teeth. "I'll be all right. Just let me rest for a bit."

He could do nothing more for the moment and allowed her to lie quietly. Turning to his son, he asked, "Have you had anything to eat, Sapel?"

"I found some dried fruit and bread."

"Then help me set things in order here. I need to find some of the soft chamois hides and the cooking bowls," Spock instructed. "Quickly now, while there is still daylight to work with. And look for your mother's steel knife as well. I may need both of them. And as many lamps and your mother's medicine pouches as you can find."

With a speed born of urgency, father and son went to work, Spock already mentally turning over the surgery he would have to perform on his wife.

* * *

Spock's hand began to tremble so badly that he stopped and pulled back from the naked body of his wife, lying unconscious, face-down before him. The steel knife in his hand had been whetted to razor-fine sharpness and sterilized in boiling water. So had the other Romulan knife and a half dozen small obsidian blades that they used for butchering and skinning prey animals.

All the oil lamps he could find were primed and burning and he had designated Sapel to refill them with rendered fat should they begin to burn low before he was finished with the delicate job before him. For the moment, though, he had sent the boy to bed, not expecting to need him for a couple of hours yet. With luck, he would be finished long before that and his son could sleep through the night.

Christine was deeply wrapped within a Vulcan mind meld, her consciousness so shut off from the real world that she was as senseless to pain as if she had been sedated with chemical anesthetics. Spock had given thought to taking her into a healing trance, as he had done with Sapel, but then dismissed it. He could not wake up alone and Sapel would never be able to deliver the forceful blows that were needed to penetrate the trance. No, he would have to do for Christine what he could and then she would have to recover on her own, with only light trances to help her as when she had been injured by the buffalo bull and had miscarried so long ago.

But what made Spock hesitate now was pure fear and uncertainty. He had to get that chunk of wood out of her back, make sure the wound was clear of all debris, then stitch it closed. After that, he had to set her shoulder and bandage the area snugly. In the meantime, she could bleed to death. She was already weak from blood loss and trauma and the fact that she could die beneath his hands simply unnerved him. Yet the surgery must be performed.

Spock sat back on his heels and closed his eyes, speaking softly. "My Fathers, hear the plea of your son. I entreat you to share your wisdom and courage with me, for I am in sore need of both. I know that among you were healers of mind and body. My Ancestors, who dwell within my katra, come forward and give me aid now. Steady my hands and guide me. Help me to save the life of my bonded mate and the child she carries, your son or daughter."

Spock sat quietly for a minute more, his attention focused inward, waiting expectantly for the stirring in his mind that would mean his Ancestors had heard him and responded. He had almost given up when abruptly a chill went over him, making the hair on the back of his neck rise, and then peace settled over him. They were there. He could do this now.

With confidence now, Spock bent back to the ugly wound marring Christine's otherwise smooth back. Holding the knife blade carefully between his fingers like a scalpel, he made a shallow cut at the top of the wound, then another at the bottom, allowing him to expose the piece of wood embedded there. Once more space was provided, the main body of the projectile came easily free with a gentle pull.

Spock look a few seconds to study the bloody object and raised an eyebrow. It was part of a straight, slender sapling that he was intended to fashion into a new spear. How ironic that it had been just that in the hands of the tornado. The wood had not been stripped of bark or smoothed but had been set aside with a pile of similar saplings and branches that would be seasoned, hardened and eventually made into arrows, spears and other tools. The cyclone had blasted them into tinder and set them into a deadly cloud of flying debris within the cave walls.

Setting the missile aside, Spock turned back and blotted the wound with a clean chamois, then bent closer to search out and remove the splinters and pulverized bark that were buried within the flesh. It took him nearly an hour before he was confident that he had it all. Then, pouring a bit of sterilized water into the incision, he washed the wound clean and began on the next task, that of stitching the cut closed. The only materials he had to work with were a bone needle and long, nearly hair-fine strips of antelope tendon, boiled in a pot of water and set aside to cool.

It took him several minutes to get the needle threaded and a knot tied in the tendon fiber. The stitches would be large and there would be nothing pretty about them. The scarring this would produce would mark Christine's back forever, but it was the best he could do. He had a similar long, puckered scar down one thigh where Christine had stitched him back together following the wolf attack their first winter here.

Working as delicately as he could, Spock began to pull the slashed flesh together, being careful not to pull the skin together too tightly but still bring it into contact with the other side so that it would knit back together. His back was aching by the time he finished, both from bending so close and from the tension in his neck. But finally it was done. He sprinkled on a powder of dried leaves from one of Christine's medicine pouches, one that seemed to have antiseptic properties, and sat back to rest before tackling the next phase of his work.

The lamps were beginning to burn low, but he was disinclined to wake Sapel to refill them. He wouldn't need a lot of light for setting her shoulder. Spock sat back to rest for a few minutes and sipped some water, wondering when he had eaten last. His stomach was tight with emptiness and gurgled quietly as the cool water trickled into it, but he shoved away any notion of hunger he might have. He couldn't eat yet.

Marshaling his determination and strength, he turned back to Christine and gently examined her shoulder, manipulating it with careful movements and trying to feel for any break in the bone. Her shoulder socket moved easily and freely and he could not discern any obvious fracture. But then he didn't really know what to feel for. His hands might be moving over a break and he not recognize it.

Spock closed his eyes again and opened himself to his Ancestors, allowing the knowledge of the healers to flow through him. Almost by their own power, his long fingers danced over the injured area, probing, pressing gently, assessing. And somehow he could almost see within to the bone itself, could visualize it in his mind.

There was a fracture, on the shoulder blade where the projectile had struck. The scapula was cracked, but not broken clean through. There was nothing he could do to actually set it. The best treatment was to immobilize her right arm and let the bone begin to grow back together, keeping undue stress off it for a while. It would be painful, but it was not as bad as he had feared.

The Ancestor retreated somewhat and Spock set to work bandaging his wife's incision and the break, then finished cleaning her body where dirt and blood had streaked her skin. That done, he wrapped her warmly in the bed furs and touched his fingertips to her pale face. He was almost too weary to attempt this, but it was a necessary last step.

Bringing her mind up from the depths was exhausting, but finally he raised her to normal sleep. As he pulled out of her mind, she roused and murmured, "Spock?" without opening her eyes.

"It is okay, t'hy'la," he answered in a weary whisper. "It's all over. Sleep now."

She did, sinking back down into restful slumber, and he stretched out beside her, pulling a fur over himself and falling into deep sleep without even bothering to extinguish the tiny flickering lamps or remove any of the implements of surgery. He had used the last of his own failing strength.

* * *

When Spock awoke the next morning, he found Christine up and awkwardly stirring a pot of boiling grain over the fire. She was dressed in a pullover shift, the right sleeve empty because her arm was bandaged against her body. Her hair was still mussed and unbraided. He rose quickly and went to her.

"Christine, you should not be out of bed. Nor doing this!" he stated.

She turned her face to him, pale but smiling, and he could see the spark of her old energy showing in her eyes. "I had to get up and go to the bathroom and then I decided to fix some breakfast. I'm feeling okay. Really, Spock."

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she slid her left arm around his neck, pulling him close in a frantic embrace. "Oh, God, Spock, I thought I'd lost you! Caught in the storm and--"

She sobbed and he held her as tightly as he dared, mindful of her injuries. "I thought the same of you," he whispered. He drew back a bit and found captured her lips in a fervent kiss, conveying all he felt to her both through his actions and the open channel of their bondlink.

When their lips had parted, she asked, "Sapel?"

"He is uninjured. Still just asleep. He has been very brave and resourceful. Extraordinarily so for a boy so young." Spock looked humbled. "He saved me, Christine. I suffered a concussion and could not find the way home. He led me back here."

"Oh, Spock! Where were you hit?! Let me see!" The nurse in her took charge and her hand slipped up to his hair.

"I am fine now."

"Bosh! Where?"

Knowing that resistance was futile, he took her hand and placed it on the still painful lump at the back of his head. Expertly, her fingers probed and examined. "Hmm, scabbed over and only minor swelling, but it must have taken quite a whack to knock you senseless," she mused. "Any other injuries?"

"Minor ones. A lot of small debris embedded in my skin."

"Where?"

"Mostly on my back."

"Shirt off," she ordered. "Let me see."

Obediently he shucked his buckskin tunic and allowed her to examine his excoriated back, feeling her light touch here and there as she pressed or picked at individual wounds, all still painfully making their presence known.

"What are all these bruises? You look like you've been worked over with a Romulan bola-flail."

"A close analogy," he answered. "They were caused by hail."

"Oh! My poor darling!" He felt her scrutiny moving down the small of his back to his buttocks and made a reflexive grab at his breeches as she began to pull them down. "How far does this go?" she muttered, then addressed him, "Drop your drawers. I want to see your legs."

He twitched an eyebrow at her, attempting to distract her. "Christine, I hardly think you are in any condition--"

"I'm not kidding, Spock. Get 'em off."

He sighed and unlaced his leather breeches, allowing them to drop to his knees. Her fingers went over the backs of his thighs as thoroughly as the rest of him. Then she sat back with a sigh. "Well, you worked on me, now it's my turn to work on you. Some of these places are festering and all that junk has to come out of your skin. I want to clean that scalp wound too and make sure it's healing properly. I'll get the stuff cleaned and sterilized and we can start after breakfast."

"Christine, you are in no condition to do anything of the sort," Spock protested, pulling his pants back up and lacing them closed.

"I can work for short periods of time," she answered, her steely determination settling over her. "There's no need to keep my right arm strapped down so tightly. I'm hurt but I'm not disabled. Anyway, there's too much that has to be done around here for either of us to lie in bed and loaf. And I have no intention of allowing your wounds to turn septic and have blood poisoning set in!"

"Christine--"

"End of discussion!" she snapped. "I'm the medical officer here and that's a medical order!"

His eyebrow rose slowly as he stared stonily at her. "I see, Doctor. In that case, I bow to your medical authority, but as commander of this 'ship', I will only allow it to go so far."

One corner of her mouth twitched up in a smile she was finding hard to suppress. "Understood ... Captain."

They were interrupted by a small disheveled bundle of dirt and tangled black hair that abruptly flew between them and launched itself at Christine. "Mama!!"

Spock made a grab at him but he already had his arms around her neck. Christine grimaced with pain but allowed Sapel's enthusiastic embrace for a moment. "Ooohhh, carefully, babydoll! Remember, Mama's hurt."

He backed off, the dirt on his face streaked by tear tracks. "Mama! I was so scared, Mama! I thought you got killed!"

She felt her eyes welling up again as she drank in her little son's face. "I was scared you got killed, too, lovey. I am so glad to have both my men home again!" She pulled Sapel to her and hugged him with her left arm, allowing the tears to cascade down as emotion overwhelmed her for a moment. Then she got herself under control and pushed him away a little. "But we're all okay now. We're all still together. Now, who wants some breakfast?"

"I do!" Sapel answered, back to the business of everyday living. "I'm starved!"

"Good, because I think this cereal is ready. Why don't you see if you can find the honey jar while Papa dishes it up to cool a bit?"

Sapel laughed. "Like the three bears in that story, huh? Lettin' it cool 'til it's juuust right!" He scampered off to find the carved stone crock where they stored the precious golden sweetening.

Christine exchanged glances with her husband, then looked around the shambles of their home. "More like another fairy tale ... the big bad wolf and the three little pigs. The storm huffed and puffed and bleeew our house down," she said in a wry, weary tone.

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "No, our house is still here," he said softly. "If I remember that children's story correctly, the houses made of straw and sticks blew away, but our house is made of stone. It's still here. More important, so are we! We've had to start over before, t'hy'la. We will simply do so once again." He smiled encouragingly, his dark eyes soft and full of love for her. "It will take more than a mere tornado to destroy us. As long as we have each other, we can make it."

"You're going to make me cry again," she warned. "Let's eat. I have a lot of work to do on your back."

"Not too much," he answered seriously. "A bit, then you will rest. And that is my direct order!"

"Yes, sir," she replied obediently. Already feeling the effects of being up, she had the impression that she wouldn't argue with him at all.

* * *

They both healed of their wounds and, by the time full summer had arrived, their lives were more or less back to normal. Christine had worked diligently on excising the various bits of debris that had been embedded under Spock's skin and finally, though he possessed numerous small scars as a souvenir of the experience, the vast majority of the detritus was gone. Christine's shoulder blade knitted firmly back together, although it still gave her a twinge now and then if she lifted too great a weight, and for her the worst part was when Spock removed the stitches from the incision. Skin had adhered to the pieces of tendon and, though he tried to be gentle, in most cases there was nothing else to do after he had cut the string but grasp the knot between his teeth and yank backwards. But the wound had healed cleanly and without infection and that was worth the pain Christine endured.

By mid-summer, her pregnancy had advanced into the second trimester, about four months if she calculated correctly, and her abdomen was beginning to show the definite roundness of new life. Her nausea had passed and she was feeling suffused with boundless energy. Her health and well-being reflected the profusion of life around her.

Despite the damage the storm had done, the entire area had bounded back with amazing speed. The herds of horses and antelope and bison were filled with young colts and calves, all testing themselves and each other while their mothers grazed and grew fat on the rich green grasses that covered the plains. The various predators all had pups or cubs as well and sometimes Christine and Sapel would see them emerge from dens to explore and tumble in play.

All was not pleasure, of course. The tornado had severely damaged their homesite and ruined much of their stored supplies. As soon as he was able, Spock built a new door barrier and set to work chopping the fallen tree into firewood. It was a huge tree and extremely hard work with only flint-bladed axes to use, but after four years he was practiced at it.

Preparing early legumes that she had found, Christine sat and watched him work, loving the play of light on his skin. He was shirtless in the afternoon heat, his long black hair falling in a braid down his gleaming back, his muscles bulging underneath his bronzed skin as he swung the axe again and again, the blade biting into the wood with a solid thunk. Chopping wood invariably worked up a sweat, something hard to do with a Vulcan, and she found him unbelievably masculine as his lean, hard body shone with a patina of moisture and his dark-haired chest rose and fell with exertion.

Catching his breath, he turned and smiled at her, aware of the rising excitement she was feeling. They had not made love since before the storm and he was beginning to echo her hunger, but had held off until she was fully healed. Laying down his axe, he came to where she was sitting in the shade of the cliff face and sank down beside her, reaching over to steal some of the raw legumes and pop them into his mouth like peanuts. They were sweet and crunchy and he liked them this way as much as cooked soft.

"Stop that or we won't have any supper!" she admonished.

"Why cook when the weather is this hot?" he asked reasonably.

"You'll give yourself a stomach ache," she answered, turning back to shelling the legumes from their green coverings. "Anyway, we're having more than this. I dug up some tala roots today, too, and they have to be boiled anyway. Might as well cook two dishes as one."

"Still, I do not want you to exert yourself." He reached for more legumes and she slapped his hand, but let him take them. Spock leaned back against the cliff face and let his gaze roam down to the pond where he could see Sapel fishing. They had cleared the majority of the debris and piled it on the far side of the pool and the little body of cascade-fed water seemed as pristine as before.

Munching the last of his legumes, Spock looked back at his wife. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm fine. My shoulder hardly hurts at all anymore and the scar only bothers me now and then. It itches sometimes." Her fingers continued busily shelling the peas as she talked.

"And the baby? Have you felt it move yet?"

Christine stopped what she was doing and her gaze dropped to her belly, a fond smile pulling at her lips. "A little flutter now and then. Here, see if you can feel anything." She took her husband's hand and laid it palm down across the swelling of her abdomen.

For a couple of moments, both of them sat motionless, all their attention concentrating within her, then Spock shook his head. "It is early yet." Softly, he caressed her, conveying his wonder that somewhere beneath his hand was a living being ... his child, growing and developing into a new life.

He looked up to find Christine smiling at him, her blue eyes shining with devotion. "Even after all this time," she whispered, "I still find it hard to believe that this isn't a dream. That you're really here with me and that I'm carrying your baby inside me. That you actually love me."

He leaned toward her and their lips met in a tender kiss. As he pulled away, he murmured in Vulcan, "T'chalya, i'aduna t'hyla. Kh'askeyralatha ni'var i'kh'tahl."

She laughed softly. "What? You know my Vulcan isn't that good!"

"I said that you are my beloved wife and that by your actions you have made a clear statement that we two have joined into one, meaning the unity that has become our child." His dark eyes were full of affection.

He stroked her abdomen again and his manner changed subtly. "I hunger for thee, wife," he said softly.

She felt a pulse of arousal surge through her. "I hunger for thee, too, my husband," she whispered back. "Are you well enough, though? You've been working way too hard lately. It hasn't been that long since..."

"I am fully recovered," he assured her, his eyes still holding hers. "But what of you? I do not wish to push you into what you may not be ready for."

"Oh, Spock, if Sapel weren't right over there, I'd already have you flat of your back and naked!" she grinned. "Tonight, after he's asleep..."

"Tonight, beloved," Spock agreed and kissed her soundly to seal their promise. "Meanwhile, that tree will not chop itself into kindling." He smiled at her and got to his feet, striding back with renewed energy to the job at hand.

* * *

After supper, Christine sat with Sapel for a little while and practiced reading with him. Some of her manuscripts had been lost, but she had salvaged a couple dozen and tonight she helped him read through some children's poetry that she had set down on the leather scrolls.

"Oh ... how I like to go up in a..." he read then hesitated.

"Swing," she supplied.

"Swing. Up in the air so blue. Oh, I do think it the ... plee... pleez..." He stopped again, frustrated.

"That's a hard one, isn't it?" she smiled. "Pleasantest. Pleh ... sant ... est."

"Pleh ... Pleasantes' ... thing ever a child can do," he finished triumphantly.

"Very good!" Christine praised him.

"Mama? What's a swing?"

"Well, it's a seat that's hung by two ropes from a tree limb. You sit in it and go back and forth in it," she explained.

Sapel considered it but shook his head. "I don't get it," he answered.

"If we can weave together enough leather braid to make a couple of ropes, Papa and I will build you one. How about that?" she asked, smiling down at her little son.

"Okay." He yawned and she took the cue.

"But now it's time for bed," she said. She tucked him into his furs and kissed him good night, then got up and walked back to the front of the cave.

Spock was standing just outside, looking up at the stars. The planet's three small moons had not yet risen and it was a dark, clear night, still warm from the day's heat, the summer constellations glittering brightly overhead. The absence of the big shade tree dramatically increased their view of the sky and for a while Christine stood beside her husband simply taking in the remarkable panorama of astral splendor.

As they watched, a meteor streaked across the sky towards the west and Christine caught her breath. "A shooting star! Quick, make a wish!"

"A wish? What for?" Spock asked, looking down at her quizzically.

"When you see a shooting star, you're supposed to wish for something," she answered.

"It was not a 'shooting star', Christine. Stars do not 'shoot'. It was merely a piece of dust burning up in the atmosphere," he explained patiently.

"Oh, silly, I know that! Don't take the fun out of it," she retorted, aware that he was teasing her. "I made a wish anyway."

"Indeed. What did you wish for?" he asked, his amusement beginning to become evident.

"Nope. Can't tell. Then it won't come true," responded his wife.

"Hmm. Highly illogical." He slipped his hands behind his back in a characteristic pose he seldom used anymore. "I do not believe that you wished for anything at all."

"I did so. I just can't tell you what it is."

"Then what proof do I have that you are not simply fabricating this alleged wish?"

"I'll let you know if it comes true," she answered, smiling secretively.

"Very well. In the meantime, I believe that I shall go down to the pond and bathe. I am quite grimy from the work I did today," he said.

"Good idea," she answered. "As soon as I make sure that Sapel is asleep, I'll join you."

He looked down at her and she could feel his pleasure through their bondlink. "Do not wait too long," he responded softly. "I know that I cannot."

He kissed her lightly and she watched his dark figure disappear down the path towards the little pond.

* * *

When she reached the edge of the pool and spread out the large hide she had brought with her, she found Spock's clothing neatly folded on the bank and could just make out his head and shoulders rising above the water. Gentle splashing told her that he was in the midst of his bath and she took the opportunity to remove her own clothing and toss it beside his.

Wading into the refreshing water, she moved up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against the smooth expanse of his back. "You feel so good," she said.

His hands covered hers and pressed them against his stomach. "You are cool," he murmured in his deep, rumbling baritone. "The water is too chilly tonight."

"It's chilly to you," she responded. "To me, it's just right. Anyway, you'll warm me up pretty soon." She chuckled and let her hands move lower on his torso, sliding down the soft skin of his abdomen toward the tantalizing region below.

He stopped her before she went too far. "You will warm me too quickly if you do that." He turned around to face her and drew her against his chest, his arms going around her. "And it will not take much tonight to do so." He leaned toward her and caught her mouth with his, a passionate kiss to which she responded with vigor. Their tongues fencing against one another, they pulled one another close, savoring the feel of heated skin pressed together in glorious juxtaposition with the cooler water. He began to throb in rising response against her belly and she moaned in reply and leaned closer into him.

But Spock pushed her away a little and said softly, "I do not wish to make love in the water tonight. I want you beneath me. Soon it will be impossible and it is how I like it best. Will you indulge me this once?"

She snuggled against him, lifting her face. "You know I will, Spock. I like it that way, too. Nothing excites me more than lying there while you make love to me and just allowing myself to totally sink into the experience. I have the most incredible orgasms that way."

His rumbling chuckle sounded deep within his throat. "I know, my wife. I do experience what you feel."

"Mmmmm...." she smiled and moved her pelvis against his. "Then let's start experiencing it!"

She felt him respond with a decided twitch of interest and together they waded out of the water, hand in hand. On the bank, they dried each other with chamois towels, although the night air was warm and pleasant. Their hands roamed freely over each other's bodies as they toweled themselves dry and he bent to kiss her engorged nipples and caress her heavy breasts.

Straightening, he found her mouth once more and they fell back into an exchange of fervent kisses. As they did so, she let her hand trail down to the rigid shaft prodding against her and grasped him, stroking him lightly. He sighed against her mouth and she felt the pleasure that surged through him at her touch.

He reached down and halted her, though, and drew her hand back up to his chest. "I am already near to climax," he whispered between kisses. "My hunger for you is almost more than I can control. I burn for thee, wife!"

Indeed, she could feel the heat radiating from his skin and echoed the sensation back to him through their bond. Without waiting for further acknowledgment, they lowered themselves onto the big soft hide spread out on the ground, the fever between them growing more insistent with every second.

She moved into his arms and brought her face up to his, relishing the long, devouring kiss he pressed against her lips. His tongue sought entry and she opened to receive him, her own tongue playing back against his. The kiss deepened as they explored each other's mouths, probing against the other, tasting and tickling.

She slid her foot up his leg then slipped it over his thigh, allowing his erect manhood to slip in between her nether lips and search as his tongue did into her mouth. Moving his hips in a slow, controlled motion, he rubbed against the slick wetness he found there, coating himself with her nectar, hardening even more as he did so.

She gasped softly as his hard organ stroked against the sensitive nub between her folds. Pregnancy had increased her responsiveness and it had been so long since she had felt him massage her in this manner. Throwing back her head, she closed her eyes and began to focus on the building tightness inside her, transmitting her arousal through their bondlink to his mind, a fresh surge of her juices enveloping his pulsating rod.

The heat of her rapture flowed into and around him like liquid fire and centered his groin in a lake of flame. His erection jerked up even harder and, in another second, he had her on her back and was positioning himself for entry. *Need!* his wordless thoughts demanded in her mind, and she instantly shot back, *Yes! Now!*

He plunged his hips forward and was immediately buried hilt-deep within her. With a gasp, she arched her back and orgasmed at the abrupt sensation of his penetration, her body gripping him tightly as she spasmed. With a supreme effort, he held himself still until she had slipped over the crest, keeping his body lifted off hers with stiffened arms, an action that both prevented his weight from pressing on her abdomen and simultaneously concentrated their focus on the hard, throbbing shaft sunk within her.

When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he knew that she was ready and he began to move his hips forward and back in a steady cadence. She met his strokes with movements of her own, in perfect harmony with his thrusting buttocks. The angle of his entry and the magnitude of his need quickly brought him to the precipice. She could feel him swell to maximum hardness within her as the intensity of his powerful lunges built.

Then suddenly he caught his breath between clenched teeth and slammed into her with one shuddering urgent drive and hung above her in rigid climax, his face contorted in the sweet agony of orgasm, the flood of his eruption pumping into her in a seemingly ceaseless flow.

In reality, he sagged on trembling arms much too soon and withdrew to lie at her side, his eyes closed, breath coming hard. She snuggled against him. "That was amazing," she whispered. "I may have to make you do without more often if that's what you're like when we do get together!"

"As if you could remain celibate without extenuating circumstances..." he answered, still slightly breathless. "Your libido is absolutely insatiable!"

"You like it and you know it," she grinned. "Just think what you missed during all those years on the ship when you ran every time you saw me coming!"

"Had I known, I would have run all the harder! If I had given in, as I came quite close to doing on a number of occasions, I would never have been able to function! We would have spent all our time in either your cabin or mine!"

She laughed in delight. "Why, Spock! What a sweet thing to say! I'm going to have to reward you for that!"

She lifted herself up and leaned over him, planting a warm, sensuous kiss on his mouth, letting her tongue tease and tantalize him. His strong arms came up around her and drew her closer against him as he returned the kiss in equal measure.

During their oral explorations, Christine's hand moved down his stomach and over his abdomen, encountering the thick patch of hair at its base then the firm, warm shaft of his penis, both still wet and slick with their mingled secretions. She caressed the length of his manhood, fondled the weighty bundle at its root, then back up again to stroke the smooth head and hardening column of flesh in her fist.

"Mmmmm, like I said before. You feel so good!" she murmured against his lips, working her hand with a practiced touch. Then she chuckled. "I just thought of a really old saying we had in college. 'A hard man is good to find!' And you are going to be so hard in a few minutes that I'm really glad I found you!"

He was coming back erect with incredible speed, already nearly hard enough for the next move she planned. But she was in no hurry. The night was warm and the stars glittered with preternatural brightness, shot through with streaks of light as meteorites flashed overhead.

She claimed his mouth again, thinking of a wish she'd made a long time ago and how it had definitely come true.

* * *

Later, after the night had begun to cool, they had picked up their things and moved back into the cave, slipping underneath the furs together and lying close in satiated contentment, side by side. Christine had nearly drifted off to sleep when she felt Spock's fingers grope and find hers, then lace together loosely, a companionable, loving touch.

She smiled in the darkness and nuzzled his shoulder to let him know that she was awake enough to appreciate the gesture. He squeezed her fingers ever-so-lightly in return.

They lay that way for a while longer when she felt a little bump nudge her abdomen. It wasn't much but she came awake nevertheless, her attention focusing on her belly. Spock had alerted instantly as well, sensing the change in her mind.

"The baby?" he whispered.

"Yes. It moved," she murmured back, laying her free hand across her skin. He shifted onto his side and covered her smaller hand with his large one. She felt another little flutter and hastily slid her hand out from under his so that his palm covered her bare abdomen. Together they waited and then were rewarded when Spock felt the tiny movement as well.

"Our baby lives, t'hy'la," he said with wonder. "It moves with vigor."

"It's so early yet. I'm surprised you can feel anything."

He rubbed her belly and then lifted his head to smile at her, his eyes suffused with love. "How can I tell you how wondrous you are to me?" he whispered. "I am speechless at how marvelous this is."

She snuggled her head against his, trying not to cry. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and it will all be a dream." She leaned toward him and their lips met in a soft, heart-felt kiss. When he drew away from her a little, she squeezed her eyes shut and tears did leak out between her lashes. "Oh, Spock, I'm so afraid I'm going to lose this one, too. I thought it was all over when the tornado..."

He pulled her against his bare chest and she clung to him desperately, hanging onto his solid warmth for dear life. "Beloved," he whispered against her forehead, holding her close."I cannot guarantee beyond any doubt whatsoever that we will all be safe. That is not within my power. But I promise you that I will do everything I am capable of doing to keep you and Sapel and our baby from harm. You must believe me about this."

She gave a soft, contrite little sob against his shoulder. "Oh, Spock, I don't blame you for anything that's happened. How can you think that?"

"If not for me, you would not be here," he murmured and she felt the pain of his remorse echo through their bond. "I should have found a way to keep you out of the bounds of Tal's revenge." But abruptly his arms tightened around her and he buried his face in her hair. "Although ... I must be honest with you. I am glad that you are with me. If you were not here ... if I were alone, as Tal intended ... I would have died long ago. Indeed, if anything should happen to you or our children, I would not wish to go on. I could not."

Christine lifted her face to stare into his eyes, stricken. "Spock, don't ever say anything like that! Promise me ... promise me! ... that you will never do anything to harm yourself! I can't bear the thought!"

He reached up to caress her face and wipe away her tears. "I promise, beloved. But I also promise you this. I would die to keep you all safe. If it ever comes down to my life or yours, I will die for you. Remember that."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't want to remember it. I don't want to think about it at all! Spock, I'm so afraid now!"

"Of what?" he asked softly.

"Of losing you! Of losing our babies!" She sank back against him and wept against his shoulder.

Confused, he did not know what to say to comfort her. He had thought his declaration of devotion would have made her glad. Instead, it seemed to have just the opposite effect.

From the back of his mind, he remembered a scene he had inadvertently witnessed as a child. He had heard soft anguished sounds coming from his parents' bedroom and had crept closer to investigate. The door was not completely closed and he had peered through the crack. His mother was face down on the bed, weeping, and Sarek stood beside her, looking both aggravated and puzzled. "What did I say?" he asked.

"You know!" the woman had answered, her voice muffled.

"Amanda, you are being totally illogical."

"Go away!!" She sounded furious and anguished at the same time.

Sarek had started to turn away, but instead sat down on the side of the bed and reached out to touch her, gently laying his hand on her shoulder. Almost immediately, his wife was in his arms, clinging to him and he was embracing her tightly in return. Outside the door, their young son looked on in shock. Never had he seen his parents touch like this! It was not done in Vulcan society and he did not realize that adults had a completely different life in the privacy of their chambers. Why ... his father must actually feel affection for his wife! Just as she did for him! It was a startling revelation.

But what Spock recalled now was that his mother had been greatly comforted simply by being held and loved. His arms tightened around his own wife now and she responded to him, her tears easing. "Don't ever leave me, Spock," she whispered to him, so softly that he wasn't entirely sure she was aware that she had spoken.

But he answered all the same. "Never, my t'hy'la. Never." And he held her until she drifted into a deep sleep.

* * *

Christine finished scraping off the inedible bits and some of the bones of the hare she was cleaning for supper and handed the bowl to Sapel. "Here, babe," she said. "Go throw these on the scrap heap, then come right back. Your Papa should be back soon and maybe he'll feel like taking you for a swim while dinner is cooking."

The boy took the bowl of refuse and scampered away, crossing the little creek on the stepping stones laid across it then climbing up the gentle slope of the other bank. There, he came to the jumble of brush they had cleaned out of the pond after the tornado and where they tossed out the few bits of their kills that were unusable. Scavengers always cleared the scraps away promptly and very little went to waste.

But Sapel had a secret that he hadn't shared with either his mother or father. After he had tossed the trash near the brush pile, he moved back and squatted down silently to wait. It wasn't long before he was rewarded.

A twitching black nose appeared from the confines of the brush and was soon followed by a soft reddish-brown body, sniffing its way to the discards. The little creature that emerged into the sunlight was about a foot long with erect triangular-shaped ears, large black eyes, and a points of creamy fur on its face, chest and tail. It was only half-grown, the sole survivor of a litter wiped out by the storm.

Sapel had discovered that it had taken up residence in the brush pile not long after they'd piled the branches and storm debris here and he'd been feeding it ever since. Today he'd held back a few bits of meat and, after the animal had finished off the scraps he'd tossed on the ground, he clicked his tongue softly and toss a piece of meat in the animal's direction.

The little creature scurried away to safety, but it was only a minute before curiosity and hunger got the better of it. Cautiously, it ventured back out, keeping a wary eye on the motionless boy while creeping towards the tantalizing meat. It paused to sniff the morsel then snatched it away and ate it quickly.

Sapel clicked his tongue again and tossed another little bit. This time the animal didn't run so far and didn't dive under cover. Still watching the child, it seized the meat even quicker. Sapel grinned in delight, made the soft sound and once more tossed out some meat. The animal pounced on it and downed it in a gulp.

Experimentally, Sapel clicked but did not throw the last bit of meat. The animal sat expectantly, rising up on its hind legs and peering at him. Satisfied, he tossed the reward it awaited and watched it gobble down the scrap. Afterwards, it watched him for a long moment, but the boy said softly, "Sorry, that's all."

The two sat gazing at one another, then the animal turned and hurried back under the brush pile. Happily, Sapel rose and retrieved the bowl, then started back to camp where he could already smell the delectable scent of roasting hare rising on the afternoon breeze.

* * *

Christine was looking decidedly pensive when Spock came upon her sitting in the shade with her back against the cliff wall. Since the destruction of her big shade tree, it had become a favored place, out of the sun but with a view across the creek and pond to the high plains beyond.

He had been on a short day trip down the river to the salt outcropping and had brought back a loaded pack full of rock salt. Now, as he dropped this beside the cave entrance, he came and settled beside her to cool off. It was high summer and the day was blazing hot. He appreciated the heat, but not the humidity that usually went with it. Hacking and hauling salt was a dirty, tiresome job and he was quite relieved to be home.

"You look lost in thought," he said, looking at his wife. She was dressed in halter and loin cloth, as she usually wore in hot weather. Her abdomen was noticeably round now and she was carefully balancing Sapel's writing slate in her lap, absently twirling a piece of rough chalk between the fingers of her right hand.

"I am lost in thought," she admitted. "I'm thinking about winter."

"An odd thought to have in July." For convenience, they had given Earth names to twelve of the fifteen lunar cycles that passed for months on Terra Two. The remaining three had been dubbed Tasmeen, Ah'keth, and et'Dhior, after the winter months of Vulcan.

"Not really," Christine answered. "Just thinking ahead. I'm about four months now. The baby was conceived in the middle of March. That means it should arrive around mid-December. Just about the time of the first good snow. We usually don't head south until the herds move in November and I'll be eight months pregnant by then. I don't want to set out on the road to either Sea Home or the Ship and risk going into labor on the way."

"Logical," he agreed. "Then we should plan to winter here."

"Exactly. I'm just noting down what we need to do in order to get ready." She showed him the slate. "I need to get on the ball making us winter clothing and preserving food to last us. And, of course, get things ready for the baby. I have a few things that I put back when Sapel was a baby that weren't too worn, but we need to stock up on sphagnum moss and plant lint for diapers and I need to make sure that I have everything we might need for the birth..."

"Put down an extra large supply of firewood, as well," he suggested. "There is still a large amount of storm debris that can be collected, so that will not be a problem."

For a while, the two sat together, intent on their planning, then Spock scratched his bare chest and said, "I am dirty and itchy with salt. I need a swim to wash this off. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd love it!" she smiled and allowed him to assist her to her feet. Already her burgeoning stomach was making it a bit difficult to get up and down. "Let me call Sapel."

Spock looked around their campsite. "Where is our ever-curious son? I thought he would be nearby."

"Oh, he is. He's found something fascinating up by the brush pile on the other side of the creek and he spends as much time up there as he can get away with."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. What has he found?"

"I don't know. Probably a biter mound or lizard hole that he's enjoying watching." Christine walked down to the edge of the creek and put her hands up on either side of her mouth to magnify her call. "Sapel!!"

In just a few second, the boy's head appeared, his black hair shaggy and unkempt, his perfect little Vulcan face smudged with the honest dirt of play. He peered at his mother inquisitively and she motioned for him to come to her. He disappeared for a moment, then came scrambling down the creek bank and skipped across the crossing stones.

"What, Mama?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

"Want to go swimming with us?" she asked, and the boy glanced up to see his father standing with arms crossed on the pathway to the pond, an amused expression on his face.

"Okay," Sapel said.

Christine put her fists on her hips and peered down at him. "Well, that's not very enthusiastic. You're usually in the water every chance you get!"

"I'm just busy, that's all," he hedged.

"Doing what?"

"Nothin'." Abruptly closing the subject, Sapel took off at a run in Spock's direction. "Papa! Did you bring me anything?"

Christine exchanged gazes with her husband, shrugged and followed her son as they went down to the waterfall-fed pond at the upper end of their valley.

* * *

Once Christine had set her mind to the chores that were needed to prepare for winter, she wasted no time getting them underway. Spock backed off and allowed her to be fully in charge, knowing from experience that, once his wife went into full Keeper of the House mode, the only thing he and Sapel could do was stand by for instructions. It always amused him to see her in this take charge attitude, but she was relentless.

The first thing she did was send her husband and son back down to the salt lick to bring back a large supply of rock salt. There was a lot of food preservation at hand and they would need lots of the mineral to pack strips of meat and filets of fish into the brine barrels.

Sapel, for once, whined about accompanying his father on an expedition. "Why can't I stay with you, Mama?" he asked plaintively.

"Because your Papa needs you to help him," she answered, looking down at him.

"But I don't wanna go," the boy muttered.

Christine narrowed her eyes and rested her fists on her hips. "I usually have to force you to stay with me," she commented. "Why are you so insistent on staying now?"

The boy looked down. "I dunno."

"Yes, you do know! Why do you want to stay here, Sapel?" she demanded.

He merely shrugged and kept his eyes on the ground.

"That's not an answer," his mother said.

"I just got things to do," he muttered.

"Like what?" Again he shrugged. Christine crossed her arms and stared at him silently for a moment, considering. "It's something to do with that brush pile, isn't it? Why don't we just walk up there and find out what it is?"

Sapel jerked his face back up to hers and for a second sheer panic flashed over his features. "No, it's okay. There's nothing up there. I'll go with Papa."

"No, I think we'd better find out what's so fascinating first," she declared. "Spock! Can you join us for a moment?"

Spock, who had been getting together the things they would need for the hike and overnight stay down river, stood up and joined his wife, looking inquisitive. "Yes, Christine?"

"We need to investigate Sapel's little secret across the creek," she answered, peering unblinking at her son. "It might be nothing, but I might need a hand."

The two adults started purposefully across the stepping stone and up the creek bank, their son trailing glumly after. Once at the brush pile, both began to look for something that might interest a young boy to the exclusion of all else ... a bird's nest, a lizard hole, insect burrows...

As they neared the refuse pile, Spock said, "There are tracks here. A lot of them."

Christine joined him. "Hmmm ... almost like a small dog or cat. Sapel, is this what you've found? The den of some animal?"

The boy knew that he was trapped. "It's not a den, Mama. Just a baby I've been feeding."

"Aha! Well, no wonder you've been spending a lot of time up here," Christine replied. "But isn't its mother around?"

"Uhn-uhn... She got killed in the storm with her other babies. This is the only one left."

"Oh, the poor thing!"

Spock was eyeing her skeptically, however. "Christine, please do not entertain any ideas about rescuing this animal. It is a wild animal and, in any case, we have enough problems feeding ourselves, let alone a stray creature."

"Who said anything about rescuing it?" she retorted, but he could already see that this was exactly what she had in mind. "Sapel, can you get it to come out?"

"Not without food, I don't think," he answered. "I usually throw the scraps up here and it comes out and eats 'em, then goes back under the brush."

"Poor baby is probably scared to death," she murmured. "Tell you what, Sapel... You go on with Papa and I'll make sure your pet gets fed."

"Okay!"

"Christine, it is not a pet!" Spock interjected, growing alarmed at the direction this conversation was taking. "You do not even know what it is! It could be a young predator that would attack you."

"I'll be careful," she responded off-handedly, peering into the piled up tangle of branches and debris, searching for any sign of movement. Seeing none, she straightened and faced her husband, all business once more. "You two better get a move on! At this rate, you won't get there before dark and won't have time to do any work!"

Spock sighed and gazed at her for a long moment. "Agreed," he finally said. "Come, Sapel. Let's finish getting ready."

As the two Vulcans headed back to camp, Christine turned back to take one last look ... and this time thought she saw two little black eyes peering inquisitively at her from the deep shadows.

* * *

After her two men had left on their journey, Christine went back to work on the various projects she had going. There were a half-dozen hides pegged on poles and she worked on those until her arms ached, scraping and gently stretching them with the femur of an elk, the rounded knob of the hip joint just right for applying pressure without puncturing the leather.

She took a rest and had lunch in the afternoon's heat, and as she did, her thoughts turned to the little animal under the brush pile. She was intensely curious to see what it looked like and she gathered the remains of her lunch of antelope jerky and flatbread, making her way to the spot where the creature lived.

Settling down with her back to a medium sized tree, she tossed a piece of jerky and some torn bread near the brush pile. Then she settled back to wait.

For a very long time, absolutely nothing happened. The afternoon wore on with the sleepy quiet of the hottest point of the day. Heat haze shimmered across the plains and Christine could just make out the herds of horses and antelope grazing a mile away, their tails swishing lazily to ward off insects. Locusts and leaf-munchers buzzed and hopped through the waving yellow grass stems, and bees nosed into wild flowers that were scattered through the grasses like tiny gems. In the trees, birds tittered softly, going about their daily search for food and bringing it to half-fledged chicks not yet able to fly.

The heavy drowsiness began to take its toll on Christine. Her advancing pregnancy demanded an afternoon nap if she could get away with it, and on this day she felt her chin begin to nod and her eyes to close. She may have actually dozed off for a moment before catching herself and jerking back awake.

As she did so, she saw that she was no longer alone. Her stillness had drawn Sapel's little animal from its den and it was now peering intently at her, its black button nose twitching as it evaluated her scent. She sat motionless and peered back.

It was about the size of a half-grown housecat, vaguely canine in appearance but with a longer, more supple body. It was covered with sleek reddish-brown hair and had creamy white points above each eye, down its chest and belly, and back up the underside of its tail. Its feet and lower legs were black. More than anything else, it looked like a red fox kit crossed with a ferret.

Christine stared at it, enchanted. "Hello, sweetie," she whispered.

The animal pricked its huge erect ears and stared at her harder. For a while neither of them moved, then the kit nosed toward the food that Christine had tossed, keeping its eyes on her. It snatched up the jerky first and retreated away to eat it. Then it came back to sniff the bread. This was less to its liking, but it gulped the bits down, nevertheless.

"Are you still hungry, little one?" the woman murmured softly. Gently, she tossed more food toward the kit.

It didn't run this time and Christine surmised that it had grown used to being fed by Sapel. The third time, the crumb of jerky landed just beyond her outstretched legs and the kit hesitated. This was closer than it had ever ventured and it still feared the strange giant creature with the food.

Christine sat patiently and was finally rewarded when the kit crept close and grabbed the meat. She broke the last piece into two small bits and made sure that one landed beside her legs. The other she kept in reserve.

More trusting, the kit did not wait so long to snatch the piece on the ground and gulp it down. Then it waited expectantly.

"You're really a moocher, aren't you?" Christine said in a soft, non-threatening voice. "All right then. Come and get it."

She extended her hand, palm up, the last bit of jerky lying tantalizingly for the taking. The kit froze. This was a new twist on the game and not one that it particularly liked. But the irresistible scent of meat was more than it could resist. Slowly, one cautious step at a time, advanced, its nose twitching busily.

Christine stayed absolutely still and finally the kit, its eyes locked on the woman's, leaned far in and swiped the jerky from her palm, retreating as quickly as it could out of her reach, its prize firmly in its jaws. But still Christine did not move and, after the kit had devoured its meal, it came a little bit closer, sniffing speculatively.

"Sorry, baby, that's all I have," she smiled, delighted. The two sat peering at one another for a few minutes more, then the kit turned and scurried back into the safety of the brush pile. Christine got to her feet, puffing a bit, and said, "I'll bring you more food tomorrow. See ya later, cutie-pie."

She turned and strolled back toward the creek and to her work. The kit stuck its head out of its shelter and watched her go. It didn't venture out after her, however. Instinct told it to stay under cover, safe from flying predators, but already it was beginning to associate the people who lived nearby with food and gentleness.

* * *

Sapel could tell that his father was upset by the way he tended to allow his long strides to cut through the grass until the boy was practically running to keep up. When he did so, Spock would slow down and allow him to keep pace, but then he would imperceptibly begin to lengthen his steps once more without seeming to notice that he was doing so.

The fourth time it happened, Sapel stopped and panted, "Papa! Stop walking so fast!"

The tall, solemn figure halted and turned to face him, his expression carefully neutral. "Do you wish me to carry you?" he asked, his voice bearing a slight undertone of annoyance.

For a second, Sapel hesitated, unwilling to subject himself to whatever had his father angered. But he was exhausted and they still had a long way to go. He nodded and approached the man, feeling apprehensive.

Spock's expression did not change as he squatted down and allowed his son to clamber up onto his shoulders, balancing against the backpack he wore. Then, with effortless strength, Spock stood, taking hold of the boy's ankles to steady him, and started off once more.

For a while neither said anything. It had been a while since Spock had allowed Sapel to ride on his shoulders like this. The little boy was getting rather big to be carried this way, but he still enjoyed it. His elevated vantage point allowed him to survey his surroundings and see further than he normally could.

They traveled this way for some time, following the line of the river as it made its way south through the rolling plains. Trees grew along the water way, their foliage thick and full of fruit near to ripening among their branches. It wouldn't be long before it would be time to harvest the sweet, nutritious orbs before animals ate them all. Already, tree skippers were beginning to take the riper ones and scurry back to their burrows inside crevices in the trunks.

Sapel's attention was turned to the long-tailed little animals. He had forgotten his father's mood and so was caught off guard when Spock said quietly, "Sapel, I am quite displeased with your lack of truthfulness."

"Huh?" The boy looked down at his parent, for a few seconds not understanding.

"I am referring to the fact that you not only did not reveal the presence of the animal to us, but you deliberately concealed your knowledge of it," Spock continued. "Do you have an explanation?"

"I dunno," Sapel mumbled, hanging his head.

"You do not know what, Sapel?"

"I dunno," the boy answered.

Spock sighed in exasperation. "That is not an acceptable answer. Why didn't you tell your Mother or me that you were feeding this animal?"

"I dunno."

"Sapel, that is not an answer!" Spock caught himself and brought his anger back under control. "Why did you lie to us about it--and do not say that you don't know!"

The boy was feeling cornered and his emotions hovered between hurt and fury at what he saw as unjust persecution. "I thought you and Mama would be mad and make me stop," he responded.

"That is entirely possible," Spock answered. "However, it is just as possible that we would have allowed you to continue. Did you consider that?"

"No, sir," Sapel replied in a small voice.

Spock was silent for a few moments as he negotiated a little gully that cut across his path, then he resumed, "Cha'i, it is of utmost importance that you always tell the truth. A man who lies will not be trusted or believed, even when he is telling the truth. It is said of Vulcans that we cannot lie. It is more accurate to say that we do not lie. Lying is illogical because it goes counter to everything that governs Vulcan life." Spock paused to gather his thoughts and continued, "The heart of Vulcan life is the concept of c'thia. Do you know what that is?"

"No, sir."

"Most outworlders translate it as 'logic', but the real meaning is 'truth' or 'what is.' It means that in order for society to operate at its smoothest level, so that people may live together in peace and productivity, we must respect each other and deal honestly and truthfully with one another. Otherwise, there is chaos and a breaking down of civilization. Do you understand, Sapel?"

"I don't know, Papa," the boy answered. "I don't see what that has to do with us."

"It does not matter if it involves two people or two million," Spock responded. "In fact, it is more important with a small group of people because we must rely upon one another and feel implicit trust toward each other." Spock thought for a moment more. "I will tell you a story, Sapel, that your grandmother once told me. I believe that it comes from her homeland on Earth, but she set it on Vulcan so that I would understand it. She told it to me when I was about your age and had taken a sweet without permission, then said I did not.

"Once, in the days of our Fathers, there was a man who tended paran herds on the hills of Llangon. That is the area of Vulcan where I grew up. Paran are animals that give wool and milk. I don't believe we have anything here that are similar, so you must use your imagination. This man was often bored watching the herds and one day he thought up a ruse to play on his neighbors.

"There were predators in the hills like the prairie lions that prey on the horses and antelope and it was the man's job to sound an alarm if the hill lions attacked the paran. One day he decided that it would be amusing to bring his neighbors running, so he sounded his horn as loud as he could, which was the signal for danger.

"Sure enough, within a few moments, all the men who had heard the alarm came running with their weapons to drive off the lions. But when they got there, of course, they found everything peaceful. 'Why did you sound your horn?' the man was asked.

"'I thought the lions were attaching,' he lied, 'but I was mistaken. You can all go home now.'

"So they went home. The next day, the man grew bored and did the same thing. He blew his horn as loud as he could and again all the neighbors ran to his aid. Again, they found all peaceful and returned to their homes.

"This happened the next day, and the next. By this time, the neighbors were tired of the false alarms and knew that the man was lying when he claimed to have seen lions. Then on the fifth day, the man was watching his herds as usual when suddenly lions did attack and began to kill the paran and tear them apart. The man began to blow his alarm horn with all his might but this time no one came to help him. He blew and blew but, because he had lied, the neighbors thought he was simply playing another trick on them, and they ignored his calls for help. The lions ultimately killed all of his paran and then they attacked and killed the man as well."

"Didn't anyone ever come to help him?" Sapel asked, caught up in the story.

"No," his father responded. "You see, he had become known as a liar and, even when he was telling the truth, no one believed him anymore. In the end, he paid for his lack of truthfulness."

Sapel was silent for a long time then said hopefully, "But I didn't really lie, Papa. I just didn't tell you the whole truth."

"It was your intent, however, to keep us from knowing. Do you think we will be so ready to believe you next time? You have damaged our trust in you, Sapel."

"I'm sorry, Papa! I just wanted to feed the little animal." The little boy's voice was plaintive and Spock detected genuine remorse in his tone.

"I believe that you understand the seriousness of your actions," Spock answered after a moment. "We will say no more about it. Now, are you rested? I am growing fatigued carrying you and would like you to walk."

"I feel okay now, Papa," Sapel responded. "I can get down."

Spock stopped and knelt down so that his son could slide off his shoulders. Before Spock could rise to his feet, however, Sapel suddenly threw his arms around his father's neck and hugged him hard, nearly choking him for a second. "I won't ever lie to you again, Papa," he whispered against Spock's ear. "I promise!"

Caught off-guard, Spock awkwardly returned his son's embrace. "I know you will not, cha'i. Come now. The sun is getting low and I want to make camp before dark."

The tall Vulcan straightened to his feet and shifted his pack into a more comfortable position. His dark haired son did likewise with his small load and they set off again through the waving grass.

* * *

Christine was already settled at the base of the tree before the morning dew had dried completely. The little animal poked its head from the brush pile almost at once and watched her expectantly. Christine didn't disappoint it.

Tossing some jerky its way, she smiled and coaxed, "Come on, baby. Come have some breakfast."

Its nose twitching, the kit crept out and took the food, then sat back on its haunches to eat it, holding the morsel in its front paws. Once finished, it groomed its face busily, then dropped its paws to the ground and sat looking at the woman.

"Why don't you come get the next bit?" Christine said in a soft, friendly voice and held out her palm as she had done the night before, another bit of meat resting there.

The animal hesitated, but it was rapidly losing its fear of her. Creeping toward her, it evaluated the situation, then almost confidently took the food. This time, it simply backed off a few steps to eat.

"What a good boy you are!" she murmured. "Or girl. I'm really not sure which." She chuckled quietly and offered the kit more food. It approached her without fear this time.

Christine ached to hold and stroke the sleek little body, but knew that she didn't dare. The kit's trust in her was too new, too fragile. If she tried to touch it, the least it would do was bolt. Worse, it might attack and she had gotten a close enough look at the sharp teeth filling its little mouth that she was sure it could do some serious damage if frightened.

So she simply sat quietly and talked to the creature for a while longer, feeding it tidbits and gaining its confidence. Before the tornado had ripped the valley apart, she'd caught glimpses now and then of what must have been the mother but never had a good look at her. The animal was too furtive and quick. From what she had been able to learn about them, these fox-like creatures were social and lived in small family groups. She'd heard them yipping in chorus some nights when the moons were full and hunting conditions were good.

"Where's the rest of your family, pretty boy?" she asked the kit softly. "Were they all killed in the storm? Or did they leave the area? Whatever happened, you're all alone now, aren't you? I think that's why you're wanting to spend time with me. You're so lonesome, you can't stand it. You miss your mama and siblings, don't you?"

The kit blinked up at her, its large ears pricked her way. Of course, it didn't understand what she was saying, but the gentle tone in the woman's voice and her non-threatening demeanor drew it closer. Almost like a cat, it curled its long tail around its feet and settled down near her. Christine almost expected it to start purring, but it made no sound at all.

Slowly, she let her hand rest on the ground and almost imperceptibly inched her fingers toward the kit. It blinked sleepily for a few minutes, then seemed to realize that the woman's hand was getting close. Its eyes opened wider and it focused on the gliding fingers. Christine stopped and let it get used to her once more.

When her fingers were only a couple of inches away, she halted again. The kit continued to stare at her hand and then, unexpectedly, stretched its muzzle toward her and snuffled her fingers thoroughly. After a minute, its little tongue darted out and licked her hand delicately several times. Christine knew that it was undoubtedly just licking at the residue of meat grease left there, but it delighted her nonetheless.

She sat in companionable silence with the kit for a few minutes more then said, "Well, kiddo, I'd like to do this all day, but unfortunately I've got work to do. I'll see you at suppertime, okay?"

She began to struggle to her feet, her belly hampering her movement, and the kit scurried quickly away, back under the brush pile, peering out at her. As Christine started back down toward the campsite, the kit came out of its hiding place and looked intently after her.

Then it scampered after her, keeping a wary eye out for predators, but determinedly following its benefactor.

* * *

Spock and Sapel trudged in at sundown, both carrying as much rock salt as they could pack. Sapel, of course, was only bearing a very small load, but the little boy was nearly done in from the journey. As soon as he had dropped his burden, he headed straight for his bed, too worn out even to eat. He was asleep almost before he had settled into his furs.

Spock was not far behind him. He too stretched out on his bedding, still clad in the dusty, salt-crusted buckskins he wore. Closing his eyes with a weary sigh, he did not acknowledge Christine as she came into the cave and viewed her two exhausted men. With a little shake of her head, she went and knelt beside Sapel, managing to get him undressed without waking him. Then she got to her feet and went to crouch down beside her husband.

As she began to unlace his moccasins, Spock murmured, "Don't bother with that. I still have things to do."

Christine didn't stop untying the laces. "What could you possibly have to do, sweetheart? You just lie there and rest."

"No, I must store the salt--"

"Tomorrow," she interrupted and drew off the moccasin she'd been working on. Setting it aside, she began on the other one. "You're always telling me that things can wait until tomorrow. Well, listen to me for a change. You're absolutely beat and you're going to spend the evening resting." Seeing him starting to argue, she warned, "Don't make me use my medical authority!"

With a subdued sigh, he lay back down and let her pull off his other shoe. He truly was too tired to fight her and, once he gave in to his fatigue, he realized that he'd been going on sheer determination for quite some time.

Christine saw him give up and smiled in secret satisfaction. She loved and admired Spock but one of his faults was that he would drive himself to absolute collapse and still refuse to admit defeat. "Have you eaten anything?" she asked.

"Not since this morning," he admitted. "I was quite anxious to finish this job and get back home tonight."

"I thought so. I'll have supper ready before you know it."

She got awkwardly to her feet and went to the hearth, where a spitted hare was roasting over the coals and several kinds of root vegetables had been cooking slowly in broadleaf wrappings. Checking their doneness, Christine decided they needed about half an hour more and used that time to make bread, mixing their crude flour with water and scooping handfuls onto a hot cooking stone. It didn't take long for the flat cakes to cook into tough, unleavened circles and she gingerly flicked them onto a platter, careful not to burn her fingers in the process.

By the time she was finished with this task, the hare and vegetables were ready to eat and she arranged those onto another serving platter. Taking the food back to the sleeping area, she found Spock sound asleep, stretched on his back with one hand flung over his head and the other across his stomach, snoring softly through his open mouth.

Christine smiled and stood looking down at him for a moment. "Oh, no, you're not tired at all, are you?" she asked him rhetorically. She had the platters balanced, one in each hand, and poked his ribs with her foot. He snorted and jerked awake. "Chow time, Sleeping Beauty," she said and lowered herself as gracefully as she could.

He blinked and quickly roused himself to a sitting position. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, then stretched and was finally awake enough to function. Christine set the platters between them and they spent a leisurely hour sharing the meal, using their fingers to pick apart the roasted hare and vegetables, sopping up the juices with the flatbread. By the time they had finished, darkness had fallen outside and Spock was feeling better.

"I'll save the rest of this for Sapel," Christine said as she put the remains of their meal near the fire. "He's going to be famished when he finally wakes up."

"He ate some journey bread and dried fruit on the way back, but I doubt it satisfied him," Spock agreed. He lifted and rotated his right arm, grimacing a bit.

"What's the matter?" Christine asked.

"Just a bit of tightness in the muscle. It will pass."

"Let me see it. Take your shirt off."

Spock peeled the buckskin tunic off over his head and allowed his wife to kneel behind him, prodding gently at his shoulder and back muscles. Abruptly he winced and she said, "Aha. Right there." Her fingers expertly found the knot in his shoulder muscle and pressed in on it.

He flinched away from her. "Yes. It's all right. Leave it alone."

"Uhn-uhn. You'll be stiff as a board tomorrow." She began working her thumbs into his flesh, massaging the knots she found. It was painful at first, but then as his muscles began to relax, so did he. Christine smiled as he began to go slack underneath her kneading fingers and said, "Lie down on your stomach. I'm going to get some oil and I'll be right back."

"For what?"

"I'm going to give you a proper massage," she answered and got up to hurry across the small cave to the place she kept her medicines. She had a little jar of clear oil that had been pressed from a small, dark-green fruit that grew nearby. It was not good to eat, but its oil was sublime in fragrance and texture, perfect for moisturizing work-dried and chapped skin. It absorbed almost immediately and did not leave an oily residue. It was the best hand lotion she'd ever found.

Spock was still sitting on the bedding, the firelight painting his lean, sculpted chest with reddish highlights, when she returned. "Take your leggings off, too," she decided. "I might as well do your legs while I'm at it."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, then unlaced his breeches and squirmed out of them, leaving him clad only in his loincloth. At her gesture, he obediently lay down on his stomach, his face cradled against his crossed arms. She flipped his long braid of hair out of the way and knelt beside him, then poured a minute bit of the oil into the palm of one hand and, setting the jar aside, vigorously rubbed her hands together to warm it.

Then she laid her hands on his cleanly muscled back, working her way from shoulders to waist and back again, making sure every inch was manipulated and free of tension. At first, she could feel his resistance, but by the time she had done his buttocks, treating them as clinically as the rest of him, and moved down to the backs of his thighs, he was completely limp. Glancing up at him, she noted that his eyes were closed in blissful relaxation.

She worked his thighs and calves, then said, "Turn over now."

He did so, his eyes still closed, half-asleep under her ministrations, and she began on his feet, massaging the arches and working each toe. At one point, he groaned softly with pleasure, although he still didn't open his eyes. She moved up the length of one long, hard leg then did the other.

By the time she reached the top of his thighs, she noted that there was a bulge in his loin cloth that hadn't been there before. "You're too tired for that," she told him.

"Perhaps," he murmured but otherwise didn't move.

Shifting, she began work on his shoulders, moving down one arm to his biceps, then his forearm and finally to his large, strong hand. Moving to the other arm, she repeated her massage, then poured more oil into her hands and spread it over his chest, kneading it into his beautifully molded pectorals and firm stomach muscles.

As she leaned over him, massing his body with long, deep strokes, he abruptly reached up and caught her shoulders, halting her. He was wide awake now, his dark eyes depthless as he gazed up at her. At one with his thoughts, she leaned down and met his lips in a hungry, seeking kiss, their tongues playing against one another.

As she lifted her mouth from his, she asked softly, "Are you too tired?"

One eyebrow quirked up a bit and there was devilish humor in his eyes. "You promised me a proper massage," he reminded her. "There is still one area you have not touched."

"Then I'd better do it right, hadn't I?" she smiled back and got to her feet. He lay watching her, curious, as she went and wedged the door guard in place. Coming back to stand over him, she slowly reached behind her and untied her halter top, then moved her hands up to undo the neck tie.

The leather bra dropped away, baring her full, pregnancy swollen breasts, her nipples enlarged and protruding. Allowing him to gaze at her for a long moment, she unpinned her hair and shook it out, the waist-length sun-bleached mass cascading about her shoulders and torso. Then, her hands went to her side and pulled loose the tie holding her belt and loin cloth. As she did so, the garment fell to the ground, leaving her naked, her skin rosy in the firelight.

Her belly swollen with child, her heavy breasts jutting proudly, her long mane of hair rippling around her, Christine seemed to be an ancient fertility goddess come to life. Her body was muscular and honed from the constant work and exercise of her existence, adding to her statuesque build. Spock had never seen her appear as beautiful as she did to him now.

She sank to her knees beside him and bent once more to meet his lips, this time all of her sexual power burning through the kiss she placed there. His hands slipped up around her shoulders, attempting to draw her down to him, but she pulled back. "No, I haven't finished your massage yet," she whispered.

She shifted to his side and slowly untied the leather strap that held his loin cloth in place. Her movements deliberate, she then removed his last remaining article of clothing and set it aside. "Let's see... Where was I?" she mused. "Oh, yes..." She retrieved the little jar of oil and poured a bit into her palms, again rubbing her hands together vigorously for warmth.

But she didn't touch his groin, as he expected. Instead, she began again on his chest, her hands making long strokes down his torso to end just below his navel. She repeated this move again and again, allowing her palms to slip over his hardening nipples, over his ribs, and then lower and lower toward his hips. With each stroke, she carefully avoided any contact with his full erection or his groin area.

His breath was coming a little faster as he lay watching her, the one untouched area of his body becoming the focus of increasing anticipation. She nonchalantly ignored the yearning shaft and worked her way around his inner thighs, massaging down between his spread legs, tantalizingly close to her goal, but never touching it.

Then, she warmed a tiny bit more oil in her hands and suddenly and unexpectedly cupped her heated palm around his testicles. His whole body jerked in surprise and he gasped involuntarily. She was watching his reaction, her blue eyes hooded, a little smile lifting the corners of her lips. With careful movements, she began to fondle him gently, applying only the lightest pressure to the delicate area, but it was enough to nearly undo him.

His erection was now pulsing hard against his belly and he reached down to grasp himself. She slapped his hand away. "No touching!" she ordered him. "That's my job."

He looked at her in surprise, then lay back obediently, his face flushed. Satisfied, she slid her hand up to the hard length of his manhood, her palm still slick with lubricant. Slipping her other hand underneath the hot column of flesh, she coated the entire surface with the warm oil, using both hands to stroke, caress, roll him between palms.

Within a short time, he was lost in building ecstasy, his back arched and his hips lifted off the bedding, gripping the furs tightly. She changed her grasp on him, holding him more firmly with one hand and pumping him from head to base with rhythmic purpose.

His eyes clenched shut, he swelled to rock hardness within her grip and then, in a strangled gasp, moaned, "Goddess!" Abruptly, he was coming, unable to hold back any longer. The hot, creamy liquid flooded over her hand, now holding him solidly and motionless, allowing him to empty himself in climax.

In a moment, he slumped back limply and his penis began to quickly soften. "But what about you?" he asked in a whisper, totally spent.

"Oh, I'll get mine," she assured him, smiling affectionately. "In the morning when you're rested. But you're so tired right now, I want you to sleep. I knew this would completely relax you. I'll clean you up and cover you when I'm done. Sleep, my darling. Sleep..."

He needed no further urging. Exhausted from the journey, soothed by the massage, and now with the last fragments of tension expunged by the orgasm, he allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to close. He was deep asleep before she had retrieved a warm, wet chamois to bathe him with. She did so gently, cleaning him thoroughly, then dried him and pulled the bed furs up over his nakedness.

Then she washed and dried her hands, tossed out the dirty water and put her oil away with her medicines. Checking to make sure Sapel was sleeping as peacefully as her husband, she banked the fire and slipped into the furs beside Spock. It hadn't been easy resisting the temptation to initiate full sexual intercourse with him, but she knew he was in no shape for it tonight. Tomorrow would be better and she could wait. He was back home with her and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Slowly Christine became aware of warm lips gently kissing her eyes, her face, her lips. Sleep dazed, she came awake only gradually, her inner time sense telling her that it was not yet dawn. It was nearly completely dark in the cave, the only light coming from outside, the wan illumination of the setting moons in the west. Near the entrance a dull ruddy glow, barely visible, showed where coals still burned in the hearth, ready to be reawakened when new tinder was fed to it.

She felt Spock's breath against her mouth, then the light touch of his lips once more. "Wha... What's wrong?" she mumbled.

"Shhh, do not wake Sapel," he whispered back. "Nothing is wrong." His lips moved to her cheek. "I awakened and remembered that I owed you for last night. But if you would rather sleep..."

Still only half-awake, she sank back into the wonderful dream-state that was based in reality but felt so unreal. She sighed and settled against him, giving him her answer as her arousal built. "What time is it?" she murmured.

"It will be dawn soon." His mouth traveled to her throat. "I missed your presence, t'hy'la," his soft deep voice whispered as he moved lower, shifting aside the bed covers to bare one of her breasts. She felt his warm hand engulf it, massaging and stroking, then his lips and tongue descended with kisses and teasing licks. The cool of the night air combined with his touch caused her nipples to rear up in full erection.

He pulled the swelling nub wholly into his mouth and sucked gently, aware that her breasts were tender. Groaning, she turned her body to give him better access and his hand cupped her other breast as she did so, kneading it in tune to his suckling the other.

She maneuvered harder against him and he let his hand slip around to the small of her back, encouraging her movements, working his tongue harder on the rosy bud of her nipple. In response, she twined her fingers through the thick expanse of his hair, holding him in place.

Then his hand made its way from her back across her hip and down to the juncture of her thighs. For a second, his fingers played through the thicket of hair that stood guard there, then found the soft lips beneath. Pressing, he gained entry to the already slick, wet cleft between and immediately encountered the other swollen mound of flesh he sought.

She gasped as he began to tickle his fingertips against her most sensitive area and to gently slip his fingers up and down the valley of her sex. Lifting his head from her breast, he watched her face as he did so, enjoying the evidence of the pleasure she was receiving from his touch. As her arousal built uncontrollably, he made no move to mount her, but only continued his dextrous manipulations, leaving her to decide how it would finish.

Near to climaxing, she opened her eyes and peered intently at him, her mind seeing him as clearly as if it were daylight. *Spock, I need you! Now, please!*

His reply was nonverbal, only an impression of consent and excitement and joy. Withdrawing his hand, he turned her on her back and positioned himself between her thighs. Slipping his hands beneath her buttocks, he lifted her so that he would not put weight on her abdomen, then set himself and, with a shove, was suddenly within her.

She gasped again and panted as his thrusts took him deep into her depths, gripping the bed clothes for support. Locked in mental alignment with one another, it didn't take long before they reached a simultaneous peak and leaped beyond it. Climax seized them as one, holding them in rapturous limbo for one long, glorious moment, then released them back into their mortal shells.

Spock lowered Christine's hips back to the ground and propped himself on his stiffened arms over her as he regained control of his breathing. After a moment, he moved back to her side and collapsed next to her, his breath still coming hard. He could feel her heart pounding as her body pressed against his.

Christine snuggled into his shoulder and whispered, "Good morning, sweetheart. I'm so glad to have you home again. Now I think I'll sleep a ... little ..." She never finished her sentence. He smiled faintly as his own flush of energy faded as well, then fell back asleep himself.

* * *

When Christine next awakened, it was to daylight and childish laughter. Spock was spooned against her back, one arm draped across her middle, holding her close. She could tell by his deep, even breathing that he was still asleep. Nevertheless, she roused herself and lifted her head to look toward the hearth.

Sapel was sitting cross-legged by the fireplace, sharing his breakfast of cold, roast hare with the little red-brown animal he'd befriended across the creek. Startled, Christine pulled herself out of Spock's embrace and reached for her knee-length dress, sitting up and pulling it over her head before she rose from the sleeping furs. Spock stirred and rolled over onto his back, blinking awake, rubbing one hand over his eyes.

As Christine knelt beside her son, the boy said in delight, "Mama, look! It musta followed us last night!"

"So I see," she answered softly.

"What is that animal doing here?" came a resonant male voice and they both turned to see Spock sitting up, one forearm resting on an upraised knee, the sleeping furs still covering him to his waist. His piercing gaze was focused on Christine, his eyes black under lowered brows.

"Oh, Spock, it's not hurting anything," she responded flippantly.

"That is not an answer to my question," he answered, still pinning her with his steady glare.

"It's just a baby," she argued.

"And how large will this baby get?" he retorted with deadly calm.

"Not very big, I'm sure." She turned away from her husband, pointedly closing the discussion.

Spock frowned despite his intention to remain as emotionless as possible. "Christine, that animal is not going to become a pet. We cannot feed it."

"Nonsense," she answered. "You had a pet when you were a boy. Why shouldn't Sapel?"

"That is hardly an equitable comparison!" Spock replied. "The circumstances were different and a sehlat is not the same as ... as whatever this animal is."

"No, hardly any comparison at all," Christine answered. "There's quite a difference between a pet that's as big as a Clydesdale and a cute little baby like this. How much did that horse of yours eat anyway, hmm?"

Spock sat fuming for a long moment, trying to think of a way out of the corner he'd argued himself into. "You are being deliberately obtuse, wife," he finally said in frustration.

"And you've lost this argument, husband," she responded, smiling smugly.

Sapel gave his father his best, pleading look. "Please, Papa? Please can I keep it? I'll take care of it, I promise! I'll feed it and water it and clean up after it and..."

"Very well!" Spock interrupted. "Only do not come crying to me when it nips your finger or tears up your shoes! Where are my pants?" He looked around, spied his leather breeches lying where he'd dropped them the night before, and snatched them with a quick exasperated movement. Hurriedly pulling them on, he got up and bent to grab his moccasins as he strode toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked.

"To meditate on how we're going to feed this beast!" Spock answered in passing and ducked underneath the entrance portal.

For a second, Christine thought he was genuinely angry, then burst into laughter as she saw that the direction he took was toward their downstream bathroom area. "Don't meditate too long!" she called after him. "We have things to do today!"

Still chuckling, she turned back to her son. "Now ... what shall we call this little moocher?"

* * *

Within a short period of time, Mooch had made herself completely at home. Naturally clean, she always went out when nature called and, like a cat, covered her droppings. She had an omnivorous appetite and ate nearly anything, although she vastly preferred meat, insects and fish. There were a few fruits and vegetables she flatly refused, but she liked to hold raw tubers between her paws and gnaw at them with her cheek teeth.

She possessed an insatiable curiosity, however, and investigated every square inch of the cave and all the family's possessions. Spock came close to banishing her when she chewed up three of his best arrows, but Christine pointed out it was only because he hadn't cleaned them thoroughly after their last use and Mooch was merely responding to the faint residual smell of blood clinging to them. Then Mooch herself inveigled her way back into Spock's good graces by hopping into his lap one evening after supper and turning the full measure of her considerable charm on him. For all his protestations to the contrary, Spock had always been a sucker for small, furry animals and before long he found himself stroking this one's sleek russet fur and oversized ears.

The rest of the summer passed uneventfully with most of their efforts geared toward the coming winter. Spock hunted extensively, bringing home both large game and small. The summer rains had made the plains lush and the herds had responded bountifully. The meat was cut and hung to dry as jerky or went into the salt barrels for curing. When not hunting, he spent his time cutting and stacking wood to cure or ranging afield with Sapel and Mooch often in tow, searching out food plants and noting which fruits and grains would soon be ready to harvest.

Christine, despite her advancing pregnancy, worked ceaselessly. The pelts of all the animals Spock killed had to be stretched, scraped and cured into leather or furs. It was a laborious job to do one hide and having several going at once kept her busy continuously. She had long ago taught Spock how to work the raw leather and he often switched jobs with her while she went out gathering food plants or preparing them for preservation. Even Sapel had a hare pelt that he was practicing on, although his attention span usually didn't focus too long on such a tedious chore.

When not helping his parents, Sapel often found himself on the banks of the pond, fishing. There weren't a lot of fish in the waterfall-fed pool, but he often brought back one or two big enough for eating. He'd been taught to keep only those of a certain size and release any others to grow and breed. Otherwise, Spock and Christine granted their growing son the time to simply be a child and enjoy the hot summer days with his new companion.

On one evening late into the summer, the family ventured up onto the plains for an after dinner walk and to wind down from the day's work. The sun was setting in a spectacular blaze of crimson and gold and the planet's three moons were already beginning to rise in the east, all three full and yellow. The day had been hot but now a slight cool breeze bent the grass stems in waves running ahead of the strolling trio, almost like ripples on a vast amber sea.

Mooch had grown a lot since early summer and was now the size of a medium-sized dog. She busied herself with hunting rodents in the grass and Sapel ran excitedly after her, leaving his parents to walk hand-in-hand in their wake.

Pausing on a high point in the rolling prairie, Spock put his arm around his wife's considerably thickened waist and drew her against his side. "How is our son?" he asked, gently massaging her swollen belly.

"Our daughter is just fine," Christine responded with an amused smile. "Kicking a little right now and becoming quite a burden!"

"Perhaps I should initiate a meld with him and instruct him to refrain from such activity," Spock answered.

"Yes, why don't you tell her that, hmm?"

Spock pulled her a little closer and looked down into her face, his eyes filled with affection for the woman in his arms. "Do you not wish for another son, my wife?"

She slipped her arms around him and held him as closely as her bulk permitted. "I don't care what it is, Spock. Really. I just want this baby to be healthy and strong."

"As do I, t'hy'la," he answered, stroking her long sun-bleached hair back from her cheeks and bending to kiss her. "That you bear my child within you is miracle enough. I would not presume to quibble over its sex."

She laughed in delight. "As if we had any choice in the matter! We'll take what we get, won't we?"

"Undoubtedly," he replied with a smile, trailing his fingertips across her meld points and sending his love for her through their bondlink.

The evening wind gusted a little from the west as the last sliver of sun disappeared below the horizon, bringing with it an unexpected sound. The high eerie howl rode the breeze like a banshee's wail, faint enough to be far away, but uncomfortably close. It was joined by another and yet another before it peaked in an unearthly chorus and faded away.

Christine found the flesh on her arms and neck standing in goose pimples and clung to Spock in a dread as old as time. "What was that?!" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Wolves," he answered, his eyes searching the darkening land for any sign of the animals that had once almost killed him.

Sapel and Mooch came racing up and the boy threw himself into his mother's embrace. "Did you hear that, Mama?" he asked fearfully. Mooch was intently alert, her large ears pricked in the direction of the sound's origin, the hair along her back standing up.

"I believe we should go back home," Spock said, still scanning the twilight. "They are nowhere close, but it is best to be safe."

He got no argument from his wife or son and they turned and walked back to the valley that sheltered them. As they strode along, Christine asked, "We've never had wolves here!"

"They are undoubtedly attracted by the abundant herds. It must be easy hunting for them," Spock responded. "Much easier than the forest elk they usually hunt in the forests to the north."

She shivered. "I don't like this," she stated, almost to herself. "I can't forget what they did to you that first winter here. It was sheer luck that they didn't kill you, Spock!"

He reached out and took her hand, transmitting reassurance through his touch. "I seriously doubt that they will stay in the area once the herds begin to migrate. They won't follow them south and the elk will soon be gathering for rut. The wolves will go back to the forests once that happens."

"I hope so," Christine answered, but she couldn't shake the chill of premonition that had settled on her like a blanket of ice. Something told her that this winter was going to be different.

* * *

Summer moved inexorably into autumn and the family busied themselves with harvest, taking advantage of the still warm days in which to gather as many of the ripe fruits and nuts as they could before the animals ate them all. It was a race every year which the animals invariably won, for they had the three people outnumbered by a vast measure. And the creatures were not begrudged their own portion of the harvest. They too were fattening and storing nourishment for the long winter and many of them would not live to see spring if too much of their food was taken from them.

By mid-autumn, as they reckoned the planet's year, Spock and Christine had gathered about as much as they could. The year had been a good one and they had baskets of dried fruits, winnowed grain, and succulent nutmeats cached in the back reaches of the cave. They could begin to slow down a bit in their constant search for provisions.

Christine was slowing down as well. Now in her seventh month of pregnancy, she was feeling bloated and constantly tired. The baby was pressing against her diaphragm, hampering her breathing, and she tended to pant slightly when she walked or worked. She had real trouble getting up by herself now and Spock provided her with a sturdy walking stick that she could use as leverage when he wasn't around to lend her a hand.

The cold came at the end of the month, the first winter front blowing in with sleet and snow. for two days and nights, the wind howled through the valley, coating the trees and ground with a blanket of white, causing the creek's edges to crust over with a layer of ice, although a center path remained clear and running. It was not hard winter yet, only its first frosty breath of what was to come.

Huddled in the warmth of their underground home, the family went about activities that could be done during the winter months, their preparations serving them well.

As Christine sat near the cave entrance to get enough light to sew baby clothes out of soft, velvety leather, Sapel read to her from the scrolls his mother had written. He was quite fluent in both English and Vulcan now, though still at an elementary level.

Nearby, listening to his son read aloud, Spock worked at napping flint arrowheads and spear points. Mooch was curled into the bedding furs, asleep, visible only as a russet mound.

After a time, Sapel tired of his schoolwork and gazed wistfully through the small opening in the door guard. The wooden frame was covered with a bison hide to keep out the cold, but areas were left open for light and ventilation. Outside, the snow was still drifting down steadily and showed no signs of letting up.

"Can't I go out and play in it?" the boy asked longingly.

"No, it's too wet," Christine answered. "If it was just dry snow, I'd consider it, but I don't want you getting wet and cold and getting sick because of it."

"Aw, Mama, I won't get wet," Sapel whined.

She sighed and put down her sewing. "Sapel, don't argue with me. You will get wet and you'll get a cold or bronchitis as a result. I'm not feeling well enough to nurse you through something like that if I don't have to."

The boy looked unconvinced and tried to appeal to a higher court. "Papa, can't I--"

"Absolutely not," Spock interrupted without looking up from his work.

"But--"

"No. And that's final." Spock calmly brought his hammer stone down onto the flint nodule he was holding and watched in satisfaction as a blade of the gray stone broke away in perfect cleavage. "And do not try that tactic again," he added. "If your mother forbids you to do something, I will not overrule her. Or vice versa."

Sapel pouted for a few minutes, stung by the reprimand. "I betcha the baby'll get to do anything he wants to," he muttered.

Both his parents looked up and stared at him, Spock with a reproving expression, Christine looking more amused.

"Come here, baby doll," she said and Sapel obediently scooted over to her side. Christine hugged her son and continued, "You know, as the big brother, you're going to have a lot of responsibilities."

"Why?"

"Well, your little brother or sister is going to look up to you to find out what to do. You've got to help him or her do the right thing."

"Like what?"

"Well, like making sure he doesn't fall in the creek or the pond," Christine mused. "Or seeing that he doesn't wander off. Of course, you'll have to show him a lot of things, like how to make a hopper bug jump off a leaf, or how to pet Mooch, or how to draw pictures in the dirt or make mud pies. Do you think you can do that?"

Sapel pondered the question seriously then answered, "Yeah, I guess so. Mama, is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know, honey. We'll all be surprised."

"I'd rather have a brother."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see," his mother smiled. Then she reached for his hand and pressed it against her distended belly. "Oooh, feel right there! Do you feel the baby moving?"

Sapel was still for a minute then jerked his hand away. "That feels weird!" he proclaimed. He was thoughtful for a minute, then cautiously moved his hand back to Christine's abdomen. Then he smiled broadly as the baby kicked again.

"Mama?" he asked after a minute. "How's the baby gonna get out of your tummy? Is Papa gonna have to cut you open?"

"Lord, I hope not!" she answered reflexively and exchanged gazes with her husband, both startled at the thought. Then she turned her attention back to her child.

"No, Sapel, there is a special place between a woman's legs where babies come out," she said.

"Like where you pee-pee?"

"Close, but it's just for babies."

"Do I have one?"

"No, honey, only women have them," his mother replied patiently.

"When's the baby gonna be here?" the boy wanted to know.

"Oh, in about six weeks or so. Maybe a little sooner, maybe a little later." Christine shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure."

"Good," Sapel answered, getting to his feet. "'Cause I don't like you fat."

Christine gave a burst of startled laughter at the boy's candid remark. "Well, I'll try not to be fat much longer," she answered. Chuckling again, she asked, "So, how about some lunch? Are you hungry?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Sapel responded eagerly.

"Okay. Go put your reading scrolls away and we'll get some lunch going."

The boy hurried to comply and Christine looked over to find Spock gazing at her in amusement. "He does not get it from me," the Vulcan said with mock solemnity.

"He gets it from your mother, I'll bet," she answered. "Were you like this as a boy?"

"Of course not," Spock replied, completely serious. "Vulcan children are studious and well-behaved."

"I'll just bet," she answered with a lop-sided smile. "If we ever get back home, I'm going to do some checking up on you!" The mention of home brought a sudden constriction to her throat and she hurriedly looked away, out the door, so that he wouldn't see that her eyes were suddenly bright and wet.

He saw it anyway. "Do not think of it, t'hy'la," he said softly, feeling her heartache reverberate through their bond. "Think only of the future."

She turned back and smiled bravely. "Think of what?" she retorted, deliberately denying any awareness of the pain she had felt. "The baby just kicked me hard, that's all."

He didn't answer, his dark brown eyes trained knowingly on her blue ones. She couldn't fool him, she realized, and looked back down at the little dress she was sewing. "Well, I'll finish this after lunch," she said. Carefully, she laid it aside and smoothed it, her fingers lingering on the butter-soft leather. "Let's see ... what shall we have? Sapel, how does grilled grain cakes sound?"

"Great! Do we have any honey?" the boy responded.

"Why don't you run look in the storage area?" his mother suggested, back to her normal self. "I'll get the stones hot and the batter mixed."

Christine hefted herself up and went to get the ingredients for the simple bread. Spock let his gaze follow her for a moment, then went back to his flint napping.

* * *

Spock awoke in the night to discover that Christine was missing from his side. He raised his head and saw her sitting near the cave entrance, wrapped in a fur against the night's cold. Quietly, he got up and went to her, his own sleeping fur clutched around him.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice.

She glanced up at him, smiling wanly. "Just too uncomfortable to sleep. I have heartburn so bad I can't stand it. Every time I lie down, it comes up my throat and chokes me. I'm hoping this will help." She showed him a stone cup in her hand.

"Some of your medicinal tea?" he guessed.

"Yes. It calms down the acid somewhat." She took a sip of the herbal brew.

Spock settled down behind her, his back against the cave wall. "Here," he said and drew her back into his arms. She scooted back willingly between his legs, leaning against his chest, taking comfort in his solid warmth.

"That feels good," she murmured as he wrapped his sleeping fur around them both.

"You need to sleep, t'hy'la," he said quietly into her ear. "If you cannot sleep lying down, I will support you in this position. Perhaps that, too, will help."

She made a little sound deep in her throat and snuggled into his embrace. "I love you, Spock," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"You do not have to vocalize that," he smiled. "This makes it quite obvious." Softly, he rested his hand on her abdomen.

"Indulge me," she answered and gazed up at him adoringly.

They sat in silence for a short while, gazing out at the snow-covered landscape they were able to glimpse through the vent opening in the door guard. It had stopped snowing and a faint, lambent light reflected off the frosty blanket covering the land. It was peaceful and hushed, heavy with the quiet only a snowfall can bring.

Then, from far away across the creek, out on the plains that stretched away to the west, a lone, mournful wail came floating across the stillness. Three more quickly joined it, then silence fell again.

"I hate those things," Christine said, tense and alert.

"They won't bother us," Spock answered in a soothing voice, although he too had stiffened at the sound.

A movement next to them jerked their attention away from the door, then they saw that it was only Mooch, drawn from her warm nest in Sapel's bed by the howls. She sat on her haunches, ears pricked, her eyes fixed on some point outside, far off in the distance.

For several minutes, the kit didn't move except for a twitch of her ears to adjust her lock on the sound or the constant quiver of her nose as she tested the air for any hint of foreign scent. Then she emitted a high, plaintive whine and shifted her footing. The hair along the crest of her back lifted slightly for a few seconds, then lay back into its sleek pattern.

Spock and Christine had both been staring at the animal's behavior, tensed to respond if she burst into action. But as Mooch relaxed, so did they. The danger had passed apparently and Christine sank back into her husband's strong arms, shaking.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No, I'm scared out of my wits," she replied. "I wish they would just go away," she sighed, suddenly exhausted.

Spock pulled her a little closer and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "I will keep you safe, beloved," he assured her, his deep, rough baritone comforting her like a lullaby.

But she couldn't shake the premonition. "I don't know why I'm so afraid," she murmured. "Maybe because it's getting so near to the time the baby is due, but I'm so scared I feel like I could start screaming at the drop of a hat."

He kissed her temple and whispered, "Everything will be all right, t'hy'la, you will see. I won't let any harm come to you or our children. Go to sleep now. I will be here with you."

"Don't ever leave me, Spock," she answered in a barely audible voice, losing her battle to stay away. "I couldn't stand it."

"Never, my wife," he replied, resting his cheek against her hair. "I will never leave you."

She didn't reply, sinking fast into slumber, secure in his embrace.

Far across the prairies, so faint now that it was only a hint of sound, the wail of the wolves rose once more and drifted like death across the vast, white expanse, tinting the pristine night with the color of blood.

END OF PART FOUR