According to his own personal chronology Jay had only been gone from here—or is it when?—about a month. But, according to Jay-Bear, four winters had passed since he saw the red star in the sky that had been Jay egressing back to the 21st Century in this very valley. Jay-Bear had then investigated and had found Eggshell and her disciples. The Spanish had by this time been encroaching and he wanted help. She refused, and Jay’s grandchildren by Fierce Woman and Turtle had gone their own ways after a bitter reunion. A sinking in his stomach caused him to reflect as his grandson—who, at forty winters, was about eight years older than he—related these events. It was now 1629 in Branch One.

Damn dummy, if you would have stayed just another day you could have met your kin, all of them, before so many died in this war. Maybe you could have reconciled Eggshell and Jay-Bear. In any case, you have to find Eggshell to egress without killing Three-Rivers, and he says she’s on the Ohio.

Jay-Bear was hugging him and telling him it was okay that he had left. It was oddly pleasant and surreal as well, to have a grown grandchild comforting him and advising him, like he was the child. He was proud and embarrassed all at once.

This is good dummy. Since you will not live to be old you are being given the experience of being an old fogy being talked to like a child by your grandchildren. The Man Above must have a soft spot for your dumbass after all.

Jay-Bear was wiping his tears away with the blade of his tomahawk and wetting his own cheeks with the blade. He then brought forward his wives and daughters—his sons having been slain. They hugged and kissed Jay one at a time and said, “Thank you Grandfather, thank you with love.”

There was one precocious three-year-old grandson who kept climbing on him and asking him about his battles. He couldn’t remember how many times he told the boy to hush, but it was a lot. The boy sat on his knee for the entire visit.

The words spoken by his granddaughters were rehearsed and did not vary from speaker to speaker, but were said with genuine affection. He felt warm, at home, never wanting to leave. Then he looked to Three-Rivers, delirious with fever on his sickbed, and he knew they had to go before the heavy snows of January. According to Seamus, who would be staying with Jay-Bear and marrying into the tribe along with his wounded man, it was two days before Christmas Eve, and the winter figured to be a hard one by all indications. Jay-Bear and his family stood before him as if posing for a photo.

“I’m so proud of y’all, en thank you for welcomin’ me back. We movin’ out come mornin’, so I was hopin’ y’all would tell me yer stories, what ya done as kids en such. It ‘ould make me happy.”

He sat next to Jay-Bear into the long cold night as the women and children told of their lives in the Planting Valley, and he felt whole.

He had a strong party: Bruco; T.T.; Eddie; Angh; Carl the Irish archer; Maria the half-breed hooker; T.T.’s girl Lucia; Three-Rivers on his sickbed with his pet squirrel; and Socks the draft horse. Angh had constructed a suspension system over the saddle and packs that allowed Three-Rivers to be born on a slightly inclined stretcher without suffering the bumps of being dragged through undergrowth and over rocks and deadfalls. Socks was a massive white horse with pink markings and black socks and Jay took personal care of the beast who also carried their food. Eddie, Angh and T.T.; huge, seriously wounded and tough as nails, hauled backpacks full of canvas and blankets, and even monogrammed towels from the Hyatt Regency hotel in 21st Century Baltimore.

Jay was wearing fine buckskins and carried a pack of horse feed. He was armed with a good Cherokee bow, and tomahawk, a steel knife, and a Spanish Espada, a nice tapering sword good for slashing and thrusting. On the first day they crossed Braddock Heights—the Sunset Hills Whiteman—and South Mountain.

On the second day they crossed the valley watered by Antietam Creek and Welsh Run to camp at the base of Dickey’s Mountain. No natives actually lived in these parts, they just passed through. So he did not feel self-conscious about thinking of these places in White terms.

On the third day they crossed Sidling Hill and made camp in Buck Valley beneath Green Ridge. The fourth day they crossed Pine Ridge, on the fifth Savage Mountain, on the sixth Dividing Ridge, on the seventh Keyser’s Ridge, and finally, on the night of the eighth day they were camped atop the Laurel Ridge above the Cheat and Youghiogheny rivers; the site of the camp he had made four years earlier—but only a month ago for him—with Eggshell and her disciples.

He was standing with Socks, feeding him the last of the oats just beyond the firelight while Carl kept watch.

This is it for the oats boy, then we’re down to corn and cassava crumbs. The heavy hauling is over though. From here it will be two days downhill to the Monongahela and we can trace that up to the Ohio.

He sensed him before he heard him. And the man behind him knew it, so he just waited silently for Jay to stroke Socks one last time and acknowledge him.