Old Tree Mother had bloomed into glorious life with the fullness of spring by the time the Flower Moon had dawned. He was headed toward winter by sunrise along the banks of the Beautiful-river glowing with goodwill since his time among the people of his namesake town. For the entire Rain Moon he had dwelled among the medicine-men, elders, matrons and children, and even among the warriors.

I do not want to leave.

Then I will never see them again.

You will be able to speak to their grandchildren for them—in fact have already taken messages from those elders nearest the Starlit Path.

Then my leaving is a good thing, because it permits my return.

Even as he warmly remembered the serenity he had experienced in the town behind him, receding as it was out of sight as he struck off into the wild on his vision quest, he had to admit, that when the time came for the telling of this tale, of his time among the Good People of Three-Rivers-Town, there would be little to interest the casual listener. There had been the tricks played upon the matrons by Gerald and his child allies, and the tales of the squirrel’s might in battle related through Three-Rivers to the gathered warriors. Otherwise his stay had just consisted of the fulfillment of his own selfish pursuits in dream-walking, communing, ghost-walking, and counsels with the elders and medicine-men.

Do not wait too long to world-canoe. You want them to be able to see your thundercloud and lightning bolt from the town.

Yes, as soon as we pass over this ridge.

He then turned to Gerald, who perched on his shoulder cursing the Mother Earth squirrels for being monogamous, sober and poorly dressed. “Mister Hicks, I will be firing up as soon as you are finished deriding your friends.”

The squirrel chattered in an irritated tone, “So we headed back ta Whitey Worl. Ad leas’ we’ll be able ta buy some smokes en liquor. I’m sick a dis soberiaty boy.”

“Then Mister Hicks brace for takeoff, and please do not dig your claws in too deep. I would not want to reappear on Sunset with you attached to my neck. We would make a hideous conjoined twin.”

Mister Hicks’ response was lost in the roar of thunder as he reached out toward The Sunken Star and his hands became wings as he transformed into the Thunderbird who perched on the Happening Horizon within The Sunken Star. It momentarily occurred to him that The Ender might own the sunken stars, and then that moment of consideration expanded into an eternity of extension, division and unification. He slipped through the gaps in Time’s wall like a mouse into a corn crib—swiftly in the night I go!