Longhunter

"Me?" George asked.

"Yeah. You've spent a lotta time with these people, and don't think I'm too dense to see you and Tiaska sneakin' off to your tent every chance you get. You wouldn't be the first person to decide that native life suits you better."

"Looks like you've got me figured out," George conceded. "I'd given it a lot of thought already, and I was going to tell you," he added hurriedly. "I just...didn't know how to phrase it in a way that didn't make it sound like I was abandoning you all."

"What kinda lousy friend would I be if I saw you findin' happiness as abandonin' me?" he chuckled, George blinking back at him in surprise.

"You know, I never give you enough credit, Sam. You're a wiser man than I am. Here, I have something for you," he added as he leaned over the side of the bed to reach into his pack. After rummaging inside it for a moment, he produced his leather-bound journal, handing it to his friend.

"This is your journal," Sam said as he glanced first at the book, then back at George. "I can't take this."

"I need you to carry it for me," George explained, closing Sam's hands over its cover. "If I'll be staying here, that means I won't be able to take word of all that we've discovered back to Albion."

"Didn't you wanna be some famous scientist?" Sam asked, confused. "This book is all that you've worked for. Not a day went by that I didn't see you scribblin' in it."

"I suppose," George replied, giving him a weary smile. "Though, I expect I'll be occupied with less academic pursuits for the foreseeable future. Still, if you can take this back East and have it posted to the college, they'll be able to read all of my notes. I made a record of everything in these pages, explained it all to the best of my abilities. Even if I'm not present to accept the accolades, I can still spread this knowledge, and that's enough for me. I wrote down the address inside the cover. Just copy it onto the back of a letter, and have it mailed. It'll find its way there. You're the only person I trust to do this."

Sam nodded, George releasing his hands as he accepted the book.

"I'll make sure it gets there, George. You can count on me."

"I know."

Sam got up to leave, giving George a pat on the shoulder, the journal held in his other hand. As he made for the door, it opened on its creaking hinges, and he stepped aside to let Tia pass.

"Sam," she said, greeting him with a welcoming smile. "I trust that George is not taking up too much of your time?"

"I'm afraid it's back to breakin' rocks for me, Miss Tiaska," he replied. "I'll see you later, George," he added as he turned back to the bed for a moment. "When you're up and about, come find me."

George waved to him, and he left the hut, the sound of Tia's hooves echoing as she made her way over to the bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, crossing her long legs.

"You're looking a lot stronger," she said as she appraised him.

"I'm feeling a lot stronger."

She glanced at the door, then back at George, giving him a sly smile. The wooden frame creaked as she crawled up onto the bed, swinging a leg over him, straddling him. Beneath the furs that served as his blanket, he was nude, and she pulled them down to expose his bare torso. Those slender fingers reached out, tracing his muscles, Tia's freckled cheeks starting to flush. The perfumed scent of her flowers was already invading his senses, his member tenting the pelts between her thighs as it began to swell with desire.

"Strong enough to keep pace?" she asked, gently grinding against his erection. He could feel her warmth, even through her loincloth.

"As long as you're gentle with me," he replied, Tia biting her lip.

"Let me show you just how gentle I can be..."

***

"So, you're set on staying here?" Dawes asked.

It had been almost two weeks since the battle at the camp, and the company was finally preparing to head for home. The festivities had continued every night since, the villagers celebrating their victory over the Blighters, showering the company and the surviving scouts with adoration. George was pretty sure that some of the men had even found their way into the beds of the tribe's more grateful women. It had been a fortnight of good food and good company, but it was finally time for them to leave it behind.

The remaining members of the company stood beneath the open gate to the village, the walls of tangled plant matter rising up to either side of them, their backs laden with heavy packs. Without horses, they would have to carry everything back across the plains themselves, but they were all experienced outdoorsmen. Most of the village had come to see them off, forming a crowd behind the three elders, their cloaked guards now sporting rifles that were slung over their shoulders.

"This is where I want to be," George replied, stepping forward to extend his hand. Dawes took it, the strength of the man's grip surprising him as he shook it vigorously. "All of my maps are in my journal, under Sam's care. You shouldn't have any trouble finding your way back."

"I underestimated you, Mister Ardwin," Dawes said. "There was a time I would have said that bringin' academics along on an expedition like ours would only be a burden, but without you, we'd all be lost."

Kuruk stepped forward, now fully recovered after his encounter with the abomination, Tia following beside him. Dawes shook their hands in turn, George suppressing a smile as he watched the man's much larger hand engulf theirs completely.

"Do you have all that you need for your journey?" the female elder asked, spreading her arms wide. "Food? Clothing? If you wish, we can have some of our warriors escort you, at least as far as the edge of the forest."

"We'll be quite alright, thank you," Dawes replied with a deferential bow of his head. "We've imposed upon your hospitality quite enough already."

"I do not think that you will be returning," another of the elders added, the bird that was still perched in the leaves that wreathed one of his long horns flapping its wings. "But, if you should ever find yourselves in these woods again, our gate is always open to you."

George took a moment to see his friends off, exchanging handshakes with Marshall, Daugherty, and a few of the other men. Sam trapped him in a one-armed hug, George returning the gesture in kind.

"So long, George," Sam said. "I'll make sure your journal gets home. Hell, I'm rich enough now that I could hire a private courier to swim across the fuckin' ocean if I wanted."

"Farewell, Sam," George replied. "I hope the journey back is a more pleasant one."

The company set off into the forest, George watching them disappear into the trees. Tia sidled up beside him, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You may yet see them again," she said, leading him back into the village as the crowd began to disperse. The elders headed back in the direction of their tree, the guards flanking them, the heavy gate beginning to close.

"Maybe."

"Do you doubt yourself?" she asked, cocking her head at him.

"No," he chuckled, watching a butterfly dance around her flowery headdress. "Everything that I want is here."

She beamed at him, turning back to face him as she pulled him along.

"Come on. I can already smell breakfast cooking."

EPILOGUE

The Academy of Natural Sciences, Douvrend, Some Months Later

Shafts of morning sunlight bled in through the windows that took up one wall of the study, illuminating shelves that were stacked from floor to ceiling with old books, motes of dust dancing in their glow. The furniture was all dark mahogany and aged leather, scientific tools and curiosities stacked atop of every available surface. It was cluttered, but that was the way the professor liked it. He was an older man, hunched with age, sporting a suitably long beard that hung down over his gold-laced gown. Upon his crooked nose was perched a pair of half-moon spectacles, which he was presently using to read a document that sat upon his desk.

He looked up from his work as his assistant opened the door adjacent to him with a creak, a stack of papers clutched under his arm.

"The morning post has arrived, Professor," the young man announced as he set the pile of letters down on the varnished surface. He picked one hefty envelope out of the stack, handing it to the professor. "This one came all the way from the colonies, sir. It might be important."

"Let's see here," the professor muttered, picking up a letter-opener in his liver-spotted hand. He sliced the envelope open, pulling out a small, leather-bound book. After examining it for a moment, he realized that it was somebody's journal, adjusting his spectacles as he began to leaf through the pages.

"What is it?" his assistant asked, walking around to the other side of the desk so that he could get a look.

"It appears that someone has sent us a journal," he said, licking his thumb before turning another page. "It's an account of his travels in the colonies."

"Anything of note?"

The professor chuckled to himself, lifting the book a little to show his assistant an illustration. It was a picture of a giant mushroom, its base encircled by flowers, swarms of bees flitting around the honeycombs that were hanging beneath its wide cap. There was a human figure drawn for scale beside it, showing that its stem had the circumference of a tree trunk.

"It's rather fanciful," the professor mused, turning a few more pages to see a portrait of some kind of deer-woman with blooming flowers wound around her horns. "It's written in the style of a real account, complete with detailed maps and illustrations, but the content is obviously fictitious. We publish research papers here, not fantasy novels, so I'm not entirely sure how this found its way to us."

"Maybe it was a mistake?" his assistant suggested. "Who wrote it? Do you recognize the name?"

The professor returned to the start of the journal, skimming through the foreword, which was written in looping cursive.

"One George Ardwin," he muttered. "It rings a bell. I think we had someone by that name studying at the college. The handwriting in the journal doesn't match that on the envelope," he added, holding the two side-by-side as he looked down his nose at them. "Whoever sent this letter isn't the author."

"Could someone have found it and assumed that the address written inside the cover was the owner's?" the assistant suggested.

"That could well be the case," the professor replied with a nod. "Very astute of you. I'm sorry to deprive a man of his hard work, but I'm not sure what to do with it. There's no return address," he added as he turned the envelope over. "I'm afraid that an act of kindness has been wasted on us."

"I'll file it away with the other sundries," the assistant said, taking it off the professor's hands. "Perhaps this Ardwin fellow will return to the college one day."

"That he might," the professor replied, turning his eyes back to his work.

THE END