He was in place before dawn on the third day, just south of the meeting site. Hours, he was sure, before he could expect the first sign of natives. During the handful of times he’d seen them beyond that first encounter, they’d been settled into one or another camp by dusk, and he was pretty confident that they didn’t move about at night.

He didn’t know what to expect, exactly. So far as he knew, there had been no written version of Algonquin until well into the fifteenth century, and had been created by an English minister. He’d been studying from PDF copies of the dictionary and bible he had with him, not that it would do any good. It had been growing on him, therefore that the Saginaw was probably going to be bringing somebody to teach him the language. It was the only thing that made sense. And he was dreading it.

This wasn’t the sort of thing he was going to accomplish in a single go. It would take awhile. It seemed reasonable that the Saginaw would also know this. At best, he’d have to shuffle his ass out here or to some other meeting place for the lessons daily, or at least a couple of times a week. That would be tedious and interruptive to the point of crippling all of his other efforts. Furthermore, he wasn’t expecting it.

The history indicated that the tribes would be moving east to the seashore any day now, if they hadn’t already. And while he hadn’t found any of their village sites, he had a rough idea of where they should be — all of which were well out of range of a day’s hike, even without spending any time on language lessons. That left one of two options. Either they were going to invite him into the village to learn, or they were going to be dropping off a tutor. Neither was at all appealing.

He wasn’t remotely ready to enter a period village, on the one hand. There was no way he’d be able to protect his gear or maintain enough mystery to get them to start learning what he wanted to teach, not mentioning the hygienic nightmare he could expect it to be. That was the whole reason he’d wanted a cabin. Someplace separate from them while he was developing a relationship before he started messing directly around with their society.

At this point, if the offer was made, he’d have to refuse, and that might instigate bad blood, which he absolutely didn’t want. Of course, the remaining possibility was even worse. The last thing he wanted was to let any of them know where he was living.

Oh, they’d figure it out eventually, he knew. It wasn’t like he didn’t leave any tracks. Hell, his eventual intent was to show them. But he’d wanted it to be on his timetable, not theirs. And under his timetable, it was well after he’d finished the cabin and set up solid defenses before any of them knew where to look.

He was all too acutely aware that the slightest misstep could turn these people from new friends into deadly enemies. It wasn’t what he wanted, God knew, but he didn’t always get what he wanted. He’d gotten used to that decades ago, and it had been hammered home with mind searing certainty when Meg had gotten sick. Meg. Best not to go there now. Later, there’d be time. Too goddamned much time.

Visitors, he didn’t want even moreso, but it was looking like that was another thing he wouldn’t be having a say over. He really did need a much better grasp of the local dialect, and to his mind, it was looking like he’d have to put up with at least one unwanted visitor for some extended period of time. At least he might have somebody to hunt while he built, if he could communicate the need.

He’d made best use of the previous days, and had a couple of rough walls up, although they weren’t particularly tall, nor had he started the permanent roof, let alone the floor. It was a start, at least, and he’d built a sort of arched framework above the logs, tying them off at the center and weaving brush and tree boughs into them to form what amounted to a complete, if rough shelter. It wasn’t much, and it might draw unfavorable comparisons to their own structures, but any Indian who could survive sleeping in the woods with nothing but a cloak to keep him warm shouldn’t have anything to complain about

He’d blocked off the cave a little more solidly and had rigged himself a sneaky way to drop the locking bar from the outside using five-fifty cord. He’d tried it several times from the inside, and the bar had gone into the cradles and come back out every time. That should give him double protection, at least until he got sloppy and let whoever was there see him hauling on the line. Oh, well, he’d still have the padlock, right?

Regardless of how he looked at it, though, he wasn’t happy. Why did his plans never go smoothly?

He was well up in a maple, wrapped in the poncho with the hood down over his face. He’d cut a few suckers off of the lower trunk and brought them up with him, weaving them into some of the living branches to make himself a better hide. It was uncomfortable, but he’d been uncomfortable many times before. At the moment, he was much more interested in not being where people might be looking.

He’d also wrapped his left wrist in a couple of socks with the bandana tied over them. It made his wrist into a lumpy mess that he kept getting tangled in things, but at least it should quiet the damned thing down and keep anybody from seeing the flashing light. He’d do what he’d do, and if he got points, he got points. End of story.

He was expecting at least two people, but he wasn’t exactly not expecting more than two. He was in full paranoia mode. Long ago, he’d learned that paranoia kept you safe against those times they really were out to get you. He’d even broken out the precious cache of coffee and brewed himself a dose.

The sun came up and wandered across the eastern sky, picking up highlights and throwing shadows playfully around as he waited. He thought about eating, but gave it up. He’d eaten before he’d arrived, and that would have to do. Instead, he took a pull from the bite valve of the camelback, wishing he had more coffee. Maybe later he’d see how many more brews he could get out of the grounds before it was just bitter brown water.

He’d expected them to come from the north, and they did not disappoint. Two of them, moving quietly, but not as though stalking. Straining his ears, he could detect no other sounds that might indicate companions.

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As they drew nearer and he started getting intermittent glances at them, his heart skipped. He hoped he was wrong. Was the Saginaw nuts?

And then they were there, and the Saginaw’s companion was revealed. A girl of fifteen or so, although her age might have been anywhere within a couple or three years of that in either direction. It was often difficult to tell with aboriginal peoples in his experience. They hit puberty early. Hell, he’d run into a few twelve year old white girls in the south who could regularly pass for their mid-twenties.

What was that old bastard trying to pull?

He waited while they settled down and the Saginaw went about the laborious process of building a fire. The girl was chattering a mile a minute, and she sounded scared. He didn’t blame her.

The sun had passed zenith and still he hunkered in the tree, watching and trying to catch a word or two of what they were saying. From the tones alone, the girl was frightened and the man consoling. Sure, what did he know? You don’t leave a girl alone with a strange old... he looked down at himself, seeing through the clothing to the nineteen year old body beneath. Even worse!

No. He wasn’t going to do this. Language be damned, he wasn’t going to do this. His grandkids were older than that little girl! Regardless of what body he wore. He’d refuse the Saginaw’s suggestion, he decided. They’d find another way, or he’d find somebody else to treat with.

Steeling himself silently, he made sure the tablet was secure behind his chest plate and stepped clear of the branch. The fall was about ten feet, and he hit with a helluva racket, but he’d hit on the balls of his feet and let his legs take the shock, going to a knee and bracing with his left hand, holding the short rifle against him with the right.

The rifle was pure paranoia, and more of it than he needed at this point, so as he stood, he slid it around on the sling to lay along his back and tightened the strap.

Both sets of eyes were riveted on him, which had been the plan. He stood there for a moment, watching them as he slowly tensed and untensed his leg muscles. This would be a bad time to take a limping step or fall on his face. After assuring himself that he could do so with dignity, he stepped deliberately forward, joining them beside the small fire.

Kills Bear was heartily weary of listening to Sings in Morning’s whining. She had brought this upon herself in a very real way, and had no cause for complaint. It wasn’t as though they were some barbaric people such as those they had heard of to the far south who would sacrifice her for some fell gods.

She was being sent to assist a friendly spirit, that was all. It had been made clear to her that, once her task was finished, should she desire, she would return to the band and go on about her life. How long could it take? The Sam spirit almost spoke the language already. Well, perhaps not as well as almost, but certainly not as bad as not at all. It had many of the sounds fixed to within recognizable bounds.

In summer, someone would come for her, or she could bring the spirit to the people. Ordinarily, it would be bad to suggest a young woman should travel for several days with only a single companion during the fighting time, but he felt confident that, should trouble come, the spirit would handle it.

They came to the meeting place without incident, and he set about building a fire. It was warm enough that one was not needed, but he felt the situation required the gravity that a fire produced.

Sings in Morning prattled about her upcoming ordeal the whole of the time, cataloging perils and dooms such that he began to wonder what sorts of stories her father and mother had been telling her to give her such an imagination. He tried to calm her, telling her that he’d met the spirit at this very place, and it had been completely benign, even happy. He also reminded her that she had many full bellies to thank it for, and that she should not dishonor herself speaking ill of it.

They settled down beside the fire, Kills Bear on his cloak and Sings in Morning on her blanket. The day was fairly warm, and they listened to the chuckling of the stream as it raced along, drinking up the ice from the banks.

He leapt to his feet in alarm at the crashing behind him, bringing his stone-tipped spear to bear. He was in time to see the Sam spirit as it stood upright, small branches fluttering to the ground all around it. Kills Bear tried hard to think about whether there had been another tree there up until now. Had the Sam spirit been pretending to be a tree this whole time? Or had it been up in the tree. He looked up, but couldn’t tell if the branches were moving more than normal or not.

Beside him, Sings in Morning was sniffling, as though she wanted to cry but didn’t dare. This was bad. If she were too frightened, she might defy her father’s command and refuse to go with the Sam spirit. This would disgrace her, and for all of her annoying habits, she was still one of Kills Bear’s people to protect.

The Sam spirit stood quietly for a moment, regarding them from beneath the mouth of its cloak before it began to move in their direction. Sings in Morning hiccuped in a great, fearful breath and began to edge around behind him. A stern word held her in place.

Sings in Morning was certain she was walking to her doom. They were giving her to a spirit! What had she done to deserve this? Had it been the boys? Had they complained to the Saginaw that she would not notice them?

Or had it been her mother? She was always complaining that Sings in Morning was too wild, and spent too much time poking around in things that girls should not concern themselves with. She was always looking for new things or new ways to do things. Her mother thought her lazy, and she was no such thing!

A spirit! Did it really matter why? They were sending her to be eaten so that they would be rid of her. Her father, especially wanted her gone. He’d been haranguing her to accept any proposal that might come her way lest she end an old maid, even as he bartered with other fathers to foist her onto their ugly sons. Except that there were no proposals! What should she do?

The wise woman had given her a protective charm which she insisted would make her safe, but how would even a wise woman know how to protect from a spirit that she had grudgingly admitted she wasn’t familiar with? It was a smelly bag of hope and wishes, and she didn’t trust it.

The whole time the Saginaw was building the fire, he kept telling her how lucky she was to be able to study the spirit as she taught it to speak. How someday she might even become a wise woman from it. What did he know of spirits? And what did she know of teaching someone —something— to speak? And why should she want to become a wise woman? Wise women couldn’t even have husbands or babies.

She had to cover her mouth when the crash came, lest she cry out and the Saginaw thunder at her. She stood and turned, following the Saginaw’s gaze. The spirit. Despite herself, she looked closely at it. It was tall. Taller than anyone she had ever seen. And broad across the shoulders. The skin that she could see beneath the strange clothing was pale, almost white, with none of the rich, deep color of a person’s face.

And that face! There was hair or fur all over it, like a beast! She dare not attempt to look into the eyes, for spirits were known to steal souls.

The rest of it was covered with a strange green cloak and strange green pants. The whole of it frightened her, and she heard herself whimper. The spirit bore no weapon that she could see, but the Saginaw had assured her that it would be armed, and that it was fully capable of hunting and probably fighting.

It began approaching, and she began to edge behind the Saginaw, seeking the protection of his bulk. His harsh rebuke halted her, and she struggled to hold back the tears. This was almost worse than she had been anticipating.