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This story contains adult situations and explicit sexual content. No one under the age of 18 should be viewing this.

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A DISTANT SHORE: Into the Wild

The steamboat slowly edged its bow into the thick mud of the river bank and slid to a stop. A long, wide brow was lowered, allowing the lone passenger to lead his mount and a smaller packhorse onto the shore. He was tall, lean and muscular. His clothing consisted of a pair buckskin trousers, cut in the fashion of the civilized world, a white cotton shirt, black, calf length cavalry boots, a red bandana around his neck, a tan slouch hat and a short buckskin jacket.

"Just remember," came a voice from the pilot house. "Find any open spot along the shore and put up the red pennant I gave you. First boat that sees it will put in and pick you up."

The gray-furred wolf turned to face the boat and waved. "Much obliged, Captain. Next time we meet you can buy me a drink."

The brow lifted from the bank and the huge stern wheel began churning at the water, easily pulling the boat free. "Luck to you, Marshall."

The short otter put the megaphone to one side and watched as the law-fur mounted his horse and disappeared into the trees. Behind him the pilot spun the huge wheel, swinging the bow until it pointed downstream. He reached across to the telegraph and rang up 'full ahead.' The boat shuddered, slowed, then gradually began to pick up headway.

"Cocky bastard," muttered the pilot, a slick, brown-furred canine. "Don't no one come back from the Wild who goes in alone."

"I wouldn't bet against him, Sam." the otter replied, puffing on his pipe. "The Marshall there can be one tough fur if needs be."

Reaching the top of a nearby bluff, the wolf looked back toward the river and watched as the sternwheeler slowly vanished around a bend. The thought of riding the Wild alone didn't frighten him. He knew from experience that it didn't take much more than grit and a cool head to keep oneself alive out here. The problem was, too few 'civilized' furs had either.

Gabriel White Cloud had been marshalling the territories long before civilization had decided to stretch itself as far as the river. Granted, the towns were all new, having sprung up like rat-weed during the last ten to twelve years, but the claim lent more than a little credence to anything the wolf had to say.

Wealth was the driving force behind the push west, and it wouldn't be too long before some ignorant fur tried to cross over into the Wild and build a private empire. Once that happened, there would be war. He hoped that when it came, they'd still be listening to him. Deep down, he suspected they wouldn't.

He turned his mount northwest, towards Chimney Rocks. If anyone knew where Roark Temple and his gang were hiding, it would be Old Father Rain.

Until recently, Temple's Black Creek gang had only been mildly annoying; robbing a few lone travelers and thieving from small settlements. Nothing they'd done was big enough to draw serious attention. That changed two weeks ago.

Somehow, Temple and his thugs had gotten up the courage to board and loot the River Queen. Not only did they rob the passengers, killing eight of them in the process, but they had killed an Army paymaster as well and stolen the payroll for half the forts along the river. To top it all off, they'd kidnapped three ladies from the boat, one of whom was, unluckily for them, a senator's daughter. This brought so much heat down on them they'd lit out for the Wild, their captives in tow. Two of the ladies had later been returned with the help of a native trader, somewhat worse for wear. The senator's daughter was still missing though. There had been only three law-furs in the territory who knew enough about the Wild to track the bandits. Two were dead. White Cloud was the third.

It was a day and a half to the Father Rain's camp at Chimney Rocks. The ancient fox was the wisest fur Gabe knew. He could read the leaves of spring and tell whether the next winter would be harsh or mild. He had mastered the hidden magic of the world long before the eastern lands had been tamed. He knew the source of life, and he knew how the stars danced the night skies. He used this knowledge not only for the benefit of his own people, but all. He was not a chief, but it was his will that united the fifteen tribes of the Wild. It was his vision that kept peace between the native and civilized furs along the river.

The Marshall arrived at Chimney Rocks late the next day. As he rode into camp he could tell there was excitement in the air. Tonight was the second night of the full moon, which meant that the tribal Spirit Walkers would be dancing, seeking guidance for the coming month. Their words would influence mating vows, rites of passage into adulthood, and naming ceremonies for the whole tribe. It would affirm or deny the visions of the elders and offer guidance for the people of Chimney Rocks.

In his younger days, White Cloud had participated in a number of such ceremonies with his mother's people, the Green Willow tribe of the south. Living among them had been the dream time of his youth. He might even have remained with them had his mother not died giving birth to his younger sister when he was twelve. Only days later the Spirit Walkers of the Green Willow announced that he must leave with his father, a civilized fur whose love of the Wild faded with the passing of his wife. Gabriel's path, they said, lay astride the great river. His infant sister was adopted by the chief's lodge while he went east with his father.

He still occasionally visited his childhood home, and was always welcomed. They were, after all, his people; but his time among them was limited by the waxing of the next full moon when the Spirit Walkers would inevitably remind him of his destiny and, with the greatest courtesy and respect, send him once more on his way.

Gabe reached the center of the village and brought his horse to a stop, dismounting in front of the chief's wickiup.. An elderly fox, dressed in a short deerskin vest, leggings, moccasins and a breechcloth stepped through the door and approached the law-fur. He walked with a strength and dignity that belied his short stature.

The Marshall brought his right hand up to his chest, closed his fist as if physically gripping his heart, then proffered it to the tribal leader. The chief duplicated the gesture, then held out his left hand. Gabe unsheathed his fighting knife and gave it, hilt first, to the fox who held it aloft for all to see before passing it back to the wolf. With the formal greetings finished, a grin broke out on both fur's faces and they hugged as good friends do.

"It is good to see you again White Cloud of the Green Willow. Your coming was foretold during the last Spirit Walker dance. It makes my heart proud, friend-son, to know their power and wisdom have not diminished."

"As it does mine, Swift Arrow of Chimney Rocks." He turned to his pack horse and removed a deerskin parcel from one of the cargo bags, presenting it to the chief. "I bring you a gift, of friendship and hospitality." He undid the bindings to reveal a bolt of red woolen cloth, three pouches of tobacco and two steel knives. "Gifts of the Eastern Shore."

"Your offering is generous, White Cloud, but it is your heart that enriches me beyond my years. I wish you had come sooner, so that your stay could have been longer than a single night. The words of the Green Willow bind all the tribes. But while you are here, we will rejoice."

"Thank-you."

The elder fox guided the law-fur into his wickiup even as other natives led his mount and pack horse away to be cared for. As a guest, his tack and rig were perfectly safe. The tribes of the Wild were not thieves, no matter how much some of the 'civilized' furs insisted. The land provided, it always did, so there was no need to steal, and thanks to Father Rain, if one tribe was in need, the other fourteen would help. A native caught stealing faced either death, or banishment. There was a brutal simplicity to justice in the Wild.

Swift Arrow gestured to a corner of his home where several layers of comfortable furs had been laid out. Both sat as the chief's two wives and three daughters served them an evening's meal, consisting of buffalo stew, corn cakes and dried honey-apples. The food was both savory and filling, and as was the custom neither male spoke until the last bowls had been cleared away.

The elder fox took out a long stemmed pipe, decorated with symbols that represented different events in his life. He opened one of the pouches of tobacco and gently packed the clay bowl. He drew a glowing stick from the fire pit and touched it to the pipe, puffing gently until smoke began to curl upwards. A pleasant aroma filled the lodge as the spice laden tobacco gently glowed. After a couple of puffs, he passed the pipe to his guest. The wolf accepted the hospitality and breathed in the aromatic smoke before returning it to his host.

The chief looked across at his guest, the light of the fire dancing across his reddish-brown fur. "I know you have journeyed far, friend-son, and have a warrior's task before you, but what is it, may I ask, that brings you to my wickiup?"

The Marshall returned the elder fox's steady gaze with his own. "There is a band of furs who have crossed the great river from the Eastern shore. They have stolen and murdered, and even now seek sanctuary in your lands. I know not where they crossed, and the shore is too vast for me to search out where they landed, else I could track them myself. So, I come to seek the wisdom of Father Rain."

The fox nodded. "It is the wise fur who knows his limits and seeks another path. I am afraid though you will not be able to speak with Father Rain. It is the full moon. During such time he walks with the ghosts of our forefathers. He will not awaken before you must leave."

"Then how will I seek for the answers of which I have need?"

"Perhaps the Spirit Walkers can help," the chief said. "It is the full moon. Great magic is worked on this of all nights. If the spirits hear of your need, they may point you towards the right path. You are welcome to join with us, White Cloud of the Green Willow."

The Marshall thanked the fox and the two began to speak of other things. Gabe talked about the towns growing along the eastern shore and the steamboats plying their trade along the river. The chief in turn discussed the coming harvest rains, his hope for a mild winter and the dozen or so births that had occurred in the spring. They filled the pipe twice more, talking and waiting for the night's ceremony to begin.

Swift Arrow was debating whether to fill the bowl of his pipe a third time when a young warrior came to the door of the wickiup. He bowed and signed that the ceremony was about to began. The chief stood and walked to the door, his hand on Gabriel's shoulder. They were joined by his wives and daughters. Together, they walked to the tribal circle and took their place. Swift Arrow clapped his hands thrice and the native drummers began beating out a simple, slow rhythm.

Four dancers slowly came forward, two males and two females, each wearing moccasins, leggings, a breechcloth and a mask. Both warriors and maidens were bare chested, protected only by their fur. Their movements were precise, measured and slow. Each advanced from one of the compass points and they all carried lit torches which had been specially treated by the tribal shaman. The flames of one burned red, another, blue, the third, green and the forth, yellow.

The pace of the drums increased and the dancers whirled about the unlit pyre of logs in the center of the tribal circle, their flames marking a trail of light. Swift Arrow stood and raised his hand sharply. The drumbeats stopped and in the sudden silence he called with a voice clear and strong. "Come to us Earth Spirit! Ride to our circle on the winds! Speak with us, guide us and teach us!" The dancers answered with a sharp, wild cry of their own, simultaneously thrusting their torches into the pyre. They danced back and all was silent for a moment then the pyre exploded into a column of blue flame. The Earth Spirit was riding the East wind.

Moments later a wind did rise, gently at first, from the direction of the great river. It strengthened, carrying with it the scent of birch, oak and willow; carrying with it the scent of mud and water. The flames of the bonfire danced under the power of the wind, swirling and climbing into the night sky. Gabe watched and remembered. This was what the civilized furs did not understand. This was how they would underestimate the native peoples. Civilization brought with it modern tools and weapons for conquest, but the native tribes held something more frightening, more wondrous and ultimately, more. powerful. The native people held within them the magic of the Earth, the magic of nature, and it was real. If war ever came, the people of the Eastern shore would learn this, much to their sorrow and regret.

The drums started again. Sixteen more Spirit Walkers, half male and half female, joined the four already in the circle, all dressed alike except for the masks. Each mask was different, representing not only the four winds, but other Earth spirits as well. Around the fire they danced, the hue of their fur highlighted by the flames; red, brown, copper, bronze and... white?

Gabriel looked again. Yes, there she was, dancing with the others. A vixen whose hair and fur was as white as the clouds, whose hands and forearms were as black as coal. The wolf turned towards Swift Arrow, his mouth agape. The elder fox smiled, easily guessing his question.

"She is named Snowbird." he said. "She came to us as a kit, many moons ago; alone, lost and frightened. She came from out of the North, on a night such as this, a night when the Earth Spirits were riding the North wind. She wandered into our circle and has remained in our hearts. Father Rain took her in as his daughter and taught her the ways of the shaman, the ways of the Earth spirits. Now she guides our Spirit Walkers."

Gabe watched the white vixen, enthralled. She moved so gracefully through the circle that she could have been flying

The dancers kept turning around the fire, the beat of the drums as steady as a heartbeat, the heartbeat of the Earth. At various times a dancer would spin away from the circle and drop to one knee before a watching native. He or she would bow, then whisper something which only the fur being addressed, or those closest, could hear. Sometimes these messages brought great happiness, sometimes tears. Most were greeted with silent, solemn nods, as if the listener had already known in their hearts the truth behind the message.

The white vixen leapt, spinning away from the circle and knelt before Swift Arrow, bowing. "The spirits say that your younger wife is with now with child, a son to bring pride and strength to you wickiup. Care for them as you would have them care for you, great chief.". The expression on the elder fox's face was a mixture of both surprise and elation. Gabe grinned widely at Swift Arrow, happy for the joy that was now his.

He turned back to see the white vixen bowed before him. Her mask was of simple bronze, decorated with the symbols of the Owl Spirit. It covered her upper face and was unusual in that it had only one opening through which to see. A single, ice-blue eye affixed itself on the Marshall. "You know already the message the spirits have for you," she said in a breathless whisper. "Your destiny lies elsewhere, but they say also that you will, before this night is out, know that for which you seek."

"Thank-you," he replied gravely.

Snowbird rose to her feet in one fluid movement and leapt back among the dancers. The wolf continued to watch her, and thought he saw her looking directly at him a number of times. The dance went on for another eight turns around the fire, then the East wind died, fading into silence as quickly as it had risen. The drums stopped, and the Spirit Walkers dropped to their knees, facing outward toward the rest of the tribe and bowed. The ceremony was complete. Silently the circle began to break up. Gabriel stood and looked over at Swift Arrow. He was clasping his wives to him while his three daughters went ahead to the wickiup to prepare the sleeping furs.

"I could not help but hear the words of Snowbird. It is my wish that your son will grow in wisdom to rival his father."

"It was said you're coming would portend many things. This exceeds even my greatest hope. My heart is now full to bursting with joy." The wolf and fox embraced unashamedly before retiring to the lodge. Behind them the fire slowly died, its fuel consumed and quickly exhausted by the power of the Earth Spirit's visit.

Several hours passed and the camp became quiet. Gabriel lay asleep, naked beneath thick buffalo hides, separated from Swift Arrow's family by partitions hung from the lodge poles. There was a soft rustle from nearby that woke the law-fur. Were this a boarding house in one of the river towns, the wolf would have had his colt revolver cocked and ready, but this was the Wild and he was a guest of a tribal chief in his wickiup. There was no danger here, save for snakes, but he knew it was no snake.

The partition was pushed back and the figure of a vixen stood dimly silhouetted by the night. She quickly put aside her breechcloth, lifted the buffalo hide and slithered next to the law-fur. Gabriel thought at first it was Swift Arrow's eldest daughter. It was not unusual among the fifteen tribes for unmarried females to show hospitality in this way. It could never be demanded by a guest, but it could be offered by a host.

The wolf pulled the vixen in, rubbing his fur against hers. He reached up to stroke the side of her face. His fingers touched soft fur and then smooth, cool metal. She was wearing a dancer's mask. "Snowbird?" he asked softly.

She brought a finger to his lips, silencing him, then slowly began licking and kissing his face. Gabriel returned the favor, gently suckling and nipping at her neck, reaching up to scratch at the base of her ears. His hands patiently moved down her body, massaging first her neck, then her shoulders and back. They reached her hips and moved sensuously across her rump, kneading and caressing it. Her tail whipped back and forth in response. Gabe caught it in one hand, trapping it even as his other began massaging its base. He gently tugged at it and tickled it, his fingers doing their own dance up and down her spine. Small jolts of excitement ran along her back, causing her fur to ruffle.

The vixen shifted, reaching down to the wolf's sheath. She began to caress and tenderly knead at his sack, running the claws of her hand under and behind it. She left tiny grooves in his fur where ever her fingers passed. The result was almost explosive. Within moments his phallus was fully exposed. Snowbird murred, surprised at its length and thickness. She wondered if all the braves of the Green Willow tribe were so exceptionally well gifted. She lovingly ran a finger up and down its length, the soft, white fur of her hand brushing against the sensitive tip.

Gabe reached between the vixen's legs, the back of his hands rubbing against her vulva. He pressed two of his fingers into her mound, reaching back until they brushed the roof of her sex, seeking and finding her hidden trigger. She bucked, moaning deep within her throat, her breath coming is short, ragged gasps. Moisture seeped into her fur, soaking her mound. She ground her hips against his hand as he stroked repeatedly at the spot.

She bucked again, a tremor of pleasure running through her body. Her voice changed. Instead of soft moans she began to growl, rubbing her body up and down against the Marshall's. One hand wrapped itself around his rod and squeezed roughly causing him to gasp. Her gentle licks and kisses turned into sharp nips. At one point she bit at his shoulders, drawing a small trickle of blood.

Gabe understood the signals. He grasped both her wrists in his hands, pulling them around roughly behind her. He pinned them there with one powerful hand. He rolled her onto her stomach and sat up, the buffalo hide slipping to the ground. Instinctively, she raised her hips even as he nipped sharply at the tip of her tail. Her legs spread themselves wide in quivering anticipation, but instead of thrusting into her, he used his free hand to massage the inside of her thighs, almost brushing against, but never touching her mound.

Denied what she wanted, the vixen began alternatively whimpering and growling. Her tail slapped at his face, still he did not mount her. She squirmed beneath him, trying to wriggle free but the wolf was much stronger. He stopped massaging her thighs and roughly grabbed the base of her tail, pulling on it. Snowbird bit down on the buffalo hides, muffling the sounds as she yipped, the pain heightening her pleasure.

Judging that now was the time, Gabe positioned himself, pushed the vixen's tail aside and thrust into her soaking mound. There was a muffled whine as he broke through her hymen and hilted himself in one swift motion. He had not known this was her first time, so he held himself still, waiting until the grinding of her hips indicated she wished to continue.

He leaned across her back and began to slowly thrust in and out. She growled softly and began moving her hips to meet his thrusts. He kept the pace measured and deliberate, feeling her as she shuddered beneath him. Without warning her leg muscles tightened and she began bucking violently against him. He paused, waiting for her orgasm to pass, then began to unhurriedly thrust again.

Snowbird whimpered in disbelief. She was amazed that any male could thrust so slowly, (shudder) and so deliberately. The discipline it took was almost beyond belief. She felt another wave building within her, yet the wolf still refused to pick up his pace. She peaked once more, yipping quietly into the furs. Her juiced flowed from her, splashing across his sack and dripping onto the bedding.

Now, at last, the wolf began increasing his tempo. His knot swelled, locking him together with the vixen. His thrusts became short and powerful. He released her hands and she pushed herself up on all fours. Gabriel reached hands around to cup and knead her small, well formed breasts. He took the scruff of her neck in his teeth, biting down firmly but not hard enough to break the skin. She was his, for this moment, for this night only, she belonged to him. He was her alpha.

His shaft pulsed within her, driving her over the edge a third time. His body spasmed along with hers and his seed spilled into her, flowing down her passage, filling her until it mixed with her own nectar and dripped slowly from her sex.

They silently stretched themselves across the bedding, still locked together. The wolf released his grip on her neck and he began to gently lap at the fur, ruffling and moistening it. His hands continued cradling her breasts even as he pulled her close.

"In the morning," she whispered softly, "I shall point out your path. You must tread carefully. The spirits warn that there are many dangers ahead. More lives than you know rest upon whether or not you succeed."

* * * *

The door to the militia captain's office opened and he looked up from his desk. A slightly round, powerful looking badger stood before him. He was dressed all in white save for a black, string tie and a pair of brown, mud spattered riding boots. He politely removed his broad brimmed hat as he entered and closed the door behind him.

The captain, a small, thin, shallow-faced lynx with brown and grey striped fur smiled and rose from his seat and walked around the desk to shake his hand. "Senator Collier! This is indeed a pleasure. How may I be of service?"

The senator pulled a crinkled envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to the lynx. "Please look at this sir," he said, taking a seat in a nearby chair.

The captain sat on the edge of his desk and carefully broke the seal on the envelope. Opening it, he removed a thin sheet of paper which he unfolded and began to read. There were a few moments of silence, during which the badger took out a thick cigar, bit the end off it, struck a match and lit it. A thick, acrid stream of smoke rose and slowly began filling the room.

The lynx looked up. "The governor appointed you a colonel in the militia?"

The senator nodded. "How long will it take for you to assemble your company: full packs, a hundred rounds per fur and ten days marching rations?"

"We could be ready by tomorrow morning, if necessary, sir!"

"Good," the badger stood. "Do so. Meanwhile, I'll make arrangements for a steamboat to take us up river." He turned to leave.

"With the Colonel's permission. May I ask where we're going?"

"We are going after my daughter, captain; and may God have mercy on any savage who we find protecting Temple and his cutthroats, because I won't."

To be continued...