Date: Tue, 10 Sep 2002 22:50:34 -0600
From: Brady York <bradysyorktown@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Sons of Morning Hawk

	The idea for this story started about three years ago when I went
with a friend of mine to Montana and Wyoming.  He knew a Native American
that was gay, and when I met him I was amazed how his family completely
accepted it.  He told me that a person known as a 'contrary' was actually
prized by his people.  Although this story may have numerous historical
errors or be in the wrong locations, the story was thought up by the three
of us and I just found my notes.  Johnny, Wes, I'm sorry I took so long.  I
got busy.  In fact, if someone hadn't been snooping in my stuff, it still
wouldn't be written.  Thanks Ross.

Brady York
bradysyorktown@hotmail.com



The sons of Morning Hawk 1:  A walk like no other



	Brandt was used to this type of dream.  He'd been having them for many
years, starting when he was nine.  He walked through the night dressed only
in his white leather loincloth and his knee high white moccasins.  His
nearly waist length blond hair hung free, lifted in the evening breeze, and
his deeply tanned skin shown in the moon light, accenting his lean muscular
build with silver shadows.  His gray eyes looked down the trail towards a
fire that burned near a tree.  A silver haired old man looked up as he
approached and smiled, beaconing him closer.

	"Sit my son, and tell me what was along the trail you walk."  Brandt's
Grandfather said.  He set another small log on the fire and reached in the
pocket on his shirt for a piece of jerky, handing it to Brandt.

	"I was wondering where you've been, Grandpa.  You haven't called me for a
long time."  Brandt sat down near the fire and crossed his legs, accepting
the jerky.  "Is the hunt so good that you can't get away?"  There was a
gentle reproach in his tone, but he felt nothing but love and warmth for the
old man.

	"No, Wyld Cat.  I never forget you."  The old man chuckled.  "Sometimes
life is just life, and you don't need me so much."

	Brandt nodded.  There really hadn't been anything exciting going on in
months.  Life was indeed just life.  "Uncle Hawk said that I should ask a
blessing from you, Grandpa.  We leave soon for the last trip of the summer."
  Brandt's family helped run the Fire City Carnival of fun traveling
carnival from late spring until late September, going from town to town with
rides and games.

	"You always have that."  The old man waved his hand over the flames, using
pinched fingers to drop sage and other ground items into the fire.  "He
knows that like you do."

	"I think he was just missing you, Grandpa."  Brandt smiled and shook his
head.  "I think you knew that, too."  He watched as the tiny ground dust
ignited in the fire, changing its color slightly.  "What do you show me
tonight?"

	"Change."  The old man looked up at him and his face seemed to become more
serious.  "There is change for the Puma, my son.  The Puma that lives in
your heart."  He dropped the last of the powder into the fire and looked
into Brandt's eyes.  "Tell me what the Puma sees."

	Brandt looked into the flames and willed himself to relax, opening his
mind.  The flames danced and changed, and he could see himself standing in a
field.  His clothes were gone, and his heartbeat changed.  He closed his
eyes and inhaled several times, sniffing at the breeze.  When he opened his
eyes he was the Puma, and he walked up a gentle rise towards the tree line.

	He stopped, lifting his ears, and crouched.  There was another nearby.  His
whiskers arched forward and he moved stealthily towards the trees.  The fur
on his back arched, and he felt his muscles bunch up in anticipation of a
fight.  As he moved around a large rock, he spotted the other cougar.  It
looked at him, and there was recognition in its eyes, even a longing.

	"Where is this Puma?"  He heard his grandfather's voice in his head.

	Brandt/Wyld Cat looked around, trying to place the surroundings, but they
kept changing.  "I can't tell, it's moving."  He said.  He glanced back
towards the rock but the other cougar was gone.  For reasons he didn't know
he was hurt, like being alone.  He padded over to where the other had been
and sniffed at the ground, but he couldn't tell which way it went.

	"Enough, my son."  The old man said gently, and Brandt was suddenly Brandt
again.  Exhausted, he sagged back and felt his Grandpa catch him and lower
him back to the ground.  "The Puma will consume you if you stay to long."

	"Who was the other?"  Brandt asked, trying to force his eyes open.  "I knew
him, Grandpa.  I never met him but I knew him."

	"You will meet, Wyld Cat, and the world will change."  His Grandfather said
quietly.  He took something out of his pocket and leaned over, placing a
necklace around Brandt's neck.  It was mostly gray coral beads with two
silver beads in the center.  Between the silver beads hung a silver Puma's
claw.  "This will remind you of what's in your heart, Puma.  Sleep now, and
we will talk again."  Brandt felt himself slip into a normal sleep, safe in
his Grandpa's arms.




	19-year-old Kit Gregory Carson woke up with a gasp sitting straight up in
bed.  His heart pounded, and he could remember every detail of the dream
he'd just had.  He never remembered his dreams, which left him feeling
almost scared and out of sorts.  He willed his heart to slow down and he
swiped at the sweat that was on his forehead.  It was ten minutes before the
alarm would go off, so he turned off the clock and climbed out of bed to go
shower.

	Kit lived in a one-bedroom apartment near the hospital where he worked as
an EMT.  He wandered into the living room and kitchen to get a cup of
coffee, still digesting the dream.  It had been so real he could still smell
the mountain air.  He had never in his life dreamed of being a mountain lion
before, and he was surprised that his shoulder muscles ached from the way
he'd walked like a cat.  He went back into the bedroom and into the
bathroom.  As he slipped out of his boxers he glanced into the mirror at the
birthmark he'd always had.  It was an oval of slightly darker skin in the
shape of four small ovals and one larger one about two inches across.  It
was located six inches right of his navel and just below his waistline, and
for a second he could almost imagine that it looked like a paw print.

	He shook his head and looked away.  "You're losing it, dude."  He turned on
the water and stepped in, washing quickly so he could get to work.  He
stepped out and scrubbed his hair dry, thinking about the chart review he
was helping with at the hospital when he happened to catch sight of the
birthmark again in the mirror.  His skin was flushed from the hot water, and
the pattern of the markings was more distinct.  A shiver ran up his back.
It really looked like a paw print.

	Twenty minutes later he entered the emergency room main doors dressed in
scrubs, his short curly blond hair gelled and spiked.  Kit was muscular from
bike riding, his passion, and stood right at six feet.  His brown eyes were
both caring and humorous, giving him an easy edge with people that were seen
at the ER.

	He clocked in and got busy immediately with Bruce Cabot, the head nurse for
the day shift.  They had spent the last several days assisting with a
reorganization of the patient files, drug records, and lab records under the
direction of Mavis Barney, a pleasant Indian woman of about fifty that was
hell on wheels for the records department.  She was a tiny woman with an
easy sense of humor that could frost up and become a fire of anger if a form
was missing from a chart or record, and God help the doctor whose
handwriting wasn't legible.

	Bruce was 29, built on a large muscular frame, and frequently went on long
rides with Kit.  They were friends off duty as well as on, and it was Bruce
that had gotten Kit interested in going for a nursing degree.  Kit had just
been accepted for the nursing program, and was waiting for class to start in
the fall.

	"You're quiet this morning."  Bruce said, glancing up from the chart in his
hand.  "Everything okay?"

	"I didn't sleep very well."  Kit lied.  He took the chart from Bruce and
put it in the file drawer.  "I guess I'm a little off is all."

	"Supposed to storm this afternoon.  Still want to go out to Karris Ridge?"
Bruce handed him two more files.

	"My family is going up to that carnival tonight.  Sorry, I didn't mean to
stand you up."  Kit took the folders and sorted them into their new drawers.

	"Hardly a stand up if it's going to rain."  Bruce chuckled.  "Sure you want
to get stuck in a down pour at the freak show?"

	"No, I'm not, but I told my mother I would go."  Kit sighed and sat down.
"Bruce, do you believe in the supernatural?"

	"Wow, that was a change of topics."  Bruce sat down and pulled another box
of charts over.  "Supernatural like what?"

	"I don't know, like having dreams that mean something.  A premonition."
Kit ran his hand through his hair.  "I had this really intense dream last
night.  It was so real I can still remember it."

	"Like a dream about a fire or someone getting shot?"

	Kit shook his head.  "No, it wasn't a real event.  It just felt real.  It
was way bizarre."

	"My Grandma used to tell me if you had the same dream twice it was true."
Bruce smiled and shook his head.  "She used to freak me out sometimes by
telling me something and then it would happen."  They both looked up as the
ER receptionist, a slender girl with dark hair, stuck her head in the
office.

	"Ten year old boy was hit by a truck.  He's stable but has internal
bleeding.  Five minutes out."  She told them.

	They both jumped up and followed her out into the main treatment bay, a
long room with five areas that could be curtained off.  "Who's on duty?"
Bruce asked, heading for the first bay to get it prepped.

	"Dr. Menlove."  Kit answered, pulling a steel table over to the bed.

	"I paged him, Bruce.  He's on rounds."  Nicole, the girl told him.

	"Thanks.  Call x-ray and have them standing by, okay?"

	"Will do."




	Those who actually run a carnival, or carnies as they're called by some,
are generally looked on with a mixture of fear, silent disgust, and even
some envy.  They roll into town on Thursday, set up the rides, booths, and
food trailers, run the show for Friday and Saturday, and Sunday morning they
roll out.  In some cities and towns they may stay as long as a week, but
rarely more than a weekend.  They play for fairs, holidays, civil annual
events, and miscellaneous events.

	As luck would have it the weather forecast for the weekend of the Billings,
Montana Rodeo Days Celebration was rain.  It was still hot during the brief
showers, making for a miserable afternoon and a potentially dangerous set
up.

	Leonard Morninghawk watched as the Cosmic Looper trailer was backed into
place, his large muscular arms crossed over his barrel chest.  He stood 6'4"
tall and weight 285 pounds, a giant by his family's standards.  His raven
black hair hung in a ponytail down his back, and his noble red skinned face
never flinched or twitched as one of the new candy asses moved the ride into
place.  He hated new hires, even if they were desperately needed.

	For the time being the rain had let up, and it looked like the storms were
moving south, meaning that the Fire City Carnival might make a little money
after all.  He sighed and took the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking it
into the gutter as he headed for the ride trailer.

	Brandt walked around from behind the trailer wearing his new necklace, a
pair over almost shot cut off jeans, and a battered pair of sneakers.  His
flowing blond hair was pulled back like his uncle's, and his tanned chest
and back was wet from the rain.  He bounded up onto the trailer and began
pulling the clamps to release the sections of the Looper even before they
had the trailer leveled.

	Leonard, called Hawk by everyone that knew him, watched his nephew with a
sort of quiet pride and even a little reverence.  When Brandt's dad, Harmon
Brandt Wyld, a tall muscular white man of European stock married Hawk's
sister, Mary, it had been a family scandal.  No one in the family had ever
married or had a child with a white before.  Mary stood a very real chance
of being disowned because of her lack of judgment.

	All that changed when their father, Richard Morninghawk, had not only
accepted Harmon but had shown genuine warmth towards him.  Richard was a
medicine man with the Cheyenne, and his opinion carried enormous weight.  If
Harmon was good enough for him, he was one of them.

	Mary had one child from Harmon, a boy that everyone expected to have Native
American features and coloring from his mother.  Brandt surprised them all.
He was bronze colored, like a deeply tanned white man, and had pale blond
hair.  There was no doubt however that he had Cheyenne eyes, pale gray
searching eyes.  His father never got to see him.  Harmon was killed in a
car accident on his way to the hospital.

	From early on everyone that knew Brandt knew that he had Morninghawk blood.
  The boy started talking about dreams as soon as he could talk, and often
talked about his conversations with his Grandfathers.  Richard Morninghawk
encouraged him and taught him everything he would learn.  A few days after
Brandt's ninth birthday Richard died, leaving the boy heartbroken.  Mary had
gathered him up and joined her brother Leonard and his partner in the
carnival business to get away.

	Now, as Hawk watched, Brandt scaled up the side of the sections of the
Looper as they were moved in to place.  The kid seemed to defy gravity as he
leapt from one section to the other placing and tightening the large bolts
that held the rig together and made it safe for riders.

	Brandt hung from one hand thirty feet in the air and slung his body to push
the final section into place with his feet.  Hawk groaned and closed his
eyes, cursing under his breath.  He opened one eye just in time to see
Brandt pull the last bolt tight and then swing hand-to-hand down one of the
steel supports, dropping to the ground from fifteen feet up and landing in a
crouch.  He stood up and sauntered towards his uncle with a smirk on his
face.

	"Why the long face, Hawk?"  Brandt teased, knowing full well that his uncle
hated watching him set up equipment.  "You taught me that, remember?"

	"I was young and stupid then."  Hawk shook his head.  He noticed the
necklace Brandt wore and his eyebrows went up.  "That's sharp.  Where did
you get it?"

	"Grandpa gave it to me.  I had it on when I woke up."  Brandt said simply
and tossed the tools in the chest.

	"He came to you last night?  It's been a long time."  Hawk was very aware
that Brandt dreamed of Richard fairly often.  Brandt didn't know it, but a
lot of people already looked at him as a sort of holy man, although they
would never outright say so.  "How's he doing?"

	"He says you know damned well that he watches over all of us, and that you
should know better than to doubt him."  Brandt smiled as Hawk put his arms
around his shoulders.

	"Yeah, I do.  If you talk to him again tell him I miss him."  Hawk smiled.
Brandt nodded and was about to say something when there was a loud crash not
far away.  The ground shook as something heavy hit.  They both looked up,
and Brandt took off running followed by Hawk.

	A long section of the kiddy coaster, a miniature roller coaster, had fallen
over and had pinned one of the carnies underneath it's frame work.  Brandt
jumped over the coaster cars and bent to lift the section.  Three guys ran
over to help him, and they raised it up a foot, their muscles bulging and
their faces straining.  Hawk grabbed the kid that had been trapped and
dragged him out, and as they went to set the section down one of the
supports broke loose, swinging wildly towards them.  Brandt's eyes went wide
and he shoved the guy next to him away.  The support hit him in the ribs and
hip, pinning him to the framework.  He screamed and went out like a light.



	Kit turned away from where he'd just finished cleaning one of the exam
areas to see Nicole come in from the desk.  "Kit, where's Bruce?"

	"He went to get a coke.  He'll be right back."  He answered.  "Why, what's
going on?"

	"A guy was helping set up some ride at the carnival in Billings.  They had
a bus wreck so they're sending him here.  The ride collapsed and pinned him.
  They're bringing him in.  He has possible broken ribs, lacerations on his
side and stomach, possible internal bleeding, and a possible dislocated hip.
  He hasn't regained consciousness."  She rattled off.  "Go find him and
tell him ETA is eighteen minutes on Life Flight, and I paged Dr. McMurphy."

	Kit nodded and ran out the door and down the hall towards the cafeteria.
The Cody Hospital wasn't huge, and it didn't take much time to find him.  A
few minutes later he and Bruce and Dr. McMurphy went out to the helicopter
pad to meet them.

	"Brandt Wyld, nineteen year old male.  He's stable."  The flight nurse
shouted over the sound of the engine.  "He got hit in the left side real
hard with a sort of framework of steel pipe.  His vitals are good, and I
think that he's not bleeding internally.  Possible head wound, though.  He
hasn't opened his eyes since they got him out of the rig that trapped him."
She jogged along side the gurney giving them his vital signs.  They wheeled
him into the ER and pulled a curtain around the gurney.

	"Kit, hang another bag of normal sodium."  Bruce pointed at the IV in the
guy's arm.  The bag the flight crew had started was over half empty.  Kit
nodded and went to the cabinet.

	"We're going to need to get him into x-ray."  McMurphy said, looking at the
already dark bruises on Brandt's side and hip.  "Pupils are responsive."  He
flashed a little light in Brandt's eyes and then let them close again.
"Call Dr. Jordan and see if he can come up and do a Neuro."

	Bruce wrote furiously on the nurse's notes and nodded.  He glanced up as
Kit changed the IV bag.  "Get some scissors, Kit.  We need to get those
shorts off so he can go to x-ray."  Kit nodded and took a blanket off the
rack and spread it over Brandt's legs.

	"Get the blood draws and I'll see if I can find Jordan."  Dr. McMurphy
said.  He wrote something on the chart and set it on the small silver table
never to the gurney.  "Kit, put his personal effects in one of those seal
able bags and check it at the desk, okay?  Take that necklace off and put it
with his wallet and stuff."

	Kit found one of the pairs of large safety scissors and went to work on
Brandt's shorts.  He was surprised but not really surprised to find out that
their patient didn't have underwear on.  He looked up at Bruce and grinned,
shaking his head.  Kit, who leaned heavily towards gay, got a real good look
at Brandt's trim build as he worked.  Bruce shrugged and helped him slide
the now ruined shorts out of the way without moving Brandt's hip.

	Kit undid the necklace and went to move away when he happened to look down
at Brandt's tight washboard stomach and waist.  He froze, feeling his heart
beat stutter.  Six inches to the right of Brandt's navel and just below his
waistline was a birthmark.  Because of the contrast from Brandt's tanned
skin to where he wore his cutoffs and had no tan, the mark was very clear.
It was four smaller ovals and one larger oval of darker skin.  It looked
like a paw print, and it looked almost identical to Kit's.

	"Holy shit."  He gasped and staggered backwards, knocking over the exam
tray in the process.  Bruce's head snapped up as Kit met his eyes, shocked.
"Look at that."  He stammered.  "It's not possible."

	"Kit, get a grip, okay?  What's not possible?"  Bruce demanded.

	"That mark.  It's not possible."  Kit pointed.  "No fucking way."  He
looked up at Brandt's unconscious face and felt a cold shiver run through
him.  "It's the other cougar."

	"Jackie!"  Bruce called over his shoulder towards the desk.  "Nicole, call
Jackie to come and give me a hand."  He turned back to Kit and said in a not
to unkind voice.  "Kit, I think you need to go sit down for a minute, okay?
I think you need a break."

	Kit nodded, looking at Brandt again, and then turned and fled.  He stopped
outside the ER and leaned against the wall trying to get control of him
self.  The dream came back to him in vivid detail, and he almost ran down
the hall towards the break room.  It was empty for a change, and Kit sat
down at one of the round tables.  He sighed heavily and opened his hand,
revealing the necklace he'd taken off Brandt.

	Suddenly the feelings of panic receded and he felt very tired.  He closed
his hand around the necklace again and rested his forehead on his arm on the
table.  It had been an overwhelming experience and he closed his eyes,
intending to rest for few minutes.

	He fell asleep without meaning to do so.  A dream came to him, one so vivid
that he could feel the temperature of the air, smell the forest and the
smoke from a small fire nearby.  He looked down and was surprised to see
that he was wearing what looked like one of Tarzan's leather loincloths.  It
was very soft white leather and passed under his ass and up the front to his
waist.  It hung about two and a half feet in the front and the back, and had
intricate beadwork sewn on it in what looked like the shape of a paw print,
the same as his birthmark.  Due to the way it was held on by a thin leather
strap around his waist, his birthmark was clearly visible.  There was
nothing covering his hips or the front of his legs.  On his feet were tall
moccasin boots laced up the front, also white leather.

	"What the hell?"  He mumbled and began to walk towards the fire.  There was
a faint breeze, and he could smell wild flowers and sage.  As he came to the
top of a small hill he could see the fire, and there were two people sitting
near it.  An old man, tall and with a straight back had long silver hair,
and the other person was the kid that had just come into the ER.  His long
blond hair flowed down his back, and he sat with his legs crossed opposite
the old Indian guy.  They both looked up, and the old man smiled and waved
at a place on the ground between them.  "Come and sit down, my son.  We have
a lot to talk about."

	Kit wasn't afraid, which really surprised him, and as he went to sit down
he noticed that Brandt was dressed identically to him.  He opened his hand
and found the necklace lying in his palm.  "I think this is yours."  He
offered it to Brandt.

	"Thanks."  Brandt smiled and took it, putting it around his neck.

	"This one's for you.  That one is for Wyld Cat."  The old man smiled and
pulled a necklace out of his pocket and handed it to Kit.  Kit held it up to
the light and examined it closely.  It was almost exactly like the other
one, but the beads were a gray blue color instead of gray.  He put it around
his neck and fastened it.

	"You know why you're called Kit Carson?"  The old man asked, offering him
some beef jerky.

	"He was my great great great great grandfather."  Kit answered.  "My dad
really looks up to him."

	"A brave man."  The old Indian nodded.  "He had a son with a woman called
Little Sparrow."  The man put a log on the fire and smiled at Kit.  "She
gave him a son, but they never saw each other.  He was called Morning Hawk."

	"Never knew about that.  It's not in our genealogy."  Kit offered.

	The old man snorted.  "It happed a lot in those days.  Your ancestors don't
talk about mixing their blood."  He used his teeth to tear off a piece of
the jerky and chewed it slowly.  "Your mother's great great great
grandfather was Morning Hawk, Kit Carson.  They probably didn't tell you
that either."  He grinned.

	"No, they didn't."  Kit looked at Brandt.  "Why are you in my dream?  Why
do you have the same birthmark I do?"

	"Ask Grandpa."  Brandt pointed at the old man.

	"I realize I'm dreaming, but this doesn't make any sense.  Why am I here?"
Kit asked, exasperated.

	"There is a legend, a legend about two cubs who would hunt together, share
the world with each other."  The old man sprinkled some ground herbs in the
fire as he spoke.  "This was known to the wolf, who hated the puma, so he
plotted to kill the cubs.  Before he could, the mother puma marked he cubs,
giving them protection from the evil wolf.  He was angry because of this and
killed her instead."

	"The wolf is a strong friend, Grandpa.  Why did he do that?"  Brandt asked.
  "A wolf doesn't do that."

	"I was getting to that."  The old man smiled.  "It wasn't really the wolf,
my son, but he who walks the dark trail.  He still hunts for the cubs, and
only together can they live through his attacks."

	Kit's jaw dropped open, and he stared in open shock at Brandt.  Brandt
shook his head and looked down at his hands.  "I'm confused, Grandpa.  I
don't understand."

	"You will, my son.  We three will meet again."  The old man smiled and
waved his hand.

	Kit sat straight up from the table, his eyes blinking wildly as the
surroundings of the break room settled into focus.  He reached up and
touched his neck, finding a necklace around it, and he went to one of the
lockers in the corner, nearly falling over one of the chairs.  He yanked the
door open and stared into the mirror.  The necklace was blue, not gray, and
he no longer had the gray one with him.

	He jumped over the over turned chair and crouched under the table, looking
to see if he'd dropped it, but it was nowhere to be found.  He dodged out of
the room and down the hall towards the x-ray department.  Two of the floor
nurses were wheeling Brandt towards the main floor when he caught up with
them.  As he slowed down, he looked at Brandt's neck and saw the gray
necklace there.  He was suddenly light headed and his knees buckled.  He hit
his head on the wall as he fell.




	Kit woke up lying on a gurney in the ER with an ice pack on the side of his
head.  He opened his eyes and blinked, bring Bruce's worried face into
focus.  "What happened?"  He asked, rolling onto his side.

	"That's a damned good question.  Are you through freaking out, or would you
like a little more time?"  Bruce asked.  "The nurses that were taking the
Wyld kid to his room said that you ran at them, looked at the guy on the
gurney, and passed out, smacking your head on the way down.  Sound
familiar?"

	"I don't know why I did it, Bruce.  I think I'm a little tired."  Kit tried
to sit up but felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

	"I checked a theory while you were having your nap.  Do you know how many
double shifts you had during the last ten days?"  Bruce folded his arms and
leaned back.  "Four, Kit.  I realize that you're getting your school money
together, but damn, are you wanting to die before you use it?"

	"I just needed the money.  I don't work any more than you do."  Kit sat up
and set the ice pack on the gurney.

	"Well, I called Norma Blue Creek, and you're taking some time off, bud."
Bruce stood up and looked at the small bump on the back of Kit's head.
"Today is Friday.  I don't want to see you back before a week from Monday,
got it?"

	"I only come in when they're short, Bruce."  Kit said irritably.  "They're
always short handed."

	"You're exactly right, they're always short handed."  Bruce made a note on
a clipboard.  "I told the girls that they are not to call you.  You have a
week of vacation time, and you're on it, bud."

	Kit resigned from the argument, knowing that when Bruce made up his mind it
was over and headed home.  The day was still warm and clear with no storm
yet, so he changed into cycling gear and got his bike out of the little
storage shed.  Maybe a ride would clear his head.

	He headed north towards Karris Ridge.  Before long he started to get into
the ride, letting his body do its work.  His thoughts drifted over his
dreams, and he remembered the feeling of being a cougar in the woods.  Every
muscle relaxed but ready as he made his way towards the big rocks, every
scent carefully processed by his nose.

	It was like his mind shifted, and he was the cougar.  A rabbit moved not
far away, and Kit ran after it, his tail arcing from side to side for
balance.  As his mind raced so did his body, and the bike screamed along the
side of the road at top speed.  His heart remained in an even rhythm, and he
controlled his breathing as he neared the rabbit.

	Electricity and desire surged through him as the rabbit dodged and evaded
him.  His large gold eyes followed every move the rabbit made, and Kit could
feel his enormous powerful paws snaring his prey.  There was a loud blast of
sound, startling him, and he snapped back into the real world just in time
to narrowly miss the front of a very large truck.  He coasted into the lot
surrounding a truck stop and pulled his helmet off.

	His heart pounded as he climbed off the bike and sat on the curb.  He
lowered his head between his knees and breathed deeply, trying to figure out
what the hell was happening to him.  He looked up and scanned the faces of
the people getting gas and checking their vehicles, wondering if it was
obvious to them that he was completely fucking insane.

	After several minutes he went inside and bought a power bar and a bottle of
water.  He returned to his place at the curb and unzipped his shirt.  It was
muggy as hell, and he found himself wishing he was home under the air
conditioner.

	An old Indian man walked towards him, and Kit smiled, trying to appear
friendly.  The Indian was skeletal thin, could easily have passed for a
hundred years old, and was missing several teeth.  A boy a little younger
than Kit was with him.  The look on the old man's face gave Kit chills.  It
was almost murderous, and he was glaring directly at Kit.

	The old man said something in his own language, waving his hand and
pointing at Kit.  The boy with the old man translated for him.  "He says
that you're no cougar, that you need to take that off, white man."  He
pointed at Kit's throat, at his necklace.

	"What?"  Kit was bewildered.  He reached up and touched the silver claw.
"What the hell are you talking about?"

	The old man again spoke rapidly, apparently getting very upset.  The boy
sighed.  "He says you're messing around in shit that isn't your business.
Give me the necklace, whitey.  It won't protect you."

	Anger swarmed up through Kit's stomach and his face went red.  He stoop up
and put his hands on his hips.  He easily out weighed the other boy, and was
in a lot better shape.  "Why don't you take it?"  He snarled, glaring at the
kid.  "You want it, take it off me."

	There was a long pause as the old man glared at Kit.  He stepped forward
and lifted his hand almost high enough to touch the necklace.  Kit was just
about ready to step back when the old man stopped.  "One Puma makes room for
the other."  He said in broken English.  "One Puma will die."  His hand
dropped, and he turned away, letting the boy lead him away.

	Kit swallowed hard and wiped the sweat off his forehead.  He'd had just
about all of the mystic bullshit he was going to take.  He knew someone that
might have the answers to what the hell was going on, and he climbed on his
bike and headed for the hospital.  The closer he got to town the angrier he
got, and the angrier he got, the faster he pedaled.




	Brandt looked out the window of his room at the clouds forming to the
southwest and let his mind drift.  At times like this he felt very alone.
Because of his abilities, or what everyone perceived as his gifts, he hadn't
had a lot of friends or been allowed to play with other kids.  He'd been
treated like a little adult his whole life, and the other kids had been
ushered away from him so as not to disturb him.  It had been really hard to
get used to being either with adults or alone.  The worst part had been the
names he heard people call him.  He wasn't white or Indian, and only his
Grandpa had known how much he'd been hurt by insensitive comments about 'The
albino Indian'.

	He knew he had some purpose, some destiny to fulfill, and he'd spoken to
Grandpa about it, but it was clouded; not yet taking shape.  All he really
wanted was to disappear, to be just one of the billions of people on Earth
and not have a purpose.  He sighed and took a sip of the soda the nurse had
brought for him.

	His last dream had been puzzling.  Who was Kit Carson, and why was he so
familiar?  His Grandpa knew him, called him son, like the newcomer was as
much his Grandson as Brandt.  He closed his eyes and leaned back on the
pillows, picturing the other boy in his mind.

	Kit rode up to the bike stand and climbed off his bike.  His shoes were
designed for being attached to the pedals, not for walking, and he pulled
them off and tied them to the handlebars.  No one would stop him from
walking in wearing only his socks.  He'd done it several times.

	His mind was still chewing on the old man at the truck stop, and he nearly
collided with someone as he entered the building.  "Excuse me."  He said
automatically and looked up into the eyes of an enormous Indian.  The man
looked down at him and smiled, and then caught sight of his necklace.  His
face changed, and Kit expected a similar scene to the one he'd just been
through.  His hand closed over the claw protectively.

	"Nice claw.  Where'd you get it?"  The huge man's voice was deep and
resonant, but was free of malice.  His brown eyes met Kit's and he smiled
again.

	Kit responded sarcastically and without thinking.  "An old man gave it to
me in a dream.  Is that what you wanted to hear?"  He was surprised by his
own anger.

	"Easy, man, I was just asking."  The man held his hands up in surrender.
"What did the old man look like?"

	"What?"  Kit blinked at him, thrown off by the question.

	"The old man, what did he look like?"  The tall Indian reached into his
pocket and took out his wallet.  He flipped it open to a picture of Richard
and a very young Brandt.  "Is that him?"

	Kit's heart pounded and he had to remember to breathe.  It was obviously
the kid from the ER and from his dream, and the old man was unmistakably the
man from his dream that had given him the necklace.  "Who are you people?"
Kit demanded in a harsh whisper.

	"Call me Hawk."  Hawk stuck out his hand and Kit shook it automatically.
"I don't know why you have a cougar's claw there, or why you know who my dad
is, but I'm guessing you're a friend."

	"Are you here to see Brandt?"  Kit asked, following the guy into the
hospital.

	"You know him?"  Hawk wasn't very surprised.

	"I was in the ER when he came in this morning.  I work there."  Kit had to
hurry to keep up.

	"A healer.  That explains it."  Hawk nodded knowingly.  He turned down a
hall.  "Dad was a healer."

	"Can you tell me what the hell is going on?"  Kit followed him towards a
room.

	"No, but Wyld Cat can."  Hawk looked back at him and smiled.

	Kit stopped in his tracks.  The old man had called Brandt Wyld Cat in his
dream.  Dislocated reality swirled in his mind as the man disappeared into
the room.  He swallowed hard and went through the door.

	Brandt looked up as they entered, and a broad grin came to his mouth as he
saw Kit.  "Kit Carson.  Why did I expect you to show up?  What's up?"  He
pushed the button to make the back of the bed rise up.  "You guys already
meet, Hawk?"

	"Sort of.  He almost mowed me down coming in."  Hawk went to the side of
the bed and carefully hugged his nephew.  "Butch is fine, and the show is
on.  Thought you'd like to know.  I brought you a change of clothes."  He
set a plastic grocery bag on the side table.

	Kit stopped at the end of the bed, unsure of what to say or do.  He felt
like he was in the twilight zone, and right in front of him on the bed was
the same Brandt that had been in his dream, and the gray necklace was still
around his neck.  Brandt grinned at him and motioned him closer.  "You
okay?"

	"Yeah, an old bastard at the truck stop tried to take this."  Kit touched
his necklace.  "I told him to fuck off, through his translator of course."
He tried to smile but he knew it looked forced.  "What the hell is going on?
  Why do I know you, and how the hell did I get this?"

	"Long version or quick and dirty?"  Brandt asked with a chuckle.

	"I don't care.  I need to know what's going on.  I feel like I'm going
crazy."  Kit stopped at the side of the bed.  He met Brandt's crystal eyes,
and for a second it was like he could fall into them.  He blinked.

	"Give me your hand."  Brandt said gently, and he took Kit's in his.  The
world wobbled and solidified, and they were mountain lions, standing next to
each other on a rocky outcrop.  The cougar that was Brandt/Wyld Cat touched
its nose to Kit's, and then rubbed his face affectionately along the side of
Kit's head.  Kit rumbled a deep purr and licked his ear and then rubbed all
along his side.

	His heart felt like it was going to burst as they both stood up and took
their human forms.  Kit caught his breath as he gazed at Brandt's chiseled
form and angular features, his hair billowing on drafts of air.  His skin
was golden bronze, and he wore the familiar white leather loincloth and
boots.  Kit could see his birthmark on his hip, but in here it was as
distinct as a tattoo.

	The sight of Kit standing before him in identical attire stunned Brandt.
Kit was muscular and tanned, and the mark of the Puma stood out like a
challenge on the front of his hip.  Kit surprised him by stepping forward
and wrapping his arms around Brandt's shoulders, and suddenly it made sense.
  He wasn't alone, didn't have to be alone.  That's what the change was.  He
put his arms around Brandt and laid his head on his shoulder.

	And then reality flashed back into focus and Kit sagged against the rail on
the bed.  "No!"  He gasped, struggling to pull himself up.  "Don't stop!"

	"It's okay, Kit Carson."  Brandt fell against the pillow breathing hard.
He smiled and touched the side of Kit's face gently.  "The pumas are
together."

	"You two okay?"  Hawk asked.  He stepped to the door and closed it after
glancing into the hall.  "Anybody want to clue me in on what that was all
about?"

	Kit sat heavily in the chair next to the bed and held his head in his
hands.  Brandt looked up at his uncle and smiled.  "Grandpa told me he was
coming.  He finally got here."

	"Why is he here?  Did the old man say?"  Hawk sat in the other chair.

	"No, just that he was coming."  Brandt closed his eyes.  He was in a little
pain, and he couldn't heal himself like he usually could.  "Hawk, I need to
get out of here.  I can't trance in here."

	"How bad is it?"  Hawk stood up and went to the left side of the bed.
Brandt pulled the covers away and lifted the hospital gown.  Dark purple and
blue mottled bruises extended from his ribs down onto his leg and across his
stomach.

	"If I trance they'll think I'm dying."  Brandt smiled up at him ruefully.

	"If you don't see the doctor the insurance won't pay, Wyld Cat.  You have
to stay near by for at least a little while."  Hawk returned to his chair.
"Maybe you should go home after this and heal up there."

	"How the hell are you going to let me know where you are?"  Brandt said
irritably.  "You go to Idaho Falls next, right?"

	"Wyld Cat, you aren't listening.  You need to go home."  Hawk crossed his
legs.  "Grandma and your cousins can look after you, and maybe Kit Carson
here might want to visit."

	Kit looked up at the mention of his name.  He was still reeling from the
intense emotions he'd been feeling.  "Stay with me for a couple of days."
He said simply.

	"You live here?"  Brandt asked.

	"Three blocks away."  Kit cleared his throat and sat up, looking from one
to the other.  "You can make your follow up appointments, and when you're
released I'll drive you home."

	Hawk smiled knowingly and nodded.  "Good plan, nephew.  Kit Carson is wise
beyond words."  He grinned at Brandt.

	"One thing though."  Brandt looked tiredly at Brandt.  "Its just Kit, okay?
  Not Kit Carson.  Just Kit."  He looked over at Hawk.  "Since I have no
control over anything else right now at least I can get you to say it that
way, alright?"

	"Okay, Kit."  Hawk chuckled.  "Kit the Healer it is."

	"Jesus."  Kit shook his head and fell back in the chair.  "Indian
humor.  I love it."