The fire was snapping only occasionally now. The kindling had become good sized branches and a dry dead log. Don had been very successful in getting the dinner-fire ingredients. He licked his lips, tasting the well-cooked oil on his lips. No meal had ever tasted so well. The Frisian was a master cook in the camp.

"Where did you become so well acquainted with camp-cooking?" Don asked the yellow and red outline of the Frisian across the fire from him. They had stayed late and enjoyed the meal. The dankness wrapped around their cozy place by the fire.

"I've lived in the camps nearly all my life," the Frisian replied."I was only a a few years from retirement from my legion." He eyed the Don warily, waiting for his reaction. The Don's puzzled look was reassuring , it didn't seem very calculated.

"Roman legion...?" Don couldn't say anything more. What was going on? Did he stumble into a movie shoot? He looked at the Frisian's clothes. "You don't seem very Roman to me."

"No, I'm Frisian. I enlisted year's ago to watch Frank and Goth tribes and keep the Roman order....good it was too. Pushed the Goths warring clans apart - made the farmer's happy, those that didn't end up as slaves." The Frisian's eyebrows lifted - eyeing the dichotomy of legal systems.

Don stared in some shock. What road had he taken? The world about him shimmered, as if was in a dream. He couldn't find his voice - or a thought to make a question.

"...but Rome called us back. My legion was decamped and marched out of the lowlands a couple of months ago. We were making our way up Rhenus when we ran into some trouble in Hercynia Silva. I decided that Roman retirement wasn't a very sound opportunity. I'm going back to Frisia and take my chances with the chieftains..."

Don looked at his travelling companion in a stupor. He could hear the Frisian's words echoing in his mind. Was he in ancient Europe or in some new variety of dementia? Vague memories of his life had been colliding ever more frequently with his days up until recent. The persistent buzz of these memories pushed him away from his caretakers. He had lost interest in the daily rituals and callous handling of his managers. The world beyond had called to him like Ulysses' sirens. Now where had those sirens taken him?

"....and you stranger? Hidden in this forest like a wilds man? I can't tell if you're old enough to run here to hide. One moment you seem aged and infirm, the next you're fit and ready. What's your story? Have you forgotten where you're headed?"

Don found his voice. "I am unsure where I'm headed... I just needed to get away. After a time I found myself here. Are we getting close to Frisia?"

The flames had become embers, the soft glow created strange features on the Frisian's face. It seemed like he was speaking through a mask."Frisia will come to me soon enough. Is it coming for you, as well?"

"Here you go old timer." Don could hear the even tones of his Frisian friend. He felt the cool wet of water on his lips. He pulled his hand up to drink the offer.

"I thought you were younger," the Frisian looked at Don quizzically. "Don't worry grand-father, we'll set you straight." Don could see he was in the forest. The dark encounter must have been the result of his lapse in consciousness. He sat up sand nodded to the biscuit giver. "Thank you for the water. You have been very good to me."

"Don't think about that - you picked a good place to sleep. There's water just ahead of us - and with that came this." He held up a good-sized trout by it's gill. "Let me get a fire ready and we'll have a meal."

The water helped a great deal. Don felt much recovered. The thought of a fresh trout took away some of the pain in his belly. "I'll get some wood," he said, slowly rising to his feet.

"Yes. Good. Just don't put yourself in such a state again." The Frisian seemed to be warming up to him. Don wondered what had changed.

He turned to the woods to look for some deadwood. Bundled at the feet of a tree were a pair of pants and a blouse. Worse for wear, but similar to the bundle he had seen in the dark place with the old man. Strewn below was a rope and a tattered knapsack. They appeared to have been left there some time before.

Don slipped them on and hung the knapsack from his shoulders. Better that he use them than just leaving them to rot, he thought. Strange dream - so real, he wondered. He pushed into the wood to find some kindling.

Don's vertigo was slight but consistent. He felt thirsty and still hungry. Although the air was warm, like a mild summer day, his lack of clothes was bothersome. He felt more complete, physically, than he had felt in his entire life - and was entirely comfortable in his nakedness. He felt as if he had returned to Paradise. The shock of meeting this Frisian had returned his shame at his nudity, nevertheless he marched on, following his reserved companion.

As they continued, the dense foliage turned to deep forest with large trees rising up sparingly from the knotted floor. High above, the sun speckled through the high boughes. The Don's stomach gnawed at him and he could feel the giddiness of his lack of repas.

"Frisian, hold a bit." He sank to his knee in the loam of the path. He put his hand to his head and rested his spinning skull in his hand. The days of march and change had taken their toll. He felt as he had the night he fell against the tree befuddled by drugs and atrophy.

"Penitent - you keep me from my goal! What holds you?!" The Frisian scarcley looked back , so anxious he was to reach his home.

"I need to eat, friend. I've been....," Don stumbled, not clear on what he could say, losing the energy to finish his thoughts.

The Frisian stepped back and surveyed his companion's state. "You seem to be fading away, stranger. I swear you've put on twenty years since you woke....." He paused and looked about. "This is a fine spot to camp, here. My goal is a way before us. I should break with you here a bit."

Don slipped to the ground and watched the branches spin about. His eyes closed and his body convulsed as he passed out.

As the dark spun about a faint silhouette or illuminated shape wheeled away and back. Don tried to focus on the glow, but felt too ill to make the effort.

"Keihole ! Come to me!" He could feel a hand grasp a tuft of hair at the back of his head. "Keihole! Right here!" Don opened his eyes and looked into the hard stare of a pair of faded blue eyes. He opened his eyes wide - "Yes. Alright, I'm here," he murmured. The blue eyes pulled him to a clarity of consciousness that felt like crumbling paper.

"Keep your wits. You'll still need them awhile yet.." The voice was sharp, but wavering. Don looked at the wizened face and grey locks of a thin old man tucked into a great coat like a robe. He had a little black cap on his head flecked with dark and light grey. His grip was strong on Don's hand and the power of his person seemed even greater.

"Have you lost your way?" The old man cackled. Don wondered what would be so funny about that. "Yes, you look quite lost. Let's give you something so you don't attract too much attention." He pulled Don to his feet and slapped him on the cheek. "That should open up your mind. No way to meet your maker - with those years of dissolution clouding your way. Snap up boy! Unlock that bit you've got hidden away."

Don shook his head. He didn't know where he was now. The forest had gone dark - or he was in some dark place. The old curmudgeon was the only thing he could see except for himself. He couldn't tell from where the light was coming that illuminated the two of them.

"Here, take this, Traveller," the old man reachd into a bag at his feet and pulled out a ball of cloth. " This will carry you through til when we meet next." He unfurled the cloth and Don could see it was a rough pair of pants and a blouse. "Put these on and get yourself ready!" The old man admonished him. With that Don was suddenly in darkness, spinning about and falling.

The tickle at his nose woke up the Don. He flicked at a fern frond waving into his nose. Unconsciously, he waved it away. Aggravated by the fern’s insistence, he started awake . Attached to the frond end a squatting man stared at him with an implacable expression. Although the language was strange and foreign to the Don, he could understand its meaning clearly.

“Sleeping late pilgrim?”. The man had barely moved his lips. He was rooted to the ground and,yet, ready for violence.

“I don’t know”, Don stuttered “What time is it?” He rubbed his face, brushing away the stubble of the forest from his unshaven face.

“The sun’s up - the new day has begun already - you penitent”. The man was not making any threats, but seemed threatening enough. He felt like he was dangerous and Don was cautious to reply. “I guess I got a little lost in the woods”. The man nodded slowly, “You would be lost to have been sleeping in this glen without a stitch of clothes, weapons or companions. The Don found himself suddenly very exposed and mystified. Why was he naked in these woods. Where was he, how did he get here? He vaguely remembered the great dog and hours of walking, running, was there anything else? That woman?

"Are you hungry?” the man asked, “You look like you haven’t eaten for a while”. Don rubbed his hand on his belly and rolled himself up to sit. He found a grace and strength that he hadn’t felt in such a long time. The aches and pains, the folds of old skin had all been washed out of his body. He felt like a new man, or like a man he had lost track of in the last twenty or thirty years. He rubbed his scalp and found a tangled lock of hair. Strange. He hadn’t felt a scalp of thick hair there for a long time. Who was he? When did he last eat? In a misty memory, he could see that strange altar in his mind. There had been some food - wasn’t there?

"Here have some of this biscuit, I’m fed up with these army rations anyway." The man pulled a piece of hard oat biscuit from a satchel on his hip, strapped from his shoulder, and handed it over to Don. Don took it from him, cautious for the spring-loaded violence that this well-muscled man presented.. "What do I call you, Stranger? Do you have a name?"

Don bit into the biscuit and felt his dry mouth clot with crumbs. He pushed the bits around with his tongue and tried to remember who he was. The crumbs became a sodden moss of stuffing swelling through his mouth. He nodded at the taut warrior and chewed. His companion hooded his eyes and shifted his gaze into the forest. Don tried to pull his memories together. Whoever he was, he was certain that he wasn't that person anymore. Whatever he had done... whatever he had owned.... whomever he had loved, that person was just a faint memory to the soul laying naked in these woods. Maybe those experiences had led here - and maybe they didn't.... it didn't make much difference now. He swallowed down the masticated biscuit and whispered softly,"No one, just a traveler, Friend. Thank you for your care." Holding the biscuit up he nodded to his host.

"Do you know this wood?" The biscuit giver looked carefully into the Don's gaze.

"No... I am lost... to this park." The Don stumbled through the answer. He realized that the city park he had escaped into couldn't be where he was now. The stream and the dog - the day of wander. He was in a place that didn't exist a couple of days before - or he had been moved someplace else. "Where are we?", he blurted out.

The tight mask before him betrayed little. "It's a knotty piece of wood - that is certain. It slows my pace. I travel west to Frisia. It is time to return home."

"Frisia... where is Frisia?" Don shook his head as he questioned his guide.

"I'm not sure anymore," the tight mask relaxed and a glimmer of sadness whispered across the biscuit-bearer's eyes. " I haven't heard much of Frisia these past few years. I fear that my people have departed."

"Where have you been for so long?" Don tried a different tack. Maybe he could get a better reference point.

The tight mask returned and the biscuit-bearer stood up. "Where I won't be returning." He nodded over his shoulder. " It's time to continue on traveller. Which way do YOU go?"

Don had a sharp feeling of disorientation. His thoughts jumbled and he felt dizzy. "I don't know ... perhaps I could walk with you for awhile." The biscuit-bearer held his hand out for Don to pull himself up. "Thank You," he muttered uncertainly.

The tight mask turned away and strode to a part in the woods. Don scratched his buttock and followed.

His shock of the contact with the forest maiden suddenly changed into a deep fear, as his heart jumped into his throat. From the gloom a wolf-like hound strode forward. Although the dog wasn't threatening, its size, close proximity and lack of fear gave Don qualms.

As if aware of its impact on the old man, the dog approached him and licked at the back of his hand and sat down before him. Don was tentative but encouraged by the maiden's last comment. He slowly put his hand on the dog's head and lightly rubbed. The hound kept its restraint and let its tongue hang from his relaxed muzzle, giving the appearance of docility. Don mimiced the emotional cue of this seemingly domestic wolf.

As Don relaxed, the dog leaned forward and nudged his knee, stood up and led him on out the glen to a path, barely discernible from the forest surrounding them. Don followed, understanding that the dog was here for his purpose. The dog seemed to know Don's destiny, but Don had no idea what path he had begun this night.

They continued on through the gloom of the forest - moonlight breaking dimly through the canopy above. Don could make out an old, well grown forest with tall trees and a floor of ferns and bracken. It wasn't a long walk before they came upon a pool nestled among a denser growth of trees and bush, a small brook bubbling out from a parting of some grass covered rocks. Don fell at the pool, drinking to ease his cracked lips and feverish state. He lay there for awhile running the cool water through his hair and across his neck, throat and face. Don stripped the hospital gown shroud away, washed off the grime and soothed the cuts, scrapes and bruises of his escape. He limped into the cool, soothing water, drinking away his parch. He felt the water both washing away the years of filth, and replenishing his drug abused body. Once purified he crawled from the bathing pool and despite the chill fell asleep from the exhaustion of his trip. He slept through the last of the night and past the dawn.

He awoke to the call of birds. The dog was watching him carefully. Don was hungry and very awake. For the first time, as long as he could remember, he felt as he did before the melancholy pangs of middle age piled up and dragged him into old age. He could recall that he had been undone and that there was still something left to finish .

The dog roused, sensing his movement to awake and arise. The canine grumbled slightly to attract his attention and stood up from its haunch. Don looked about the glen surrounding the pool. In a nook of the space there was a sculptured bas relief. Don looked around him taking in the forest and pool, the bubbling brook purcolating from the rocks. He went to the little altar space to look at the matron and her dog pictured on the bas relief. Accompanying the seated goddess and her companion was a strange set of characters from another language. Don couldn't make any sense of the prayer, but he took the bread and cheese left by a previous visitor.

Thinking nothing of the intent of the one who left it, or the harm, he wolved down the crust and meal, noting that it was fresh. Replenished, he felt his bony fingers swelled with the replenishment. He could feel his entire body shedding its slack. He could feel his muscles gathering their supple again. He looks about the grotto. A thick forest surrounded it. A stream bent away through a mossy bed. The dog led him to a path within the trees. It was a narrow path between thick undergrowth.

They continued through a bramble of rich growth, the sun warming his shoulders. He felt light on his feet. The effort of the walk was not difficult and gave his legs renewed strength. Occasionally he would come upon a berry bush and eat the black or red berries that the wasps and bees didn’t bother.

In the forest, sunlight mottled the floor. Don's every step was a twitch of his muscles and frame. He was moving purposefully and exercising all of his muscles. He could feel his stomach tighten and his shoulders widen. He breathed steadily and with less effort with every step. He didn’t need to rest or think. The path the dog was taking him on was indiscriminate to him. He was recovering his forgotten physicality.

They walked through the day like this. The forest changed so little that it seemed endless. Don was like an automaton. Walking was its own pleasure. Hours later the light diminished. They had seen only small animals and birds. Hunger had finally appeared. The dog had been paying no heed to him. It was as if they were linked and he was drawn in its wake. Now that his attention wandered, it looked his way and gave a quick snort to bring his attention back. Don wondered if this dog was reading his mind.

He grew frustrated with his growing hunger , though and called out, “Here now, where are you going?” the dog ignored him, not breaking its gait. Don stopped short, “Come on where are we going?”. The dog disappeared into the forest, not stopping or looking back. Don was torn, he wanted to look about and find something to eat. The fruit of the brambles was long ago. His stomach was starting to wish for some of that bread he’d had early in the day. As the gloom deepened, his nakedness became more concerning. He wanted to make some kind of proper bed and find something to keep him warm. The dog had been a kindred spirit and he'd felt safe and purposeful in its company. He stepped haltingly in the direction of where the dog had been. As he looked about and distractedly stepped towards the dog’s path he soon realized there was no path to follow. He looked about and found himself with no place to go. Suddenly he felt very tired. He sat down on a mossy rock and scratched between his legs. Although hungry and now lost, Don felt satisfied with himself. He could feel his skin tightened across newly renewed fitness. He felt like he was ready to race.