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.