DISCLAIMER: Two of the characters in this story belong to Pet Fly Productions; the others don't.

Hello, everyone. This is my first completed Sentinel story and my first posting to this list. I'm not sure how to describe it without entirely giving the plot away; you might consider it an AU, of sorts. It definitely concerns a Sentinel/Guide pairing, I'll say that much.

Thanks to torch for recommending Francesca's Nature series, Francesca for hooking me into Senslash, and Te and Amirin for bouncy encouragement. And to my husband, for telling me to stay at work and finish the story since it was flowing.

MT

Even before he had a name, he was known to be special. His mother called him, "My Silence," because he was always quiet, always watching, listening, observing. She observed him closely during the years he stayed by her hearth and was called only "Carving Woman's Son" by others of The People, while he nursed, after he was weaned, when he began to toddle about, when he got big. At the age of seven the Fathering Ceremony was held, as was the custom of The People, and his father called him "Walks Alone" because he was silent and aloof and rarely played with the other children.

On a bright summer day, his mother and father took him away from the lodge to the tent of Swift Arrow, the Guardian of The People. Swift Arrow was a fierce woman who lived after the manner of a man, and smiled at no one and nothing save Beaded Quiver, her Guide and partner, but she was also the sister of the mother of Carving Woman, and Walks Alone was of her line. She frowned at the little boy, who had a carved figure of a bear stuffed into his mouth, and tried hard to smile instead.

"Look up into the sky, son of my sister's daughter, and tell me what you see."

Walks Alone gazed up into the clear blue brightness. "I see the sun," he said, taking the wet carving out of his mouth, "and streaks of clouds, the blue sky, and an eagle gyring."

His mother and his father looked up, but they could see no eagle, only the endless blue. Swift Arrow smiled.

"Open your ears, son of my sister's daughter, and tell me what you hear."

Walks Alone turned his head from side to side. "Five hearts beating, some fast, some slow. The stream running. The wind blowing. Firekeeper arguing with her sister Waterbearer out in front of the lodge. Many kinds of birds--sparrows, crows, magpies. Too many things to name them all."

His mother and his father gaped, for they heard only the wind and the birds, and the sound of their child's voice. Swift Arrow looked at Beaded Quiver, and they both smiled.

"Take a deep breath, son of my sister's daughter, and tell me what smells are here in our tent."

Walks Alone breathed deeply, so that his nostrils flared. "Five human bodies. Chamomile tea. Oat porridge. Roast fowl, very faintly. The droppings of magpies, squirrels, and a fox outside. The leather of the tent and our clothing. Many other things, too many to know them all."

His mother and his father looked at each other in wonder, for they smelled only the fire and the scent of their own bodies. Swift Arrow smiled and held out her hand to Beaded Quiver, who placed something in it.

"Use your fingertips, son of my sister's daughter, and tell me what markings are on this stone."

She placed the stone in his palm, and Walks Alone felt of it with his fingertips. "The shape of an arrow, three wavy lines like ripples on the water, two small holes dug into it, and two triangles that overlap each other."

His mother and his father knew that they could neither see nor feel the markings upon the stone. Beaded Quiver took back the stone and laid her hand upon the child's head.

"He has the gifts of the Guardian." A look of sorrow passed over her face, and her eyes fixed on something not present to the others. "He will walk alone a long time, but once he has found his Guide, he will not walk alone again."

From then on Walks Alone was taught the duties of a Guardian by Swift Arrow and Beaded Quiver, how to use his keen senses to protect The People, how to fight off dangers that might come. He spent much time with them and little with other people his own age, and no one questioned his name.

When Walks Alone was ten, he showed the signs of manhood and was Set Apart with the other boys. For him the exception was made that he might continue to study with the Guardian, and some of his agemates were resentful. He learned the men's mysteries and duties from the older men, but he did not take pleasure with any of them, nor with any of the other boys. As often as he could, he went to be with Swift Arrow and Beaded Quiver, who were getting old and were eager to teach him his special duties, and when his need became too great, he pleasured himself in secret and offered his semen to Mother Earth.

Four years went by, and then there was great argument over whether Walks Alone should be Made Man, since he had taken no lover nor been taken. But Swift Arrow, who was counted among the men, said that he must not be held back, and that his Guide would come and be his partner. Though her senses were failing, still she was the Guardian of The People, and held in high esteem by both women and men, so her words were followed. Walks Alone was Made Man along with his agemates, and a girl named Gossamer Hair was his first lover among women, but after the ceremony, he did not cleave to her or to anyone else.

Two more years passed, and then that thing which had been dreaded came to pass. During a bitter, desperate winter, Swift Arrow was bitten by a wolf which she had been fighting off. The wound festered, and despite all the efforts of the healers, she died. Two days later, Beaded Quiver died in her sleep, and they were laid upon the same platform for the birds of the air to purify their remains.

The People now had no Guardian, for Walks Alone had no Guide. As long as his mentors had been alive, all was well, but now he began to suffer, not knowing how to use his gifts. He suffered grievous headaches that left him unable to rise from his couch. At times a sight, a sound, a smell--cooking meat, the piercing laugh of a small child, a flash of lightning--struck him like the blow of a knife. At other times he would become swallowed up by one of his senses, lost in a single sensation for hours, and come back to himself remembering nothing that had happened. The People began to wonder if he would ever be able to fulfill the duties of a Guardian, and there was talk, very cautiously, of taking his life that he might return to the Mother and leave the way clear for a new Guardian.

Despite the talk, no action was taken against Walks Alone. He was, after all, of a line of the Guardians; to harm him might anger the Great Guardian, the Son of the Mother and Lord of the Animals. The healers helped him as best they could, and he protected The People to the best of his abilities. He went alone, silent, remaining within his tent when his help was not needed, and let no one see the loneliness that ate him from within like a cancer, the loneliness of a Guardian without a Guide.

He was twenty-one when it happened, a cold silent man who lived alone in the tent which had been the home of Swift Arrow and Beaded Quiver. Three grandmothers who had gone down to the river to check their fish traps found more than they bargained for--a youth half drowned, his face buried in the mud of the river bank. The swiftest of them hastened to the tent of Walks Alone, and he carried the stranger back to the lodge, calling for the healers to help him. He remained stooped by the entrance to the Healing Cave, watching old Mugwort and Cloudsinger examine the stranger. Presently Mugwort beckoned to Walks Alone.

"What do you see and hear that we cannot?"

Walks Alone came over and stooped by the couch on which he had laid the stranger. The young man was naked and seemingly asleep, though Cloudsinger was rubbing him down with a soft hunk of leather. He did not look like The People, but he was human, no doubt, a son of the Mother. Walks Alone listened, heard a fluttering heartbeat grow steadier, shallow breaths grow deeper. He inhaled, smelled river water and river mud, weeds and fish, sweat and tiredness and hunger. He laid his hands on the stranger, felt cool skin growing warm and a strange tingling within himself. He drew away.

"I think he is exhausted, but no more. Not ill." He glanced at the stranger's penis, which was oddly naked, different from his own. "Is he wounded?"

"I think not," said Cloudsinger. "It is an old injury, long healed. Our thanks, Walks Alone."

He knew he was being dismissed, yet felt strangely reluctant to leave. After a moment, he departed and went back to his tent, feeling Mugwort's eyes on his back.

Half a moon later, the stranger came to Walks Alone's tent. Walks Alone had not seen him while he was healing; he had deliberately stayed away, although he had wanted to be with the man. The stranger was now dressed like one of The People, but looked no less unusual for that: He was small of stature and dark of skin, with thick hair that grew in coiled locks like the tendrils of a vine. The hair of The People was always straight, and men customarily clubbed their hair back out of the way, whereas this stranger wore his loose, flowing over his shoulders. Beads of stone were set in the pierced lobes of his ears.

"I owe you a debt, brother. You saved my life."

Walks Alone glanced up from the arrow he was fletching. "No debt. I am the Guardian of The People: to protect is my duty. You are a human person and you were on our lands. I did my duty."

The stranger shook his head. "I owe you a debt. How may I repay it?"

Walks Alone set his jaw. "No debt. Return to your people and speak well of me."

"I have left my people. I am a farwalker, and so your people have come to call me."

Walks Alone studied the other man. A farwalker. They were rare, but not unknown--men or women who left their own peoples to wander the world, to learn how others lived. He wondered how someone so fragile-seeming, to his eyes, had survived a long journey, alone and unaided. But he did not ask.

Farwalker leaned forward, laid his hand lightly on Walks Alone's arm. "I would repay this debt any way I might, brother."

The scent of the thick, curling hair rose into Walks Alone's nostrils like smoke from roasting meat. It overpowered all else, filling him with such a yearning as he had never known. Sweet as a nut, salty like skin, warm and inviting as a couch by the fire. Still as a mountain, Walks Alone lost himself in the fragrance.

"Brother! Guardian! Listen to the sound of my voice. Come back to this world, brother. Come back to the sound of my voice."

Wide-eyed, Walks Alone stared at the face of Farwalker. The stranger was clasping his face in both hands, speaking to him from but inches away. The sound of his voice had brought Walks Alone out of the misty world where he had so often been lost, led astray by his own senses.

"You are my Guide."

Large dark eyes blinked at him in astonishment. "What?"

"You are my Guide. To every Guardian, a Guide. The Guardian protects The People, but the Guide protects the Guardian. Do you not know of this?"

Farwalker blinked again, sitting back. "Yes, I do know. My people also have Guardians and Guides, though they are few, but--but I have no teaching--"

Walks Alone waved his hand. "Teaching does not matter. I was lost in the mistworld, and I heard the sound of your voice. You spoke, and I responded. You are my Guide. I need you."

He stopped, appalled. He had never said such words to his own kin, and now he was baring his heart to a stranger. But the words had to be said, for they were truth. Swift Arrow had said to him, long ago, "When the Guide speaks, you will hear. And then you will know. Guardian and Guide belong together."

He reached out and took Farwalker's hand. "Will you come walk with me?"

They left the tent and headed for the woods, Walks Alone leading and Farwalker trailing behind. Presently Walks Alone began to ask Farwalker about his people, where he had come from, whither he had traveled. Farwalker answered, and Walks Alone listened; the other man spoke easily, as easily as a river runs.

He came from far south, and had been journeying for several years. He had no mate, nor any brothers or sisters, which was true also of Walks Alone. His mother was a holy woman, a "priestess" Farwalker called her; she lived in a place called a "temple", another word Walks Alone did not know. He had always been restless, curious about far places, discontented in the temple where he lived with many other children of the priestesses. And so he had wandered north, traveling for years, until a strange compulsion had driven him to travel for days without resting, without eating, until he fell senseless on the bank of the river where The People had found him.

They came to a clearing in the woods, a place Walks Alone knew, where a spring watered the earth. Strong sunlight fell upon them both. Walks Alone stopped, frowning, and Farwalker stopped as well, breaking off his stream of speech. "Have I said something wrong, Guardian?"

Walks Alone shook his head. "No. I just--I need to ask you something." He turned away, looking up to the sky, where gyred a hawk only he could see. "I would--I would like to take my pleasure with you. If it is not against the custom of your people for two men to take pleasure together."

For a moment there was no answer; then a wild burst of laughter from behind him chilled Walks Alone's heart. "You are asking me to share union with you? My joy is too great!"

Walks Alone turned around to see Farwalker smiling at him, beaming like the very sun. "I have never been asked to share union by someone whose back was turned to me," Farwalker said teasingly. He reached up and laid his hand lightly on Walks Alone's face. "But I will accept the offer just the same."

Walks Alone turned his head so that his lips touched Farwalker's palm. "I have never been with another man," he said, his words half muffled. "I have not been with anyone since I was Made Man."

"Womb of the Mother! How did you stand it, friend?"

Walks Alone smiled. "I was waiting for you." And he bent and kissed the other man.

It was a brief kiss, yet it sent all the Guardian's senses reeling. The taste of the other man's mouth, the smells of him, the warmth of his embrace, the sight of his welcoming smile. "Show me what to do," he said quietly. "Show me how to give you pleasure."

Farwalker began to unlace his tunic. "First let us take off our clothes and make a couch of them."

In a minute their garments were spread on the warm wet grass, and they sat down together. Walks Alone looked at his lover as he had wanted to look when he first saw him naked, admiring the shape of his lean strength, the abundance of his body hair, the ring that pierced one nipple. No one of The People had such an adornment, made of some substance as golden-bright as the sun, yet cool and hard to the touch. For his part, Farwalker looked at Walks Alone, a large man with powerful muscles under smooth skin, adorned only with a few scars. He rose to his knees.

"Kiss me again, Guardian."

Walks Alone knelt up also and gave what was asked. This kiss was not brief, but he did not lose control. Each sensation, taste and touch and smell, seemed to balance the other, and he drank of the other's mouth until the arousal of his penis, pressed between their two bellies, was too much to bear.

When he withdrew, Farwalker pushed at him gently until he lay back on the heap of leathers. "First lesson in how to please a man--"

Walks Alone cried out as Farwalker's mouth closed around his erect penis. Gossamer Hair had not done this; he had worked to arouse her so that they might join their bodies and he might release his semen inside her. Was this what he had missed, learning the Guardian's duties from Swift Arrow? He was held captive by the other man's touch. Licking, sucking, swallowing, Farwalker swiftly roused the Guardian to an ecstatic release, allowing him to thrust into his mouth as into the vagina and swallowing his semen without hesitation.

Walks Alone lay helpless as an infant and covered his eyes with his arm. "I have gone back to the happy land, to the lap of the Mother."

Farwalker laughed joyously. "Not yet, my lover. And not without me." He stretched out beside Walks Alone and rubbed his erection on the other man's thigh. "Will you do the same for me?"

"If my bones come back, so that I can sit up...."

Presently Walks Alone did do the same for his lover, and it was joy anew, pleasure that roused him again. To taste, to touch, to smell, and to give such pleasure, to hear cries of delight from the other man, to know that he was giving and being received. Farwalker's semen was surprisingly sweet and refreshing to the taste.

They lay together in the sunshine, embracing, heartbeats and breathing as one. "You are roused again," Farwalker observed after a while. "Do you want to do more?"

"What more?" Walks Alone asked drowsily.

Farwalker took his lover's penis in hand and stroked it. "We could use our hands, like this. Or we could join our bodies." He sounded tentative.

"Join our bodies? How?"

Farwalker propped himself on one elbow. "You do not know, truly? You have never heard anyone talk of it? Penis into anus."

Walks Alone played with the long locks that fell over him. "I do not listen to other people's talk. When I was learning the men's mysteries, I was thinking of my Guardianship. And if I had been paying attention, I would not have believed them about this. Penis into anus? Is that pleasurable?"

"If it's done gently, and with patience. And one must use something to make the way slippery, like the vagina."

"Pleasurable for the one done to, or for the doer only?" Walks Alone asked skeptically.

"For both, lover, by the Mother." Farwalker kissed the other's chest. "I will let you penetrate me and show you that it's pleasurable. But not here, not without oil."

Walks Alone pulled the other man down and kissed him thoroughly. "Then touch me with your hand, your mouth, make me spill my semen on the earth, and later we will try this other way. Both of us."

Farwalker smiled, a little breathless. "I like that idea."

Thus easily did Walks Alone and Farwalker become lovers. When old Mugwort saw them returning from the forest, hand in hand, he knew at once that the Guardian had found his Guide, and the good news soon went round the whole lodge. Farwalker was welcomed among The People and urged to stay, although there were more than a few who mourned that they had not had a chance to take pleasure with the handsome stranger before he pledged himself to one only.

In Farwalker's company, Walks Alone went among The People more. He smiled more easily, spoke more frequently, laughed more honestly. Farwalker smiled much, spoke often, laughed loudly. Little seemed to trouble him, and he was always eager to help. "I have come home at last," he would say, "and I will do whatever My People need." Beaded Quiver had spent most of her time apart, with Swift Arrow, but Farwalker gathered grains, set traps and checked them, learned some healing from Mugwort, watched over the children. He was everywhere and anywhere, and Walks Alone was never far from him. With his Guide's help, the painful headaches and the helpless drifting into the mistworld became less and less frequent, until they were only an unhappy memory, like the loneliness which had eaten him. Walks Alone was truly loved, and for the first time, he felt himself to be one of His People.

On a rainy day they sat in their tent, Walks Alone mending tools, Farwalker making a stew.

"Do you want to father children, beloved?" Walks Alone asked suddenly.

Farwalker looked surprised. "Do I want to father children? No, not especially. What makes you ask, big man?"

As always, Walks Alone blushed at the endearment. "I know how you love children." He tested the freshly-honed edge of an obsidian blade. "And I know how many women would like to have you as a father...."

His voice trailed off as his lover put a hand on his arm. "Jealous, beloved? Don't be. I've had many lovers on my travels, but I'm home now, and you are my mate, the only mate I need."

Smiling at the other man's blush, Farwalker stirred the stew, tasted it, and offered the spoon to Walks Alone. "What does it need?"

Walks Alone tasted. "A little more salt, if we can spare it. And something to sweeten it."

The other man went rummaging in his collection of spices. "I suppose I might have mentioned this before, but we haven't been together too long, and I don't know your customs...."

"Yes?" Walks Alone sounded eager.

"Can we get married?"

Walks Alone looked at Farwalker quizzically. "'Married'?"

Farwalker blinked. "Take vows to one another? Make a public declaration that we are mates?"

Walks Alone shook his head. "I don't know what you mean. We live together; we are lovers; I am the Guardian and you the Guide. We *are* mates, everybody knows that."

Farwalker sprinkled a precious pinch of salt into the stew. "Where I come from, a man and a woman, or two men or two women, can make public promises to one another and receive the blessing of the Great Mother, and the Great Guardian, from a priestess. Then they do not leave each other."

Walks Alone shrugged. "You weren't going to leave, were you?"

"Of course not."

"Well, I am not going to leave you. So what is the point?"

Farwalker tore at his abundant hair. "The point is that I love you, you hunk of stone, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, forever, in this world and every other, but the Mother alone knows why--mmph!"

Walks Alone silenced his mate, as he had done so often, with a very firm kiss. A kiss that made both of them think less of the stew, and more of their fur-covered couch.

"Whatever makes you happy, beloved," Walks Alone said quietly. "The Guardian must follow the direction of the Guide."

"I want to make *you* happy, beloved," Farwalker said hoarsely. "You are the only one. Share union with me. I want to feel you inside me. I am yours, love, and you are mine."

Walks Alone nodded. "Yes."

Farwalker was naked by the time Walks Alone found the small stone bottle which held the precious oil. The sweet golden oil which Farwalker had carried with him from his native land, made from a fruit called "olive," had long since been used up, but with help from Mugwort, he had contrived to crush oil from the seeds of grasses, making a pure substance which many of The People were now using for cooking and for fuel as well as to enhance their pleasure in union. As the Guardian approached the couch, his Guide rolled over onto his stomach, showing his firm round buttocks.

"Now, lover," he said urgently.

Walks Alone knelt between his mate's spread thighs and unstoppered the bottle. Then he gently spread the other man's buttocks with one hand and poured oil over his anus with the other, and onto his fingers as well. With loving care, he spread the oil into his beloved's body using one finger, at first, and then two. Farwalker pressed his rousing penis into the furs and his buttocks onto the probing fingers, whimpering softly. It gave him joy to know that no other man had received his mate this way, nor taken this pleasure from him. It gave him joy to belong here, with this man, so many countless leagues from the temple where he had been one of many priestesses' children.

Walks Alone waited until his lover said, "Yes, now," in that demanding tone of voice which always roused him so much. Again he poured out the sticky-sweet oil, coating the length of his erect penis, and carefully stopped the bottle before putting it aside. Farwalker raised himself on hands and knees to welcome the penetration, and both men sighed together as their bodies slid into one.

"I love you," Walks Alone whispered. "Only you. No ceremony can change that."

Farwalker threw back his head. "I want to prove it, show it--oh, please!"

They moved strongly together, a pounding rhythm like the drums of the sacred dances, like autumn storms on the roof of the lodge, like the unified beating of their hearts. Farwalker found release as Walks Alone's hand clasped his penis, and the strength of his pleasure brought about his lover's climax as well. Still joined, they drifted off to sleep together, only to be roused by the burning of the stew.

It was at Midsummer of that year that the ceremony was held, on the day when the sun stands still in the sky and the day is longest. In the presence of all The People dressed in their finery, Walks Alone and Farwalker, likewise in their best finery, stood hand in hand beneath the summer sun and promised to be mates only to one another. After the customs of Farwalker's people, they exchanged ornaments: a necklace of tumbled and smoothed stones from Walks Alone to Farwalker, and bracelets of carved wood from Farwalker to Walks Alone. After the vows were spoken, Walks Alone raised his hand for silence and said, "No longer can I be called Walks Alone, for I have found the one I will always walk with. Call me 'Walks Contented', and thank the Guide who has made me a true Guardian of The People."

There was much rejoicing, and Grandmother Deerskin, eldest woman of The People, gave them the blessing of the Great Mother. Then Gossamer Hair, who had been Walks Contented's first woman, took him by the hand to dance, and Cloudsinger took Farwalker, and there was dancing till the sun at last went down. Then the mated ones went back to their tent and took their pleasure together, in every way possible, until sleep claimed them for a long day.

Farwalker and Walks Contented had many happy years together, each the other's only mate, but their parting was not as they desired. A bitter winter came like the one in which Swift Arrow had died, and Farwalker fell sick. The healers could help little; it seemed he could not tolerate the cold, and he shook and shivered constantly no matter how near the fire he was placed, no matter how many furs were heaped upon him.

Walks Contented would not leave his mate's side, except for dire need. People spared him as much as possible; many were certain that Farwalker would die, and that the Guardian would soon follow. Walks Contented nursed his beloved tenderly, taking care of his every need, but the cold outside deepened, and the sick man shivered the more.

"I am going to die," he said one day, teeth chattering.

Walks Contented kissed the chill hand that was clenched into a fist.

"Not now. You will not die yet. You will live, many more years."

Farwalker shook his head. "I have never known such a winter, and my bones will not survive it. I am no longer young, and where I was born, it is never so cold as it is here. I am so cold...."

Walks Contented lay down on the couch with his mate and held him close. "Let me warm you."

Cold, stiff arms wrapped hesitantly around him. "You cannot warm me, beloved. Not any more. Most of my spirit has already gone to the bright land. I can hear the Mother calling."

"No, my love!" Desperately Walks Contented tightened his hold. "Stay with me."

"Oh, I want to, but I can't. I can't stay. She's calling me, she looks like a beautiful maiden, she looks like my mother, beloved, I have to go...."

Walks Contented kissed his mate, hating the feel of the full lips under his, like earth after winter rain. "Don't go, Farwalker, please, please...."

The other man cupped the Guardian's face in his icy hands and looked solemnly into his eyes. "You are the Guardian, and I am the Guide. Years ago I swore that you would be my only mate, and I have kept that oath." He touched the necklace that still hung at his throat. "Now I swear this: I will wait for you in the lap of the Mother. I will not leave her house until you come to me. And when you come to me, we will never be parted. If we return to this world, we return together. Always."

Farwalker coughed, coughed until his face was blue. Walks Contented held him, tears streaming into his lover's hair. "I swear this." Farwalker spoke so softly only a Guardian could hear him. "Will you swear? Swear to look for me in the house of the Mother?"

"Beloved, I will follow you there. I will always follow my Guide."

Farwalker kissed his mate's chest, weakly. "Not... necessary. Just... love me....."

Walks Contented kissed Farwalker's hair, his brow, his lips. Cold like ice. Neither man spoke more, and Gossamer Hair found them the next morning, both cold and dead beside the dead fire.

Jim woke when Blair shifted in his arms, got up. "Chief?"

"Just cold, Jim," came the comforting voice in the darkness. "Mind if I turn the heat up?"

"No. And bring that extra afghan." Jim rolled over onto his back, listening to Blair's footsteps die away, come back, hearing the heat come on with a soft roar. He was feeling uncommonly cold himself.

Blair tossed the afghan across the bed and snuggled back into his lover's arms. Jim squeezed him and petted the curly hair spread across his chest.

"I had the weirdest dream, man, like I was dying, and I woke up so cold...."

"That's funny. I did, too."

He felt Blair look up at him. "Really? What did you dream?"

"I don't really remember," Jim lied, "but I woke up cold, too, and then you weren't right there...."

"I'm right here, Jim. Always." Blair rubbed his cheek on the big man's chest.

"I know you are, Chief. I know."

end