Connor MacLeod didn�t mind the mist of light rain that dappled on his skin. He was on the hunt and it was the least of his concerns. Later in the day, he knew the heat would permeate through the overhead foliage and settle hot and stifling against the forest floor. It was cool right now. And early � early enough that the dew clung to the leaves and the ground, the rocks and the moss. The seed heads of the wild grasses bowed under the weight of water, as if a congregation at prayer.

The squirrels chittered at him in protest. One fawn colored specimen stood on hind legs in the deer path and eyed him. It wisked away, finally, the long tail bristled like an explosion of dandelion blooms. Connor ignored the scamper of small animals around him and the dappled imprints they left � focused solely on the track of a man�s broad sole in the wet terrain.

�There you are,� the hunting immortal murmured softly.

He watched the ground as he walked, studying the crush of grass and the telltale footprints through the dew. The overhead trees kept most of the rain from striking this far to the forest floor until the water had massed in the needles. Now and then, a fat wet drop would land atop his head with a splat. His eyelashes were catching mist and he dashed a hand across them now and then to clear the annoyance.

Down along a dry spring bed, across the ravine, up the other side, turn right at the downed pine and straight through the insidious forest ivy � the footprints went on without a break and without any craftiness. Connor picked up the pace and plunged into the vines after his prey. A woodpecker drummed off to his right. A jay squawked at him, irritated, and flew away. Squirrels heckled him from above. He barely missed stepping on an enormous banana slug stretched six inches across his path.

�Holy cow!� he whispered to himself. The hunt wasn�t too dire for him to stop and stare at the brown and yellow creature. �No snakes, please. I�m not in the mood for snakes today.�

The trail of his quarry entered an open meadow and Connor halted at the edge to study the terrain. A doe picked her head up and stared from two hundred yards. The Highlander frowned and regarded her. Either the deer are used to humans, and she didn�t mind him walking through here, or she�s just arrived. He waited for two minutes and then entered the meadow. The doe let him advance a quarter of the distance before relinquishing the area.

Footprint by footprint, Connor strode through the meadow, then halted. Damn! he grumbled mentally. The final track simply ceased right in the middle of the meadow. The immortal circled this last print, searching, but his quarry had not leaped sidelong and taken off in another direction. He backed up and studied the tracks again. Hmmm. What did you do?

He stepped beside one print and then stepped aside to look. I see it now, you shit. Thought you�d lose me this easy? he grumbled. His prey had carefully walked backwards in his own tracks. The still flattened and broken grass told him the tale. It had been stepped on twice and the toe of each mark was twisted as the individual in question looked behind to put his foot precisely into the next print.

Connor headed back at a swift walk, studying each footprint. The foliage took a bit to recover from being stepped on and it looked different near the downed pine. He circled again, picking up the trail twenty yards away. Clever. He walked the length of the tree and then jumped off in the next direction.

Off he went. The drizzle ceased and beams of sunlight came out and slanted down through the surrounding trees. In open patches, the steam rose in a mist and eddied ghostly around in whorls when he passed them. More slugs appeared underfoot, slinking along the damp forest floor. One black snake zipped away. A tree snail or two, with shells the size of quarters, were also creeping through. Connor accidentally stepped on one, with a crunch, and felt a twinge of regret. Killing and living. Living and killing. The whole world is on the same cycle. It�s just the immortal�s circle that is so tight.

A marsh? The tracks ended at the edge and Connor sighed, looking left and right. He wasn�t about to wade it without extra footgear. He circled the bog and had to crawl on hands and knees through brambles and heavy cover to hug the edge of the water. His knees ached and he scratched up his face and hands. It was only seconds in healing, but annoying nonetheless. He startled up a sleeping Mallard on her nest and she chased him in a mindless rage. She managed to get him by the pant leg and Connor shook her off and kept going.

No footprints greeted him the whole circumference of the bog. He stood, puzzled, wiping grime off his hands. Okay. I know he�s not out there in the center, hiding. I would have felt him. So? Connor studied the trees around the marsh and found nothing eventful � except for one gnarled oak that leaned low over the lilly-padded surface. He stared at it, thinking, until a frog leaped in the water underfoot and startled him. John would love it here. I must bring him back to explore after I�ve taken care of 'business.'

He made his way back to the low tree and found the bark scratched and several branches broken and then �propped� back into place so the white inner flesh would not show. Sneaky son-of-a-bitch, I�m going to enjoy catching you! The sun was hot now, fingering down into his hair through the trees and making the sweat shine on his bare arms.

The hunt went on, through terrain untrod before now. The usual tricks of doubling back, walking down the middle of the creek on rocks, swinging across great sections of ground using a pole � all were employed to throw the tracker off the trail of his quarry. Connor�s brow furrowed. He began to run short on expletives to call his nemesis as he doggedly hunted the other man down. He was all the way back to Gaelic cursing, of the foulest kind, when he finally felt the electric tingle of immortality jangle through his nerves. It jerked him to a halt and the sword was in his hand instantly.

�Come on, come on,� he said softly beneath his breath. �Show yourself, you craven hearted�ahh, Christ!� He had been moving so quickly that he was startlingly close to the other immortal and well past the boundary of the initial immortal presence.

There, in a circlet of grass amidst the trees, was Duncan MacLeod. He was in buckskin and bare-chested, his hair clipped back off his sweating shoulders. The sunlight streaked over him and washed him with gold as he stood, motionless, poised � waiting. �You would have been an easy piece to shoot, Connor,� the dark immortal drawled laconically.

�So why didn�t you?� demanded the older man, irritably. �Lose your nerve?�

Duncan whipped a pistol up and fired from ten feet away. Connor, catching the shift of muscle before the act, had just the sharp sting of the bullet to contend with as he dropped in place. He filled the air over his head with vexed swearing in several languages � and heard Duncan chuckle.

�Are you done?� he finally demanded from the ground. The sun was blinding and his skin itched from the leaves and debris beneath him.

�Yes. I�m done. Come over here. Lunch is getting sour because you took so damned long.�

Connor rolled back to his feet and eyed the handsome Scot a moment. Duncan hadn�t moved. �You know, standing there in that sunlight, looking that way � if I was a girl, I�d be tempted to pounce on you.�

�You can pounce on me if you�ve a mind to, Connor, but I don�t know as it�d be a kiss you�d get!�

Pounce he did and they thrashed in a furious wrestle, knocking the swords loose and the rucksack of food awry. Duncan was slick and hard to get a hold of. Connor twisted within his clothes like a Shar-pei in its baggy skin. Duncan kneed him in the flank and Connor smacked him on the ear hard enough to make everything ring. Duncan tightened his grip, pulling the skirmish into close contact and attempting to throttle the older man down by sheer power. Connor bit him, hard, on the nearest shoulder.

�NO BITING! No biting, you cock-eyed son-of-a�oof!�

A poke in the groin, another wild punch, a stomp on the instep. Duncan decided he should just sit on him and he threw Connor, hard, over his shoulder and slammed him flat on the ground. The stronger man would have followed it with a round of pummeling, but Connor coughed blood and then locked his teeth, his eyes dilated and unfocused above the crimson. The hands that were fists opened spasmodically.

�Whoa,� Duncan called, �stand down! I�m standing down, Connor!� He waited for a blink or two of recognition that never came, before reaching for him cautiously. �What? Where? I didn�t toss you that hard�.�

�Rock.� The elder Scot�s voice was garbled slightly.

�Damn.� Duncan shifted his clansman over and felt the grind of bone. Connor twitched all over, just once, and closed his eyes. �Come on. Come on. Heal a bit faster, will you?� Duncan said inanely to the air. They often injured each other with physical skirmishes, but killing one another was rarely on the bill. The elder Highlander�s quicksilver presence faded a bit � and then gained strength like a steed. �It�s about time you arrived,� the younger Scot announced, relieved, when the gray eyes opened again.

�You trying to kill me?� querulously demanded Connor.

�You told me to. You told me: �And if I stumble on you because I�m tracking too fast, then kill me�, if I recall. It was you who decided we should end all of this with some hand-to-hand work, dearie.�

Connor blinked and grinned. �Dearie? Shucks. You haven�t called me dearie, since � well, ever!�

�You�re laying in my lap, you rackscallion!� Duncan quipped in the same humor.

�I�ve been in softer ones, that�s for sure. Now, set me up.�

Duncan had to find one moccasin and retie his hair. Connor sat, trying to clench and unclench his fists while he waited for the full healing to finish. Duncan pulled some wet wipes out of the tumbled rucksack and wiped the blood off his arm, then wiped the blood off of his friend�s face.

�Will you quit with the guilt, Duncan. You know I hate that,� remarked Connor. �I�ll get to it as soon as my hands work.�

�Fine,� the younger immortal retorted. �I�ll just kill you next time and eat without you!�

�Eh? You ox! You�ll devour your half and my half too!� He glared at him in mock frostiness. �You�d better wait for me, so we�re even!�

�Ha, like anyone can plow through food like Connor MacLeod can? Not likely!� He waiting all the same and then they sat, using a log for a table, and feasted on meat and cheese, boiled eggs and raw vegetables. Duncan had managed to bring along a six pack of beer and they guzzled it, warm, and leaned side by side.

�You nearly fooled me at the meadow.�

Duncan grinned.

�I got bit by a duck at the marsh.�

Duncan leaned on the log and laughed.

�I got shit on by a bird when I was trying to figure out where you'd gone in the creek.�

Duncan was howling, wiping his eyes on a napkin.

�I stepped in a hole and sprained my ankle coming down the hill near that rocky bluff.�

�Eh, so did I. Probably was the same damn hole.�

They sat in silence a moment. A bee buzzed into Duncan�s beer can and Connor didn�t say a word of warning.

�Bastard,� announced Duncan.

�You deserved it. Breaking my back like that? I hope your tongue swells up and you choke.�

�Then I�d just talk like you, Connor!� and he was laughing again.

�I�d smack you for the insult, but I�m too tired.�

�Me too. That�s enough tracking practice for a bit, I think. Next time, I won�t go so easy on you.�

�Hey? I thought next time it was my turn to lead you around?�

�The beer was warm by the time you found me. You lost. You need more practice.� Duncan was already on his feet, rucksack gathered up, and walking back out.

�For all I know, you never had it cold to begin with, you idiot!� harangued Connor, bringing up the rear. �Did you? Well, DID YOU!?�

MacNair
October 5, 2001

Back to MacNairCDC's Stories
Back to the Library
Home