Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin determinedly, she asked Frankagorn, "Will you show me your horse?" He smiled, "That...and more."

********

"Is everyone leaving already?" Mary asked. "Are you not having a good time?"

Zack, Bud, Maximus, and Arthur all blinked back tears. Sid moaned from the patio. Hando went, "Ouch...ouch...ouch!" as he attempted to walk. Susan staggered under the weight of the planter. Berti tried to conceal the salad bowl under her armpit. Ando slid down the last 3 steps on her tailfin. Colin attempted to wring the remnants of bathtime bubbles from his stretched sideburns. Jewelie and Jim pretended to be invisible. Jeffrey still glared at rude Berti.

"Ummm....," Russell finally said. "I'm sorry, Mary, but, yes, it is time we shifted venue."

Mary had paused in front of one of the large, gilt-framed mirrors, catching sight of her white hair. "Do I get to be 33 again if we go elsewhere?" she asked, hope filling her voice.

Phyllis narrowed her eyes at the hostess. "If you think it's all that important, yes."

Maximus looked seriously at Bunny. "By what means do we travel?"

The rabbit smiled. "I thought simple and direct would be best." And, so saying, turned and carved a plain wooden door on the wall of the dining room. It was a swinging door and was already moving slightly back and forth.

The General stepped close, standing there, looking through to the endless sand dunes beyond. Without turning back to look at Bunny, he asked in a barely audible voice, "She is there?"

"Yes," Bunny replied, "she is there...in the purple and red striped tent."

Maximus sighed, and closing his eyes, asked, "With...him?"

"Oh, blast it, Maximus!" Aubrey bellowed, tying his hair back in his leather thong as he strode past the General, shoving the door widely open, "It's time to board this vessel..." He turned slightly, grinning without breaking his stride, "...so to speak."

Maximus' hand rested briefly on the hilt of his sword, then he, too, stepped through the doorway.

"Come on!" Bunny said, half hoisting Sid. "You don't really deserve to go with us....but....," she smiled down at him, "you're just too darn cute to leave behind."

Sid wiggled his jaw back and forth with one hand, checking to see if it still worked. Then he grinned, knowing he was, indeed, the best of all the characters, both in form and in cleverness.

Ando looked back up the stairs at Arthur, still sitting dejectedly. "You, too," she said. "Please come. With this tailfin, I need both of you." Slowly he came down the stairs, buttoning his cardigan, expecting Hando to glare at him. The Melbourner, however, was too busy dealing with the fact that from the waist down he felt like termite-infested wood. Strange expressions played across his face as he considered that this must be what it felt like to be eaten alive. Ando held out her left hand for him to offer her support.

He jerked and twitched and said, "I...can't."

Ando, all unaware that his TWP's were sopping with pure bleach, was...miffed.

Arthur smiled. This might not be so bad after all. "Here...let me," he said, gallantly placing his arm about her waist and helping her hop squishily toward the door.

"Humph!" she humphed, turning her back on the writhing one and going into the desert, thusly missing out on his wild "Aiieeeeee!" and his ripping off of his white denims. He grabbed several of the opened magnums of champagne, sploshing their contents down his legs. "Ahhhhhh!" he sighed as the last of the fizzy rivulets curved downwards over the laces of his combat boots.

"Ando?" he called, looking around. "Ando?"

Biebe came up to him. "Here," he said, proffering a pair of old hockey pants. "I have an extra pair." He looked askance at Hando's legs with the faded grey tattoos. "You can't go into the Saudi desert like... that."

"Saudi desert?" Hando repeated, "Why would I want to go THERE?" He held the hockey pants up in front of him. "The waist is too big."

Biebe frowned, never having been all that fond of the skinhead. "Use your suspenders," he growled. "And we are going to Arabia because if there were a script, it would be taking us there. Besides," he added, "your Ando is already there." Helping BugDogMomPug gather the last of her baskets, he and the Floridian headed toward the door.

Bud stood, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Berti. She stared back, always fond of the way his biceps bulged from under the cuffs of his short- sleeved white shirt. "Do you intend to take...that?" he rumbled, inclining his head slightly toward where the salad bowl peeked out from her armpit.

She considered her dilema. Was a bowl of "croutons" in the hand worth two in the..... no...she wouldn't go there. Jo probably wouldn't let her.

"You...you... mean my... salad?" she replied, vainly trying to look innocent. The cop just stared at her silently. "I...I...thought perhaps....Bunny...might need some...greens.....later."

"How thoughtful of you," he said coldly.

"Goodness," she thought to herself, "a few simple seeds and character relationships go all to pot"

Bud turned on his heel, following Zack through the door. Susan, puffing from exertion, set her heavy planter down near Berti. "I understand." she said. "It is that lingering feeling all of us have for...him." She did not even need to say his name.

Berti pressed her lips together and nodded, looking down at the contents of her salad bowl. Susan nodded, too, "We risk much."

"Yes," Berti said softly, "....everything."

Joimus stood in the dimly-lit tent, studying Frankagorn. He had said he intended to show her...more...than just his beloved horse. She chewed her lip, watching him cross to where a deep pile of furs and blankets lay arranged with pillows atop the thick carpet. He turned, smiling, and gestured her to come close. She hesitated, then when she took a step in his direction, the pain in her knee reminded her of why she had fled in the ewe cart, why she had left her...the... General of the Armies of the North. She winced, not from the knee pain but from the sharp piercing in her heart at the beloved phrase.

Before her, his hand still held for hers to take, stood the King of all Metropolitan Gondor, the greatest long-distance rider of Middle Earth. He saw her wince and, striding quickly across the carpet, swept her up in his arms, holding her close against his white-branched cuirass. "You are in pain!" he cried, anxiety writ across his fine brow.

"It is," she whispered, "a mere trifle." She buried her face in his neck that he might not see her tears as she repeated, "a mere trifle." Unable to stop herself longer, a deep sob shook her shoulders.

Frankagorn held her out a bit that she might not be able to conceal her face from him. "I fear it is not," he said.

Blinking back her tears, she whispered, "It was a long, long time ago...in a sheepstation far, far away."

"Sheep?" he said. "Did you love a Hobbit?"

A mental image of Maximus entering the arena with large, furry feet made her smile even then.

"Ah," he said, cheered by her curving lips, "Come and see what I wish to show you!" With that, he carried her out of the red and purple tent and across the sand.

The General came through the door about 20 feet from the tent just as Frankagorn strode out the opposite flap. Maximus sucked his breath in with a long, loud hiss then closed his teeth with a sharp snap. Aubrey shut his eyes, shaking his head. Bud and Zack exchanged glances. Not every woman, it would seem, was after the General's seed.

"Joimus...STOP!" Bunny called.

Hearing her name, Joimus looked over Frankagorn's shoulder. Oh, NO! The entire cast had followed her to Arabia! "Put me down!" she said urgently.

Frankagorn swung around, cocking one eyebrow in surprise at the sudden appearance of 45 or so unfamiliar faces. Then he peered in wonder, squinting in the bright sunlight. How could almost half of the faces look so very...similar?

"Who...?" he began, but Joimus was already walking toward the large group.

She stopped in front of Russell. "Tell the Roman he is not welcome here."

Russell noticed that her chin quivered in spite of the harshness of her words.

"Joimus..." Maximus said softly, entreatingly, laying his hand on her arm. She pulled it away, but looked at him in spite of herself. His seagreen eyes swam with pain, with longing, and her chin quivered even more at the sight.

"Maximu...," she started to say just as Susan went, "Ooff!" loudly and set the planter in the sand only 5 feet behind the General.

Joimus stared at the ceramic container, fairly brimming with gourdlings. Her blue eyes hardened, her jaw set, and she looked coldly at the Commander of the Felix Legions. "I see you let your...mate... do all the heavy lifting, General."

He turned, until that moment completely unaware that the gourdlings had been potted. Indeed, it was the first he had lain eyes on them at all. He cocked his head, strangely fascinated by the sight of them.

"I leave you to your...responsibilites," she said icily, then motioned for Frankagorn to join her. Ignoring Maximus, she introduced him to Russell, then added, "He is here to win the Sandbiscuit race...the greatest, most grueling horserace devised by the demented mind of man...or woman, as the case may be."

East and Egan pressed forward eagerly, asking for details. "The prize is $10,000.14. Of course, should the General win by some off chance, it would be 30 pieces of silver."

Aubrey looked at Maximus. "That's a challenge if ever I heard one!" he proclaimed.

Maximus and Frankagorn stared into one another's eyes, each taking the measure of the other. "Ah," said Frankagorn at last, "I understand all the Bedouin have gone to Iowa for the corn festival. This year shall be the 'Race of the Infidels!'"

Joimus glared at Maximus. "Some are more infidelious than others," she remarked.

Terry, always aware of the logistics involved in large undertakings, turned to Bunny. "Can you carve us a good-sized stable with 44 horses?" he asked.

Jewelie looked up at Jim in concern. "I think you got included in the head count," she said. "Have you ridden before?"

Russell spoke up. "Don't worry Jewelie. Jim actually hasn't ridden, but the part of me that's him is quite comfortable in the saddle. He'll be fine."

Bunny wandered off towards a large dune, carving stone in hand. "Give me a sec," she called back.

Aubrey studied Frankagorn. "You are an experienced rider?" he asked.

"The greatest long-distance rider in all of Middle Earth," was the reply.

Maximus smiled to himself, not feeling the need to mention how in 10 minutes he had ridden from the Danube to Spain despite a severe wound and stopping only once for food. The General scanned Frankagorn's cuirass. "What symbol is that?" he asked.

"This is the white tree of Gondor," the other answered. "It grows in the high courtyard of my twirly, spiraly capital city. And yours?"

Maximus lay his palm on the wolf's head that lay atop his breast bone. In his deepest possible voice he replied, "It is a wolf." Looking piercingly at the King he added, "The bane of blanched and twisted trunks."

Frankagorn's eyes snapped at the overt challenge. Nostrils flaring, the King retorted, "We shall see who is the bane of whom!"

Maximus inclined his head slightly, "Indeed, we shall."

Frankagorn took Joimus' hand and led her away. As she walked, she turned twice, looking quickly back at the General of the Armies of the North. How magnificent he looked in his full military attire, his eyes flashing with determination.

She stumbled and Frankagorn took her elbow, looking down at her. "He is the one, is he not? The one who has caused your heart great pain?" She nodded mutely, the large lump in her throat rendering speech impossible.

Maximus watched them walk, the sunlight gilding her pale yellow gossamer gown so that it glowed and shimmered. Without taking his eyes off her, he said to Aubrey and Russell who flanked him, "I will win the race. I will give the King something he's never seen before."

Russell grinned slightly, knowing well that when Maximus said such a thing, it was bound to happen.

A large stable was quickly taking form in the side of the great sand dune. "There!" Bunny puffed, "It's done!"

"And done well, BunnyPerson," complimented Russell, who knew a thing or two about stables.

Bunny beamed as only a rabbit recently the recipient of a Russell rave review can beam. At such moments, though, she did tend to over-alliterate.

The cast walked inside, enjoying the respite from the desert sun. "That one!" said the General, pointing at a particularly large white stallion. The glorious horse reminded him of the one he'd gotten after Joimus had wrecked the Turkish train because she so wanted to walk atop it in her rust-colored suede boots. It was a Lawrence-thing and he smiled at the memory of happier days.

Jewelie counted the horses. There were 45. "Bunny," she asked, "are there not just 44 of us since Joimus is no longer with us?"

"Truly," Bunny replied, "but I thought we might need an extra for Charles or Stephen."

"Charles or Stephen?" Jewelie repeated. "I have seen neither of these persons."

"Yes, I know," Bunny explained. "If there were a script I would then comment that Nash has been strangely absent from it since the Matheater incident in Uganda. Paul is sometimes Stephen when the Captain needs him and sometimes Charles when Nash is in danger." She leaned close to whisper confidentially in Jewelie's ear, "Though, of late, I hear he has been seen as Paul strolling his baby with Jim in the park."

Jewelie looked at Jim. "Is this true, Jim?"

Russell, who seemed not to let Jim do all that much talking yet, spoke up. "Not entirely. It is actually me myself when I am not being Jim who strolls in the park with Paul when he is not being Stephen or Charles."

Jim just shrugged and made an open-palmed gesture with his hands.

Andy and Johnny looked a bit worriedly at one another. When Russell had been them, he had not been so experienced with horses yet and so neither of them were really looking forward to the next 30,000 miles in the saddle.

Russell, saddling a lovely honey-colored horse grinned at the two young characters. "Don't worry,"he said brightly, "after the first 29,000 miles, you'll get the hang of it!"

East stood, his face close to that of a dark brown horse's, speaking softly into its ear.

"He's a bit of a 'horse whisperer'," Russell explained then looked seriously at Beck. "Don't let him drink and ride."

"I won't," Beck promised. "I'll keep my eye on him."

Russell smiled fondly at her, knowing she would do just that.

Terry was mounted and annsmac was helping him figure out how to settle his equipment so that it wouldn't drag on the ground. It was a serious problem, solved only with the use of several yards of burlap and 10 tent pegs. Finally it seemed secure and annsmac gave the large bundle a satisfied pat. Terry sighed, thinking how much simpler it was just to hang from a helicopter skid. Well, except for all the explosions. He looked out the open stable doors at the endless sea of dunes. Who knew, though, what horrors awaited the cast.

Sue watched Cort as he studied the horses. Hmmmm? He had not actually ever ridden a horse during the course of his movie, now had he? No, it was only by presumption that one thought he could ride. After all, before he had been dragged in chains into Redemption, he must have surely ridden....right?

"You can...," she started, but when he swung so lightly and expertly into the saddle, she just smiled.

He patted the withers of the greyish-brown horse. "Good boy, Dusty," he said affectionately.

Sue smiled. Everything was so perfect...well, until 33-year- old Mary came up with a large wooden bucket of water. Why was the Greek always so interested in water, Sue thought grumpily.

Smiling sweetly, Mary lifted the bucket up to Cort. "Wet your whistle?" she asked.

"Thanks," Cort said, taking the bucket and lifting it to his mouth with both hands.

"Ooops!" Mary cried, stumbling deliberately against his left leg, causing Dusty to take a quick step. The water sploshed down Cort's chin, covering his chest and thighs. Mary inhaled deeply. It was only a partial 'wetting', but it would have to do, she knew. Nodding at Sue she said, "Thank you," and went to choose her own horse.

Frankagorn paused, looking down in growing fondness at Joimus. "Joimus," he said, his eyes flicking quickly to the stable where he knew Maximus had gone, "I think you need a change of name."

She considered his suggestion, knowing as she did how hers reflected so clearly that of Maximus' own. She was not yet ready, though, to commit to being Joagorn. "I was thinking," he said, "of a Sheik's daughter of my acquaintence. Might I call you Jozira?" It did, she admitted to herself, sound more like a name fit for an Arabian adventure. And, after all, she no longer had any connection with the Commander of the Felix Legions, now did she?

"Yes," she replied softly, ignoring as well as she could the sharp twinge in her soul, "you may."

He smiled, pleased. "Come," he said, "I want to show you your own mount." He led the way to a small stable containing only two horses. "First," he said, tenderness filling his tone, "is my horse, Hidoolgo. Years ago he was a Golden Retriever and the best friend a young King-to-be could have. As I grew to manhood, I had more need of a horse than a dog and so the White Wizard transmogrified him into a mustang. But," he added, ruffling Hidoolgo's mane, "he still has the soul of a Golden Retriever and fetches me my morning paper and my slippers without fail."

Joimus...er... Jozira...looked at the brown and white mustang as it licked Frankagorn's chin. She had to admit there was definitely something quite dog-like about it.

"And here," he said, indicating the adjoining stall, "is the other thing I wanted to show you." He gave a low whistle and a mare turned to face them. She was palest creamy yellow, almost the exact color of Jozira's gossamer gown.

"Oh...MY!" Jozira murmured, delighted at the sight. "She's...she's....lovely!"

Frankagorn fed the mare an apple slice. "Her name is Buttermilk."

"Ah," said Jozira, "like Dale Evans' horse."

Frankagorn shrugged slightly, never having watched TV in the 50's. "She is," he said proudly, "my secret weapon. As anyone who grew up in the old South knows, buttermilk leaves map-like trails on the sides of whatever container you have emptied it from."

Jozira knew just whereof he spoke, though she had no taste for the beverage herself. "Yes," she agreed, "my father used to leave disgusting glasses coated with its trails on the kitchen counter."

"Exactly!" Frankagorn said, pleased that she understood. "And Buttermilk here," he smiled at the mare, "has special hooves that leave maplines across the trackless desert wastes. And when I lower the visor of my Stetson..." he paused to demonstrate, "they become visible."

Jozira had never actually seen a Stetson with a visor before, but then, neither had she seen chaps worn over greaves, now had she? Saddled and mounted, Frankagorn and Jozira rode out from their stable, heading toward the starting line. Forty-five other horses soon lined up beside them, one saddled but riderless. Jozira smiled, knowing Charles was obviously watching over the nervous Nash. Her eyes scanned down the long line of riders. How fond she was of them all...well, except for Sid who sat a pure black horse he'd named Diablo. At the far end was Maximus, staring straight ahead. His white stallion, ready to gallop, reared, its hooves arcing through the air.

Jozira could not help herself. She leaned forward, staring at him. He was magnificent, his rust-colored cape flowing behind him as he sat his horse with the ease of an experienced Roman cavalryman. Why, why, WHY did the mere sight of him fill her with such longing? She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She would not look at him! She would not...want...him. The starting shot fired. Hooves dug into the tawny sand. The infamous Sandbiscuit race had begun.

Off they galloped, no one pacing themselves, only eager at this point to be in the leading few. Maximus and Frankagorn had begun, one at either end of the long line-up, but shortly were riding neck and neck, only a few feet between them. The General's rust-colored and the King's deep blue capes flowed and snapped in the air behind them. Maximus looked to his right, grinning at Frankagorn.

Bunny slowed a bit, watching as Sid turned Diablo diagonally off to the left of the riders. She frowned. "What was he up to now?" She should probably keep an eye on him, so turned her mount, galloping in his hoofprints.

Berti, finding it hard not to jostle the contents of her salad bowl as she swiftly crossed the desert, nonetheless noted Joimus' own sudden tangent, but to the right. Why would the Pittsburgher be doing that? She had no way of knowing that Frankagorn had carefully shown her how to ride Buttermilk across the worst of the trackless wastelands that lay in their return path, laying down invisible buttermilk maptrails for him to follow.

The King smiled to himself as he, too, watched her growing smaller and smaller in the distance. "Good!" he thought. "The Roman had not noticed."

Indeed, except for that one sideways grin, Maximus kept his eyes fixed on the horizon before him. "Only 29,998 more miles to ride and... perhaps...Joimus would let him explain. He wished Ridley were directing the Sandbiscuit so that the race would be compressed and he could finish by midafternoon. But, no, he must ride in actual epi-time and that meant at least 2 or 3 days of hard riding.

After just a few miles, the riders slowed, knowing their mounts could never keep up that pace in the 134 degree heat. Aubrey rode a large chestnut with a white blaze. He'd chosen it because of his great-aunt's second cousin twice removed, the famous cowboy Gene Aubrey. Juditha did not have the heart to tell him that there should have been a "t" and not a "b" in the name. Nonetheless, the Captain looked quite splendid astride his Champion. It was good, she thought, that he was more along for the support he could lend Maximus rather than actually trying to win himself. The way he had to dismount every few yards to retrieve his tricorn would have made his winning unlikely anyway.

As time passed, the riders became more and more scattered across the vast sea of dunes, losing sight of one another unless they traveled in small clumps or pairs as some of them did. Berti and Susan, finding much in common presently, stayed fairly close. Bud and Zack, paired together, kept well ahead of their feckless womenfolk. Yes, the cop and the agent agreed, both Berti and Susan were entirely without feck. On some level, this opinion of their characters regarding their disaffecktion, did have some affeck on them. But, when either of them looked down...Berti at her glorious "croutons" nestled so attractively amongst the radicchio or Susan at the nearly overflowing gourdlingness of her planter balanced with such effort upon her saddle pommel, neither would have returned to unseeded days.

Ando, alas, was another story. That story, unfortunately for her time in the saddle, was called "The Little Mermaid." If only she had been Danish, perhaps she could have sat daintily upon a harbor rock and only be stolen once or twice a decade. But, no, she had put in for Welsh origins in her usual way of not planning ahead for life's exigencies and, thusly, found herself riding sidesaddle, tailfin flopping like a landed giant tuna, across the trackless wastes of the Arabian desert. "Whoa, Horse!" she cried, having named her steed after the descriptive entitling used by one Dudley Doright.

"Horse?" scoffed Hando as he attempted to aid somewhat in her balancing efforts from the sinister (also known as "left") side of the flapping, plopping fin-bearer. He himself (though not ACTUALLY Himself, one must keep in mind) had named his mount Khartoum after the beheaded, embedded Godfather one. It seemed appropriate somehow.

Arthur, to her right, also rode an appropriately-named horse as befit his equine timidity. He figured, correctly one might add, that it would take Gumby the better part of a week to discover Pokey was missing.

And, so, the trio crossed the sands...Ando wobbling back and forth between the two characters... first tipping way to the left and then way to the right much in the manner of a life-size Weeble. Taking them all by surprise, night fell, shattering upon the dunes, leaving only scattered shards of light.

Maximus, startled, tried to look at his watch. But in the darkness, not only was there no illuminated dial, there was no watch, such items being rare amongst the attire of Roman Generals...and so he had no real way of knowing that it was 6:47 PM.

Russell, howsomever, the possessor of many a fine timepiece, did. Lightly, he sprang down from Pooh. (Ah, dear Reader, you ask the source of the name? Honey was safely back in Nana Glen, but he thought often and fondly of her and the wedged bear in a great tightness was an obvious link not only in his mind, but in his heart.) "Maximus," the now dismounted Himself said, "let's camp for the night."

Maximus strode across the sand, picking up one of the larger shards of light, holding it so that it shone toward Frankagorn who was feeding Hidoolgo some kibbles and bits. His brow knit. (Someday, when he had more time, he would teach it the cable stitch.) Right now, he was concerned because Joimus was nowhere in sight. He had presumed rather presumptuously that she was on the far side of the King all afternoon.

Smacking his tricorn against his leg to remove its layering of sand, Jack approached, asking, "What is the matter, Maximus?" He knew from experience that when the General knitted like that, the plot was in danger of unraveling.

"Have you seen Joimus recently?" Maximus asked.

Both Jack and Russell turned to look at Frankagorn. "She is not with... him?" the Captain inquired.

Not waiting to reply, Maximus walked quickly up to Frankagorn. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice a deep growl.

"She is not with you," the King replied, leveling his tone so that the words were a statement and not a question.

Maximus' thumb made little circles on the pommel of his sword. "Where?" The one repeated word scraped off the General's tongue like a blade across a whetstone.

Frankagorn smiled, his face handsome in the glow of the nightlight. "I have not seen her... Jozira... for some hours," he said truthfully.

Maximus looked out into the vast blackness of the desert."Why," he asked, "would she...Joimus... go alone...there?" He pointed at the nothingness that lay beyond the small circle of light.

"She had her...reasons," Frankagorn answered.

"Hers...or yours?" Maximus retorted.

Again the King smiled. "It remains to be seen, does it not, if perhaps her reasons and my reasons are the same."

Maximus closed his eyes briefly, all too well aware that this might be the case.

Frankagorn knew that even more surely than if shot from the bow of a blond-haired elf, his arrow had struck home. But the King was not the villain of the piece and so he felt regret at having caused the noble General pain. Joimus, though, was at stake and since the keyboard was under the fingers of one who derived a certain unfair pleasure from having both Maximus and Frankagorn desiring her, he had no choice in the matter. Totally exonerated from all blame, the King added, "I expect she will return shortly...to my tent."

Maximus, his jaw working, dropped the light shard and walked silently into the darkness, Jack and Russell watching him go.

Ah, it was complete at last. Sid stood back, studying his handiwork. Clearly, by the light of the large pile of night shards, he could see the sublimity of his creation. He was so clever! And it was big enough not only for the General, but also for the Captain and the actor as well. Best of all, it blended perfectly in with its surroundings.

"Why are you smiling?" asked Bunny, coming up beside him.

"Why are you always watching me?" he glared, then allowed his lips to soften into a smile at the sight of her ever-appealing cottontail.

Running her fingertips down his lapel, she cooed, "Because you are always plotting some nefarious deed, my love."

"You disapprove?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

"Not entirely," she answered, thinking how a Sidless storyline would be, especially for her, less...um...colorful. She was stepping a bit too close to his creation.

Knowing English rabbits as well as he did, he ran the side of his forefinger down her cheek and murmured softly as he guided her in the other direction, "My tent is this way."

Bunny, fully aware this was to distract her, followed happily. Rabbits were good at some things, but resisting Sidtation was not one of them.

"Drat!" said Joimus, her frustration bubbling over. She had ridden off so quickly it was not until many miles had passed under Buttermilk's hooves she realized that without Frankagorn's visor she would not be able to see the maptrails she was leaving. When darkness fell, she was alone, huge spaces of empty desert surrounding her in every direction. She dismounted and gathered up all the light shards she could hold without severing her thumbs.

This was her first experience with the very un-Pittsburghy phenomenom of desert nightfalling, so she was disturbed by how rapidly the shards it left lost their glow. Soon she was leading Buttermilk in total darkness. Shivering, she rubbed her bare arms, the gossamer gown offering no protection from the deep chill of the desert night.

She could not help herself. Her mind went to the warmth of the rust colored wool, the thick layer of fur, ...the one who wore it. Again she felt his cheek resting on her back as they breathed as one. His seagreen eyes had looked into hers that very day, open, full of love, of the relief of coming to himself again, of remembering...her. There had been no deceit in them. Surely there hadn't. Had there? How could he have looked at her like that when all along Susan was bearing the fruit of his seed? It didn't make sense! It didn't...fit.

She was tired. The day had been very long, very full. When Buttermilk settled down for the night, she lay on the sand, pressed close to the mare.

Maximus had not slept. Dawn found him standing atop a high dune, staring into the distance.

"She did not return?" Aubrey said softly, coming up beside him.

The General shook his head silently, watching as Frankagorn rolled his tent.

As the King packed his saddlebags, he, too, kept turning to look across the sands. "She should have come back well before dark," he whispered to Hidoolgo, who nuzzled his pocket, looking for Milkbone treats. "Buttermilk's trails are so easy to follow when you...you...." He bit his lip, taking off his Stetson..."when you lower this visor."

Aubrey saw the grimace. "Something's up with the King, Maximus," he commented.

Cape flowing like a sail behind him, Maximus ran down the dune. "What have you done?" he growled.

Frankagorn turned, slowly holding out his hat. "I...I...forgot...," he stammered.

"You forgot? WHAT did you forget?" Maximus demanded.

The King stared at the Stetson, his eyes unblinking. "This...I forgot...this," he said barely audibly.

"Your hat?" Aubrey queried. "It's not forgotten. You have it in your hand."

Frankagorn looked at the two men, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "You don't understand," he said, his strong fingers raising and lowering the unique visor with a loud snap.

Russell joined them, taking the hat in his own hands and studying the visor. "What's this for?" he asked, completely baffled by the presence of such a thing on an otherwise perfectly good Stetson.

Frankagorn sighed deeply. "It's for seeing buttermilk maptrails," he confessed.

Maximus' ears perked. He'd heard Joimus' horse referred to by that name. He squared his shoulders, glaring at the King. "The reason Joimus rode off alone?" he asked, his deep voice deepening yet more.

Frankagorn closed his eyes, shaking his head as he replied, "She was laying maptrails for my return ride." He opened them, looking earnestly at the General. "I didn't think...I didn't...."

Maximus snatched the Stetson, practically stuffing it in Frankagorn's face. "What does this mean? Why is this important?"

"It..it makes the maptrails...visible," he murmured.

"What?" Aubrey shouted. "You mean she is out there alone and she can't see the trails!?!"

Numbly, Frankagorn nodded his head.

Maximus clamped his teeth down hard on his lower lip. He would NOT kill the King. Not right now anyway. "Where did you send her?" he demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Frankagorn pointed far to the right. "The Saltflats of Doom," he said, his shoulders sagging.

Maximus' breath hissed between his clenched teeth.

"My God," Russell whistled, "why do we even need Sid?"

The General was already running toward Argento. As Russell and Jack began to follow him, Himself called back, "I'd seriously reconsider that return to Gondor if I were you!"

Frankagorn, quickly tightening Hidoolgo's cinch, had other plans, however.