KTL

KRAAL’S OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING

By Brother Thomas

© 2008 by T-Ray Larsen

[ROUGH DRAFT – UNEDITED]

The Kraal’s of Thunder and Lightning – October 31, 2007

 
Ok, I think I can go with this now … . I wrote earlier of “a new course” a “new way to communicate” … . in addition to my usual thoughts, inspirations etc., I am beginning something called:

 
“The Kraal’s of Thunder and Lightning”

You may want to save those particular entries designated as such, I think, by the denotation “KTL” … . somehow I will make it clear … . The KTL entries will be part of a series, connected together … a story of sorts … . It may be satire, it may be inspired, it may direction … certain things said in a way that cannot be said otherwise … .

 
Note: the definition for “kraal” [krahl] Pronunciation Key - 

–noun

1.     an enclosure for cattle and other domestic animals in southern Africa.

2.     a village of the native peoples of South Africa, usually surrounded by a stockade or the like and often having a central space for livestock.

3.     such a village as a social unit.

 
The term thunder and lightning has meaning as well, but must unfold … .

 
I hope that you will enjoy this slight tangent, intermixed with the usual … .

 (truly, this is a time of great growth/awakening potential, btw)

The KTL: The Rendezvous Betrayal 1.1

“To Get Horses” — November 2, 2007

The Rendezvous Betrayal 1.1

 
It was a full day’s hike to the rendezvous. If all went well, though the return trip back to the “kraal” wouldn’t take much less time, it would be far more pleasurable as we would finally have some horses. The rugged, steep terrain surrounding Black Mountain for miles, is such that whether on foot, or on horseback, it must be careful going.

 
With me were Sky Watcher, Running Snake, and a young fellow, 17 years old, whose real name was Steven, but we called him Thumper, as he was always moving, antsy, drumming his fingers–classic “A.D.D.” Thumper was a new arrival to our village, having wandered into our extended perimeter, observed and picked up by one our scouts within the last month. Prior to stumbling into our territory, he had been roaming cold and starved, up and down the mountains for two weeks after having barely escaped from one of the detention camps in the valley–Camp Douglas, which sat just outside (what was left of) the city.

 
Although we were yet an hour or so away from Granite Council Rocks – the designated meeting place – both Sky Watcher and Running Snake seemed to think that we might meet with their brethren sooner. They said they could feel an approaching presence, which was focused on us. I thought I could feel it too.

 
It is a special sense the Indians/indigenous people have developed, seeing through space and time–truly remote viewing– and just one of the reasons I was so grateful to have them as my friends and brothers in these difficult days.

 
One never knew when drones or nosey satellites might be peering down from overhead, and so we stayed off the main trails, picking our way cautiously, quietly through the scrub oak, glittering groves of aspen, towering pines and furs. Always was it necessary to travel stealthily; besides the “hi-tech” surveillance tools used by the “new world army”, the wilderness now was also common ground for various motley groups of refugees: criminal gangs, terrified and often deranged “escapees”, lone-wolf survivors, and the occasional “spec ops” military foot-patrol.

 
Nevertheless, with all that was going on–the chaos and confusion nationwide, worldwide–it was still surprisingly possible to “disappear” – to survive without coming into over much contact with others. Indeed, it was a bit curious, in fact, and we often wondered why our barely hidden “kraal” had not been hassled, assaulted, or barely even noticed … . “Divine protection” was the spirited conclusion, affirmed with “amens” and “a-ho’s”, at the end of many late night campfire conferences.

Notes about things/a crossroads – November 3, 2007

 
One of those moments came over me, while at work, where I gotta drop everything, find my pen and some paper and write in one continuous flow as the thoughts pour out … .

This is what I wrote: “”We are at a crossroads…Some will not get it, are not called to it and will walk away….This does not necessarily mean those opposed, for the truth of “be hot or cold” given by the Master applies.  I suspect the lukewarm will be inclined to mosey on.  For the rest – we are at a cusp, a fork in the road…on the way to the ktl…. Remember, the spiritual path consists of spirit and so, the petty details comprised of the material shifting sand of a particular space and time … are flotsam for the most past…irrelevant.  The ktl is a spiritual location, denoted by metaphor (possibly sometimes literal, at the Lord’s discretion) …

 
and nowadays certain things can’t be said anymore in the old language, which has been virtually wholly corrupted, co-opted ….So, now, understanding and learning must be first and primarily assuaged IN THE SPIRIT–

 
This is a holy organic process, so be it, underway, for those choosing the eyes and ears to perceive it.  You may find yourself in the storyline, things communicated, engaged on a transcendent plane – the plane where astral temporality starts taking shape into veritable, literal spirit and even maybe material substance….

 
Pleasant adieu to those who shall not perceive, and welcome , to the Children, saints and adepts persevering–MORE can be communicated thru this tangent, now than via any other present means–It is a season, a new season, which too will have it birth, glory and transition towards the eternal ‘more’ … .”

 
For what time is left, where communications are still up and working, and there is yet relative security.  I have been compelled to shift into a slightly new mode … for a couple of reasons……

 
Though I tend to come off as a very serious person….know that I am actually quite lighthearted and a sense of play and adventure and humor is always attendant, even in the most dire of times….and this KTL project incorporates that sentiment ….

 
As it will unfold, as events continue to unfold on ‘the outside’ … it will reflect, just as daily blog entries do, current thoughts and reports on the movement of the Spirit … of the movement of those seeking to rule the world … . If you haven’t figured it out by now, which I’m sure you have …..I am working out the various end-game scenarios and how it might or could go.  In general terms, I have been deadly accurate in my predictions and descriptions which I began in the late 80s and 1991-1992 when I did a series of satirical radio shows and songwriting and essays ….. about describing the world we NOW ARE LIVING IN, and which is developing almost exactly as I suspected it would.  In fact, it’s more on track with how imagined it, than I would have ever imagined it COULD BE!!! lol……. Truly.  In many nuanced subtle ways as well as the more obvious things that others saw as well and have been warning of for many years.  I stood on their shoulders to see what I did see….no doubt…..

 
Anyway, I have been thinking that many of the things I have ’seen’ in the last few years, may likewise be five to ten to even 15 years out . .. …..And with a sense of foreboding and trepidation….I am suspecting that they will likewise turn out quite accurately.  In fact, this world, what is happening now, with all the social degradation, violence, downright demonic perversion and corruption, evil….and the natural disasters, catastrophes is the world I expected from a very young age.  I have recordings of me at age 14 talking about, just as I do now on Zeph’s shows …

 
Indeed I expected it would all start happening by the time I was 19 or so, lol……And in that respect, it HASN’T been quite as exact as expected, simply from a time-frame pov.  But looking back now, I can see patterns, and it roughly looks like the things seen ‘now’ or at a certain time, at least for me, are about 5 to 10 to sometimes even 15 years ahead of the actual materialization of such.  Which, I’m suspecting means that what I am writing in The Kraals of Thunder and Lightning, is visionary for a time maybe 10 to 15 years out…….

 
Though there is always the chance of things being moved up.  The whole business with trying to place things in time is dicey, as it is always changing, and, I believe, is even messed with more often than many would ever believe…..and so things that WERE going to happen, are being changed, altered, as we experience in this particular time track….It’s crazy, morphy stuff and not really meant to be obsessed over or even noticed as it relates to the purely Spiritual Path, which transcends time and space altogether….at least THIS particular temporal, material time and space…..

 
So, anyway, I will break in when the Spirit moves me, but generally, the same spiritual insights, impetus that is always there, will simply be put into this new format.  There are the other fine, more staid and traditional scholarly bloggers here, who can hold down that fort very ably … while I experiment with this new tack. …….. It will be interesting to see who does or doesn’t do something similar…perhaps they already are and I just don’t know it.

 
Anyway, I’ve been waiting a long time for this ‘go ahead’ and for me, from my pov, it signals a sea-change….a real crossroads….it means things are changing in a big way in various ways, and so I am adapting to new realities . …….flexibility and adaptation along with sense of humor and general not taking things too seriously….even though things ARE serious ultimately……..it is paradoxical that one must not take oneself or life too seriously in a sense….to ACTUALLY operate and achieve very serious ends … …

 
———————

 
So, last I wrote, Eagle Voice and his rendezvous troup were approaching Granite Council Rocks (these were actually the purpose/destination for the “Fjorder Five Hundred” for those familiar with that footage at my myspace) … .  . They are feeling an approaching presence, which isn’t making sense because they are yet an hour or so away from the rendezvous … . .and so some caution is in the air . ….. They are going to meet supposedly a group of Ute Indians, who are bringing some horses for the Fjorder’s Clan Kraal, which Eagle Voice established … . Though the Fjorder clan never themselves made contact with the Utes, it was to have been arranged by the trusted Bottomless-Well-Hawk, he who in fact gave Eagle Voice his ‘native’ name.  Bottomless Well Hawk lives in another state which has not been as violently affected by recent events, as where the Fjorder Clan have their survival village … …  Tomorrow, the story moves on …

KTL: The Rendezvous Betrayal 1.2

“Moving With The Wind” – November 7, 2007

 The Rendezvous Betrayal 1.2

 
We had just crested a ridge and were descending a dry-creek ravine – one deep valley and then another peak away from Granite Council Rocks. Shadows were growing long early, as they do in the mountains, but it was still only afternoon and we expected to make the appointed sunset meeting time.

 
Well into fall, it was almost impossible to move silently, where the ground was thick with dry leaves, snapping twigs, brittle grass … but fall also brings gusts and breezes, and one can develop a rhythm, making noise, when walking, which mirrors the timing of the wind, so that when a gust comes up, rustling leaf and branch, quicker and more steps are made.

 
Our progress was steady and quick, single file, when Sky Watcher touched my shoulder from behind. I turned around to see my stalwart friend was pointing up.

 
The unmistakable thin white body of a predator-type drone aircraft glided silently southbound, then disappeared into a dense, grey-white pile of cumulus cloud. The rest of the sky was blue.

 
Running Snake, several yards ahead of us, had already stopped with head cocked, listening towards downhill.

 
Instantly, we heard it as well–barely distinguishable from the rush of the growing canyon wind, which swirled on its own determined mission to take advantage of the shed, dead foliage … but the sound was clear enough to detect, the crunching underfoot as something, or somebody proceeded in our direction.

 
Then the movement stopped, as we had stopped, silently listening … soon followed by the call of a meadowlark.

Running Snake shot me a questioning look, his eyes asking if he should return call. Someone was obviously wanting to engage us. But it didn’t match the protocols we had established for the scheduled rendezvous at Granite Council Rocks. There, we were to have met some sympathetic Utes, who were bringing horses, as arranged by a trusted mediator, Bottomless-Well Hawk– a guileless man and he who it was that gave me my “native” name Eagle Voice.

 
But, a meadowlark call was not one of the agreed upon codes. It did, however, have personal meaning to me, which gave me pause … .

 
Had something gone wrong? Maybe the meeting place was compromised and we were dealing with some sort of “plan B” hastily devised by the Utes … .

 
Since the meadowlark’s was one of the few bird songs I could well mimic, I decided to answer myself.

 
There was a brief pause and some audible murmuring, carried updraft, then a call was returned, followed by several sets of crunching, heavy feet moving towards us.

 
Sky Watcher pointed skyward once more and there again was the drone, flying above us, having come back out of the clouds, and was banking into a circular observational mode. Likely, it had seen us, or the others we were about to face; or maybe it was connected to this suddenly developing scenario … .

 
Unfortunately, self-defense was an ever present concern, along with the constant thought of covering for others less able, those under one’s direct care. We did not have guns with us – but sturdy fjording sticks, knives, axes, bows and arrows, some swords, were kept back at the kraal in an armory, in case of emergencies. I always traveled with a fjording stick as did most of those who ever went with me on ventures. Running Snake was stubborn, and carried nothing for defense; this was long accepted because he was my top scout and tracker, and oftentimes would vanish into the brush, following a lead, and liked to be hands-free and light-footed.

 
Thumper and Sky Watcher both carried well-tested sticks, and Thumper bore a hunting knife on his belt, which Sai-Ba had given him– (Sai-Ba is the sentry who brought him originally to our little haven–they had become fast friends.) In any case, one never knew what might be confronted, and all my defensive instincts were rising as the unknown, unexpected bodies approached, coming up the ravine.

 
Here was a thorn in my side: The whole question of weapons, violence, protection, self-defense … Until I understood the inestimable power and reach of the Yeshua Hoop, I assumed that my innate knowledge and seeming experience of warfare, of being a warrior, Kshatriya caste … had to be derived from many lives spent in countless military settings, histories; setting sail for the doomed Sicilian campaign amidst hundreds of gleaming Athenian galleys; wielding broadsword in Roman phalanx against Nordic giants; dark ages noble with vassals to protect; crusading warrior saint pledged to chivalric codes; the samurai, the Shao-lin monk; free Cherokee brave … .

 
No question for me, post “fall of man”, that life on earth is a battle–always spiritually and often physically as well. On the other hand, my Master is the King of Peace and never Himself took up arms, so to speak. How to deal with violent adversaries, of which there seemed to be no end, was an issue of regular debate in our longhouse.

 
Yet, when our kraal was under attack, by soulless murderers and thieves, who were scavenging the wilderness in one particular thirty-man, makeshift gang, I watched the complacent moralism of some of our resident “peaceniks” blow away like a scarecrow in a Kansas tornado–and all I could think to do, in that horrific moment, was rush to arms to defend them–save them all from imminent rape and death.

 
Well-meaning platitudes dissolved in the twinkling–nay, abject terror–of an eye, when elders, women, children, the weak and sick under my gathering and care, found themselves under cruel assault, suddenly, by bloodthirsty, demonic brigands, who had heard tale of an easy mark–the Fjorders Clan Kraal of Thunder and Lightning.

 
I do consider it a failing, that I am not saint enough to have absolute faith, able to stretch my hands like Moses, and command supernatural intervention on a moment’s notice. I believe it is possible, and it is a personal goal to be there … . It has been, throughout the whole end-times continuing ordeal, a primary struggle to know just how to deal with the realities of ever-present, conspiring and vicious threats against those whom I love and serve.

 
So far, miraculously it would seem, in every dire situation, we had managed to avoid returning with deadly force–we strenuously defended and devised creative ways to deal with our defeated enemies (such as “munificent rendition”, a technique I will describe later.) Though, myself and others, similarly concerned for our peoples’ welfare, were prepared to fight to the death if necessary, shielding the loved ones within our modest protectorate. Nevertheless, God’s mercy always had intervened causing strange and unlikely twists to the dreaded scenarios; though, every day was new, and it was always a question how to appropriately respond.

 
The KTL: The Rendezvous Betrayal 1.3

“the ‘nu-ku-lar’ option” – November 13, 2007

 
“Hello,” someone called out from below. Three human shapes became discernable, pushing through the scrub, climbing up toward us.

 
“Greetings,” I responded, then asked, “Who goes there?”

 
Running Snake and Sky Watcher both were visually scouring the terrain on all sides of us, in case the visitors were not alone, and perhaps we were surrounded.

One of the men looked Native American, the other two, Caucasian. Of the two whites, one, who was taller and clearly more fit, appeared every bit military; the other, I recognized as a man named Newell, aged late-50s.

 
Newell and I were friends by circumstance for a time, nearly two years before – cell mates, in fact, at the conclusion of the incredible “day the city stood still” experience. Newell, I learned during our joint captivity, had been a bishop in his church; a family man, successful in business, and also been leading a secret gay life. When mercenary “freedom fighters” sprung us from our cell, we parted, I thought as friends, each going our separate ways. He, to find his family; me, to find mine … . Including the son of Silver Fawn.

 
“Eagle Voice?” the marine-looking fellow asked. Newell, acknowledging me and smiling, added, “Yes, that’s him. Hi, my friend, long time no see!”

 
The Indian with them seemed nervous and, though feigning cordiality as well, I immediately didn’t trust him and suspected he was not a Ute – had nothing to do with those we were supposed to be meeting for horses.

 
“I’m Dodge Martin, Captain of the Sons Of The Republic,” the other white man said, moving toward me and offering his hand. “I think you know Newell Jensen, and this is Eric Bloody Knife, my friend and scout in these parts. I had heard of the Sons Of The Republic – just one of many groups, tribes, communities etc., having sprouted in different parts of the country, responding to the cavalcade of natural catastrophes, civil collapse, and rumored foreign invasion in some quarters.

 
I had yet to meet anyone from the Sons Of The Republic, but had heard of them and knew that they loosely based their identity on the George Washington’s vision of the “3rd peril” expected to befall the United States. I understood them to be based in the southeast, and was surprised to now be meeting, informally, one of their representatives, so westerly, in the Wasatch Mountains.

 
Capt. Dodge Martin, sat down the pack he was carrying, as did Newell, and brought out a canteen, offering us a drink of water.

 
“No thank you,” I responded, suspicious of this sudden “chance” encounter.

 
“You’re just the man I was hoping to find,” Dodge said, putting his canteen back, I noticed, without having taken a sip. “I’m glad we caught you before you made it to your destination. Bad news in that respect – you were compromised. Coincidentally, I was traveling through that area and met a Ute, wounded, who was fleeing the scene where you were to have met. Apparently, army intelligence intercepted communications along the way – the Ute said that a mountain patrol showed up and there was a shoot-out, leaving all dead except for himself, and he was high-tailing it back to his people, terrified.”

 
This was sad and shocking news, if true and implied possible immediate danger, if the mountain patrol was still lurking.

 
“What brings you to this region? Aren’t you a long ways from home? On foot? You say you were looking for me?” I asked the Captain, somewhat incredulously.

 
“Yes! Yes!” he assured, moving to sit on a nearby large rock. “It’s amazing luck that we came upon you … . Mr. Bloody Knife here is a great scout as well. Plus, Newell I met at an encampment twenty miles south of here, and when I asked around, he said that he knew you and had a rough idea where your camp was located, and chose to accompany me.”

 
“Who was the meadowlark?”

 
“Me,” Dodge replied. He repeated the call then added, “I’d heard that would be something you’d respond to … . We weren’t sure who we’d find out here … . ”

I doubted this explanation.

 
“Check flanks.” I blurted to Running Snake and Sky Watcher. This meant for each to take sentinel positions atop the ravine, and both immediately responded, dashing straight up either side.

 
Thumper came up next to me.

 
Dodge chuckled. “No worries, friend … we’re alone. I come in the name of the growing resistance.” He held up his hands, saying, “We come in peace … . ”

 
He motioned to Bloody Knife and Newell to sit down and while rummaging through his pack. “I’m hungry. Let’s break bread and I’ll tell you how I ended up so far from home. Big events … ” he said, shaking his head, frowning. Then, noting my clear reticence, he exclaimed:

 
“Really, I’m delighted I’ve found you! My god man, let’s have a bite and some rest and I’ll fill you in.”

 
I squatted and scooped a small handful of pulse from my leather satchel, and tossed it in my mouth, studying Dodge closely – who seemed to be performing. After seeing him not take a drink from the canteen he offered, I wasn’t about to eat any of his food.

 
“Fresh smoked venison and ‘Navajo bread’, I’ve saved for this occasion,” he said, bringing the items out from his pack, laying them on a rock next to himself. “Call your men back so we can have a little pow-wow here together.”

Dodge’s effort to connect seemed flip to me – almost derisive – and I was growing convinced that this “chance” meeting was a garden-variety set-up. There had been the accompanying drone, which easily could have accounted for Dodge’s amazing “luck” in stumbling straight into our path.

Sky Watcher, upon reaching the ravine summit and surveying, hooted an alert, signifying additional approaching trouble, which he was observing.

 
Newell pulled some bread from his own pack, caught my eye and said, “The Captain here says that this whole area up here is about to be hit with nu-ku-lar weapons!”

 
I smiled to myself–the mispronunciation was intentional and it warmed my heart, for Newell’s sake. He was a good man and still a friend, apparently.

 
I promptly whistled the meadowlark tune for Sky Watcher and Running snake to hear. Whatever Dodge knew, he didn’t seem to know the real message that call was meant to convey. My men, however, did and under cover of a swiftly complying canyon gust, they raced back down from their lookouts to help me with the now necessary actions to be taken.

 
As for the “nu-ku-lar” tip … Bishop Jensen and I spent many hours sorting through recent events, talking and analyzing what had just happened to us, there in that prison cell in the city; and one of the things we figured out, was that it was not simply moronic, nor lack of education which caused so many in high government positions to mispronounce the word “nuclear” … . In fact, it had been deliberate to let insiders know to which conspiratorial faction the speaker belonged.

 
Needless to say, neither myself nor Newell sympathized with those of “nu-ku-lar” locution. He was giving me an unambiguous heads-up about Dodge.

 
“I’ve got to tell you about aiyeee–!” The Captain’s diversionary banter was cut short by Running Snake tackling him from behind. Bloody Knife jumped to his feet, but was likewise knocked and pinned to the ground amid grunts and swearing, while Thumper rushed Newell, with fjording stick swinging, aiming to strike the bishop in the head. Newell ducked, thankfully and I held Thumper back, “not him, he’s alright.”

 
I joined Running Snake in subduing Dodge, which wasn’t easy.  He was large and trained for hand-to-hand combat.

 
“Sons-a-bitches!” he sputtered, during a fairly brutal struggle, which left all three of us cut and bruised.

 
“There is a patrol at the bottom of the canyon, coming our way,” Sky Watcher said, as he bound Bloody Knife with some of the rope we always carried for just such, and other more benign purposes.

 
Running Snake and I likewise got Dodge under control while Thumper stood by Newell.

 
“Check their packs,” I directed Thumper, then raising my fighting staff high over head–menacingly, over the Captain’s head–said, “Who do you really serve and what really happened to the Utes and our horses?”

 
“You’re crazy,” Dodge sneered, “I’m trying to help you–I came to warn you … . ” I could see that the same spec-ops intel which informed him (though imperfectly) of some meadowlark pertinence, also had told him that it was highly unlikely that I’d be striking–let alone torturing–him for more information.

 
Were I a Godless man, I would have simply slit their throats, including Newell, just to be safe. What would it matter? If there was no God, no absolute right and wrong … and only survival of the fittest to be considered, then dispatching all potential enemies made scientific sense. Or, there are those who do ill in God’s name; or, conveniently look to gods who don’t mind a little slaughter on theirs or their followers’ behalf.

 
Ignoring expediency for mere temporal outcome, however, those in league with the Kraal’s of Thunder and Lightning, forswore the taking of life if at all possible, or causing vindictive harm, pain, suffering on others, even enemies. And so, once again, I would take my chances – relying on divine principles and absolute truths, and leave alive ones who probably were tasked with destroying me and my friends.

 
Meanwhile, the drone was still circling above, giving credence to our suspicion of a set-up and Thumper was finding all manner of supporting evidence in Dodge and Bloody Knife’s packs: gps devices, military maps, mre’s, etc., items not usually available to the “outlaw communities”.

 
“Bring their packs,” I said. “and Bishop … you’re coming with us.” We had to move fast out of the area before Dodge’s support unit fell upon us.

 
I brought my fighting stick down, gently tapping Dodge on the head and shoulders.

 
“You have been touched by the KTL. Consider yourself fortunate and blessed,” I said with a smile, adding to Thumper: “Gag them and let’s get out of here. They’ll be rescued shortly.”

 
“It was Bloody Knife who betrayed the Utes” Newell interjected, pointing at the scowling Indian.

 
The KTL, Chapter 2: The Yeshua Hoop/ 2.1

“Warrior’s Pace” — November 18, 2007

 
[story note: I’ve done some revisions on 1.3 “the nu-ku-lar option”-the most important being the last line spoken by Newell at the very end of the section……. and now begins chapter 2  “The Yeshua Hoop”  … . whereby I can attempt to express my deepest understanding and import of the ‘mystical’ realm … where knowledge of things past, things present, things future … reside …within the all-expansive mind of Jesus … within Jesus’ mind … where the pagans and those genuinely prone to the occult, the hidden, arcane … only retrieve slivers of the vast reality, thinking to bask in but barely lit corners of the divine effulgence of … God Almighty … . but where, those in humility … gain access … … in humble degrees, which is sufficient, to the literal and One universal mind … …

 
——————————————

 
“C’mon,” I said, and we bounded swiftly back up the ravine, from where we had come, and ran down the other side, away from the Dodge encounter and the approaching back-up forces. Luckily, Newell was able to keep up reasonably well—life during survival times forced most people to become the healthiest and strongest they had been their whole lives previous.

 
Many bad habits were dropped, out of necessity (no access), and while food wasn’t often lacking, it was mostly plain, organic and thus free of all the preservatives and additives which had been blighting the population for many years. In short, necessity and trial had strengthened and generally purified the bodies and minds of many, who were subject to the most disruption.

 
After putting some distance between us and the expected pursuers, and I halted the retreat and spoke, signaling for Dodge and Eric Bloody Knife’s packs to be put down on the ground.

 
“Let’s head for the Moonsetter’s Clan. They’re not too far from here—”

 
Running Snake and Sky Watcher both gave me puzzled looks. They knew that the Moonsetters were not a particularly hospitable conclave in relation to the KTL. They were comprised of mostly old biker gangs, very rowdy, and involved with the drug trade, the flourishing of which trade would seem impervious to the Apocalypse itself.

 
“First, let’s everyone fill up in the stream over yonder-” I motioned that the packs be left where they were, and waved for everyone to follow me down through a thicket, to reach a mid-sized gurgling rivulet.

 
I whispered to the others, knowing that the splash and chortle of the stream would mask my words from the listening devices in Dodge and Knife’s backpacks, which were now thirty or so feet away.

 
“Everyone is going to have to move quick. This whole thing — the encounter, the nearby patrol does not bode well.” I said, “I think this is all the beginning of trouble for the Kraals, as I have been warning. I’m surprised we’ve left alone this long.” Sky Watcher and Running Snake nodded in assent.

 
Pointing to the two natives, I said, “You guys will have to do a feint—take the packs, which I’m sure are being traced, followed … and run them to the edge of the Moonsetters compound.” I chuckled quietly, “Dodge and his friends can party with the bikers. Then you have got to hurry and go to Granite Council Rocks, just in case Dodge’s story was a lie.” I didn’t know what to make yet of Newell implicating Eric Bloody Knife, and what that meant for the Utes.

 
“More than ever it looks like we’ll be needing horses—if we’re soon to be harassed by government troops. Whatever you find at Granite Council, horses or not, then return back home.

 
“Thumper, I want you to run now straight back to the Kraal and tell Nandi everything that has happened and tell her to put the village on full sentry alert–she’ll know what to do. I’m going to take Newell back to his camp, take care of some business in that area … and then I will be back, and we’ll decide what to do … . I’m afraid we may be needing to move.”

 
“Is she the big, black one?” Thumper whispered.

 
I smiled and nodded.

[continued page 2…..]