Bret and Zoa settled in their magical wickiup that sprung up from a bundle of cloth and saplings Magda planted in the ground. Laying under the wool blankets, they heard a low drumbeat and high pitched signing from outside. Emerging into the starry night, their eyes scanned the nearby clearing to locate the source of the sound. Sitting before a blue flamed campfire just a stones throw from the Golden path, they spied a campfire like none other they had ever seen. It burned blue flames that released sparkling embers up towards a winter’s moon. Sitting before it, an ancient Indian Elder was illuminated by the ethereal firelight. They walked cautiously towards him curious about his sudden appearance. His voice echoed from another time and place. The pair stood before him. His eyes fiercely stared into their souls. A wind whistled through the high barren branches of a nearby hemlock tree.
