I was dreaming again as I slept; I was deep in sleep, snuggled in for the day against the rough bark of a limb I could wrap my arms and legs around, to grab if needed. I thrash when I am restless. I was in a place that only exists in my mind. I was looking at the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen; I was watching her dance and sing; the sound of her voice was mesmerizing, it was hypnotic, it kept my ears tuned to her. She was a magnificent creature from the lands of ice and snow, olive skinned with long black hair which flowed freely as she moved with the grace of a lioness. Her face was painted, her dress was richly hued and finely woven, it was hung with the ivory of many teeth. She was barefooted and sang in a language that I did not understand, but language wasn't necessary; I could feel the emotions with which she sang, to which I rejoiced. She was singing, and dancing, her thankfulness to her own gods. I did not need to understand her words, they were not for me; they were for her gods.

Her song was explained in snippets, here and there by our guide. He knew the girl, he was of her kind. She sang of a place existing not outside of the minds of two people who are as of one soul. She sang of thanks for the water who gave the fish, to the sun who dried the fish. She sang of her thanks for her way of life, for milk and warm honey, for her world, she sang of water and snow, of her existence, and of the time shared with her lover. Her eyes, I could not withdraw myself from those dark pools of profound depth and width. Her voice, you could not tell it from the air that it filled with glorious sound. She was looking at me, she smiled as she wailed and writhed upon the snow laden grass. I felt something kin to pride, and hope, to spring to life in my chest at her acknowledgement of me. I wanted to speak, I wanted to ask her name; when the sudden blast of superheated air rushed up the mountainside, over shrub and stone and among the trees where I lay. The wind was absolutely violent and scalding. The mountainside shook furiously and a thunderclap the likes of which I had never before experienced shattered the silence with a deafening roar. The trees did not shake, they were lifted up by the wind, roots torn from the ground, they hurled through the air like the chaff shed from thrashing grain. Rock and stone, limb and root, hopes and dreams, all filled the air within an instant only to drop again in smoking ruin upon the ground in a scene of nightmarish chaos. I cannot say how I survived, or why; only that I did so, barely.

I lay senseless within a tangled twist of root and limb, stone and dirt, smoke and fumes. I could not hear, I could not speak, I could not breathe, I could not move; I felt nothing except surprise, wonderment, and sheer terror. I had only my eyesight and what I beheld next I cannot explain, yet I swear by the old gods, that it is true. From a crystal blue sky, a ring of white appeared and from beyond it came a streak of blue lightening, an unerringly straight streak of blue lightening; it did not deviate in any way. It did not fork, it did not bend. it did not flicker or fade. It flashed dark blue, and instantly the ground beneath me heaved again, shaking violently for a very long moment. I could see, and I had begun to breathe again, althougha somewhat stutteringly and ragged. My mind was open to recording the events in detail; and it did. Again from a crystal blue sky, cloudless and perfect; a white ring formed high above. it opened from nowhere, immediately before the that bizarre flash of blue light which passed with arrow straight flight and boomed in the distance. The earth shook again, my cradle of branch and bough, rock and stone swelled and swayed each time. Six times I counted the ring and the flash and the thunderous clap and the violent upheavals were growing slighter each time. Always the bolt of blue came from the same location in the flawless sky; every single time. This, wherever it came from, was not a passing weather pattern; it was cannonade, of that much, I was absolutely certain. I had seen it before, but not with weapons of this unimaginable magnitude. It was noticeably timed, it was well ranged, it was sustained and it was accurate. This was cannonade, and nothing else; something up there was unhappy with something down here where I was. Perhaps the sky was angry at the stones, perhaps something in the sky was irritated by the water, perhaps something beyond the sky was displeased with something beyond the earth. I did not know; and passed again into an unconscious state mentally, as physically I became more aware of my senses returning slowly, yet bringing reports of great pain and confusion with them as they came in.

My body, wrapped in pain and deep slumber, freed my mind, it drifted with the wind, through ages of time and distance untold. I was again walking the lush green fields of Derry in the Spring, before the very walls of the city; a proud young Jacobite; tall, educated, and clean. I man of my own making, through many years of toil and study under the apprenticeship of a Master Surveyor. I was young and proud, handsome, and full of myself; but I say that only now as an older man looking back through the lenses of wisdom and experiences. I was there because of my beliefs, my headful of nonsense, and my heart empty of any valuable experience. Lead fell upon us like sleet, from the positions above us atop the walls. It fell in volleys the size of grapes from the thindering mouths of smoking muskets. It fell upon us in barrages with devastating effect in rounds as large as young green melons. It destroyed metal and leather, arm and leg, flesh and bone, pride and morale, dreams and illusions alike among our men and beasts. It struck us down in great numbers for one hundred and five days of indescribable horror. It was noticeably timed, well ranged, sustained, and accurate. It was utterly merciless, and it ruined us completely. What little I know of surgery, I studied in the fields and hedgerows and coppices of Derry; from curious observation at first, and then by gruesome instruction later. Many a time I had held a man's wrist tightly as his arm was sawn off at the elbow or shoulder. Many was the number of legs I had carried away to be carelessly discarded in pits to be shoveled over. Many were the times I wrote another man's name and final words upon a scrap of stationery to be tucked into a pocket or belt, or wallet or sporran. Surgery was brutal, and fast; it was violent, and remorseless. It was as devastating in its own barbaric way, as battle is. I had learned the tourniquet and saw, the leather bight and alcohol, as well as the musket and sword, the flint and steel. I knew the fury of the cannon well; I knew its use, I learned its habits, and I witnessed its results.

For me, the war would last another two years and soon later I; and many others, would be banished by the Crown, from our native land. In exile, I went to France; and thereafter went with Duc de Villars, as France willed; to Blenheim, to Ramillies, and to Oudenarde. Later I would be sent to North America, from New England to New York, from Deerfield to Port Royal Acadia. In time, after untold butchery and misery, uncounted victories and defeats, I would be recalled to France. My presence was commanded. I screamed with pain and terror, my body awoke with spasms of agony; my flesh burned, my flesh bled, I was torn and rent. I curled inward upon myself, rolled to my right and fell another eight feet to the ground, landing headfirst in a steaming puddle of mud and sand. Dazed, I pushed myself up on my arms, struggled for breath, and vomited. Overwhelmed, I fell unconscious, face down in the filth. It has been said that it is likely exactly that which saved me; and I believe it could be so. 

Her name was Mu'na, she spoke Chuylm, her people were indigenous to the tundra from a wide river valley deep within the mountain range beyond the fires of the spirit world and the midnight sun, in the land of Siberia. I have not looked upon the like of her since the moment she smiled at me. She is exquisite; and savage; she is unmatched, and unforgotten. I wondered if she still lived; if not, I hoped she had enjoyed her life; if not, I hoped it had ended quickly, and with honor. In truth, I hoped I never knew any of those answers for certain because there can never be a time of exchanging what is, for what once was. What is past, is gone.