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The chance to leave the fort and the rude culture soon appeared. A party of men had determined to travel to New York, mostly by way of native canoes, a few sticks covered with bark and hardly looking sturdy enough to carry a child yet alone two men. I asked if I might come and they agreed that every hand was needed for the larger the party, the less likely a band of savages would attack. While peace was at hand between the French and the Indians, individual bands did not always observe the truce when civilized men crossed their territory.

I purchased such goods as the leader said I would need, including a rifle, gunpowder, and shot, which I was unskilled with, and other goods for the travel. I was paired with a trapper of some regard, Pierre Laurent, grizzled and tough.

We started early the next day traveling down the St. Lawrence River. Even though the leaders did not set a killing pace, and even though we rowed with the flow of the river, the constant pulling of paddle in water was killing for one as unused to such activity as I. At the end of that day, it felt as though my arms had been ripped from my body. The traders laughed at my predicament, and I suppose, had I not been the one, I would have laughed as well.

The next day, I could hardly hold the paddle and row. Pierre would tolerate no slacking and sat behind me, cursing me as we fell behind the others until I would again take up the paddle and row. The muscles of my arms screamed in torture at every dip and pull. Pierre would grunt at me and I would stretch forth my arms, other muscles screaming in pain and once again feel the torture as I pulled the paddle through the water. The first days stretched beyond human endurance, and yet, I survived. Two days into our journey, we left the St. Lawrence and entered the territory of New York.

By this time, I had somewhat become accustomed the paddle and Pierre's grumblings were of a minor nature. We entered a great lake, Black Lake according to Pierre. The end I could not espy. I had never seen a lake as large as this. Pierre quickly disabused me telling me of lakes many times larger than this one, lakes as large as seas themselves.

I noted a tension that evening as we put in on a bank. Pierre informed me that we had left civilization behind and might run into savages who would not take our presence lightly. I looked hard around but could only see the dense forests which covered every bit of land for leagues. There could have been armies of savages and I would not have known it.

We continued up the river for many days. At one point, Monsieur Pichette, the leader, had us pull the canoes from the river and we struck out into the wilderness. This was the most difficult part of the journey, carrying the canoes as we tramped through primeval woods.

It was the second morning and we expected to reach the next river that day. I had not yet arisen when I heard muffled exclamations. I opened my eyes to see the others standing. Close by was a group of savages. I grabbed my rifle and stood unsure what to do. I looked to Pierre, who stood casually as if nothing was wrong even though just a day before he had told me how these same savages cut off the scalp of whites when they killed them.

Monsieur Pichette could speak some of their language. I could tell nothing of what was said but I could tell that the savages were giving some sort of orders. Pichette turned to us and hissed, "Get dressed quickly and grab your things." We broke camp under the watchful eyes of the savages and set out.

After we had walked for several hours at a killing pace, Pichette called a halt. "What did they say?" asked one of the men.

"They said we weren't welcome in their land and had the morning to clear out. I don't know how far their land reaches but I intend to be off it before noon," he said. "Take some water and let's go." He hefted his canoe and off we went. We reached the banks of the Black River about noon. Pichette had us get in the canoes and set out immediately telling us that rivers often marked boundaries and we'd be better off on the river. I looked back after we were away and saw the group standing just in the trees watching us depart. A sense of dread filled me. How close had I come to feeling the stone axe of him cleaving my skull? Not for the first time, I wondered at the sagacity of my leaving Paris.

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Samantha Introduction With every breath I feel my muscles ache from pain and bliss.? I think to myself ?how did I get into this??? I am attached to the wall standing.? I can feel the sweat drip off my face and onto my pecks.? The stench of sex filled the air.? Wishing I could touch myself, but I am not allowed, nor able.? The light is dim, only lit by the candles.? I look over and there she sits, smiling.? She is wearing nothing but long leather boots.? Her brown eyes pierce my soul.?...

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There was a young woman in a sundress standing outside. She didn't have a clipboard or a sample and demonstration kit. There was a purse slung over her shoulder, and what looked like a DVD case in her hand. I couldn't imagine who she was. She wasn't dressed like the weirdos that go door-to-door selling religion, and she didn't really look like a hatchet murderer, either. In a way, she looked familiar, and she was very cute, but she looked tired and unhappy. I opened the...

Lord Ragan And The Tavern Owners Wife

Previously the great Lord Ragan had been caught in a terrible snowstorm whilst trying to cross wasteland known as The Badlands. He became separated from his two lieutenants, and he and his bodyguard Simmons had hopelessly continued together on foot after their horses died. Just at the moment, Ragan thought all was lost; they had spotted a tiny hamlet and were dragged in by the inhabitants.The hamlet was owned and ruled by a minor Lord, Lord Godfrey, a rather frail, blind old man. However,...

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