Author's Note: Living is like licking honey off a thorn.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, and I am only writing it because Vol Lady wished it.

Smell that honeysuckle…

Heath felt uneasy. The spicy, sweet scent of honeysuckle had been heavy in the air when the rabid wolf had attacked Nick.

Heath did not believe Nick was dead.

He could be. He probably was.

Rabies kills. Almost always. Rabies kills.

Heath shivered. Please God, don't let him be dead.

Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid…. Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you.

So does anthrax always kill, yet Prince Oxford still lived.

Heath did not believe Nick was dead either.

He smelled the honeysuckle, and saw the yellow woodbine near the corner of the house, even before he saw the huge tree Nick had described with the ancient dilapidated swing still hanging from it. He turned into the yard, dismounted, and tied his mare to the porch railing.

Then the door of the house opened, and his brother was in his arms.

Heath had not truly been afraid before. But now that it was over, and the sixty day incubation period was up, as he watched Nick and the boy Tommy mock-wrestling on the ground, fear gripped him. What if Nick had died? What would I have told the family? How would I have faced them? He went white at the mere thought, but the laughter of the two on the ground in front of him helped to calm him.

Nick was alive. That was the main thing. That was the only thing.

Nick was alright, so everything would be alright.

"Hey," Tommy said, sitting up. "If we're going to Massachusetts on the train, when are you gonna teach me to ride a cuttin' horse?"

"What's wrong with now?" Heath asked. "Where's Coco?" Heath had an idea that Nick's venerable silver dapple gelding would be more forgiving of a beginner than his mare. And anyway, Dot was not a 'cuttin' horse.'

Nick, seated on the ground, was laughing. "We don't have any cattle to 'cut,'" he objected.

Heath looked around. "The swing can be a steer, and the woodbine bush there. Dot can be a cow, and I'll be a maverick calf for you." He winked at Tommy. "How'd that be?"

Tommy looked at his hero. "Can we, Nick?"

"Sure."

"Okay, Tommy," Nick instructed, when the boy had mounted the gelding, "you wanna stay in the middle of the saddle."

The red head nodded vigorously, to indicate understanding.

"Sit up straight," Nick told him, as man and boy and horse approached the makeshift 'herd.' "Shoulders over your hips, hips straight over your ankles…. You're doin' real fine, Tommy."

Heath, sitting on his haunches near Dot, mooed suggestively. The mare's head dipped towards her master, perhaps wondering if he'd lost his mind.

"Okay," Nick continued, "as long as we're moving forward, you wanna keep that position, stay balanced."

They were almost to the 'calf.' "Now," Nick said, "slouch down like you're sinking into the saddle. Pretend you're melting. Sit back on your bottom." He put a black gloved hand up to Tommy's shoulder, and shook it, then moved down to the boy's elbow and did the same. "Neck, arms, and shoulders soft. Everything soft and melty."

Heath was impressed with the gelding's ability and willingness to put up with this. Next to him, Dot whuffled confusedly. He mooed at her plaintively, but she had no interest in feeding him.

"Now, Coco's gonna turn, so you wanna keep your back collapsed, but just shift a little weight toward the herd here. Think of your tailbone connecting to Coco's herd-side back leg. That's what's gonna keep you balanced. No, you don't need to be way over to the side. Just a little bit—good, like that." Coco pivoted neatly through the turn. "Now just let your body come back into alignment. Good!"

They continued working on it a little longer, until Nick and Tommy were satisfied with the boy's ability to separate Heath from the swing, the bush, and the mare. The heady fragrance of the yellow flowers had strengthened as honeysuckle always did at twilight.

"All this work has made me thirsty," Heath said. "How's about a sip of honeysuckle?"

"What?!" came from Nick and Tommy in unison.

Heath approached the bush. "Just a taste for my friends to wet their beaks," he ordered the plant as if it were a barkeep.

A tiny bird burst from the plant, making scratchy noises, and emitting a sharp "chee-chee-chee!"

To Nick and Tommy's surprise, the blond man made a popping noise, then "chee-chee-chee"d right back at the bird. It dove toward him as he deftly plucked a double handful of the long yellow blossoms.

"Chee-Chee-Chee!" Heath was faced away from them, so they couldn't tell if the last word (or chee) was had by the bird or the man.

Perhaps the man, for the bird flew off, its head a brilliant purple in the red rays of the setting sun.

"What did he say to you, Heath?" Tommy asked, excitedly. "And what did you say back?"

The blond laughed. "He said, 'This is my bush, keep away!' and I said, 'This is Tommy's bush, and there's enough here for us all.'"

Tommy's eyes rounded in amazement.

Heath pulled the bottom off one of the flowers. "You see this string?" The little red head nodded. "Okay, you wanna start pulling that out, then went you see a drop, that's it." He held the bottom of the blossom to his lips and sucked. "Pure nectar," he confirmed. "You wanna try?"

Tommy nodded and took one of the flowers. When he'd sucked out the bit of nectar, he smiled at Heath. "Now Nick."

Heath held out one of the flowers to his big brother.

"Oh, no." The black glove waved the blossom away.

"It's sweet, Nick," Tommy urged him. "Don't be afraid! I'm sure you'll like it."

Heath grinned.

"All right, give it here." He took the flower, but pulled too roughly, and the little string broke. "Oh, I got a dud!" he exclaimed, much to his auditors' amusement. Heath broke another piece off the bottom and helped him draw out the 'thread'. "There's the drop!" Nick yelled in excitement, then sipped the sweet nectar, and laughed at the pleasant taste. "It's a lot better than Bullfrog Stew," he admitted.