Okay Guys, short one but it's something. Thank you all so so so much for the encouraging words. I'm so glad there are still people out there reading this story!

Thank you Kifu, Robyn Hood, nicsnort, and webaholic for your awesome reviews. Guys… You really made my day with these… thank you so much for your feedback and thoughts. They really make me excited to get back into this.

As always, thank you again webaholic for making sure my grammar wasn't absolutely abhorrent before I posted, and for all your Beta help.

Well, enough of that!

Here we go again…

November 24th, (very early morning)

I only have but a moment to spare. Wherever we have been going to, we've reached it; though I am still unsure of the reason. Around mid-afternoon we were herded up and then down a tall, rocky hill. I don't know how many times I slipped as they rushed us down. Needless to say my knees are an unpleasant sight to behold. On the other side there is a large river that winds in and out amid trees on either bank. We settled down on the shores of that river, waiting; though for what I have no idea.

As far as my story goes, it seems I am totally caught up on past events. After Erinth's death, things went on the same schedule that they had before. Only as I said, with the added excitement of coming so close to their destination. And now, we are here! But the meaning of that eludes me. Why capture and escort fifty plus prisoners, only to bring them to the mouth of a river?

Obviously they are waiting for someone. Perhaps coming by boat? I don't know… It's so hard to think. My head is more painful than it has been for some time. I'm having a hard time paying attention and focusing on my surroundings. And I think I may be hallucinating. I thought I caught sight of Logan this morning; sitting amid a cluster of other slaves. I almost broke my neck whipping it around to look. But it wasn't him, only a slave, Jemby I think he's called. And he bears no resemblance to Logan at all.

I don't know what to do about it… If they would allow us to go down to the water I could clean the wound. But I don't see that happening. I am so very tired…

The last word came out a scribble on the page as Kurt's vision blurred. Awareness warred with oblivion as he fought the urge to vomit or pass out. Maybe both

He had nothing else to write about, but he felt he must in order to stay awake. Something told him this wouldn't be a good time to let his exhaustion claim him.

I must... keep awake; at least for a while longer. The guards are moving along the lines every few minutes, kicking or striking any who look like they may fall asleep. I don't want another wound to tend to…

He reached up and scrubbed at his eyes while fighting back a yawn. He then began to draw a few crude sketches of the trees and landscape around him, stopping now and then to fill in the gaps with names or words.

I may not have Piotr's talent, but I can do some of the basics. Even now, there is a pair of white and yellow birds coming in low over the water that I think I'll try to draw.

Before he could scribble more than a few lines and shapes though…

Those birds must be very large. They are coming in slowly from around a bend in the river approaching us, their wings flapping in the wind.

But something about the way they move is strange….

Ach! They aren't birds at all, but ships! I can see that now as I block the sun from my eyes for a moment. There are at least two of them and what I thought were wings are really sails. Great sails that stretch out to either side, nearly touching each bank. One ship is slightly ahead; otherwise the sails would be catching up in each other.

So that is what our captors are waiting for! More slavers coming for us on ships. Brilliant really. Any rescue parties would be forced to a halt unless they have their own ships nearby, which is unlikely. And if I am brought aboard a ship… how much more impossible will escape be? If I'm lucky they will only be going a short distance up shore, to a town perhaps, one that trades in human cargo. But what if they don't stop soon? Travel by water can take weeks, or months. And I am not so delirious that I will hold up for that!

Somehow I must keep from being forced aboard that ship, though I can't even begin to conjure up a plan.

I will have to leave it completely in my Father's hands. Only then is there any possibility, for I have little strength of my own.

Perhaps I could jump overboard?

But first I must…

The ships were close enough now to see clearly the men scrambling about the decks. The guards called out greetings to them, waving, laughing and exchanging jokes in several different languages. Kurt tucked his journal away, bracing himself for an attempted escape. There was little hope for him, unless he could discover some means of getting free from his chains.

The slaves were forced to stand and shuffled closer to the edge of the river as the ships came to a slow halt. The great, outstretched 'wings' folded down and inward like a bird's, cutting off access to the wind as they dropped anchor. Three smaller boats were untied from the large ones and four men in each rowed them toward the shore. Kurt watched as the first two rows of slaves were taken aboard the little boats, noting that their feet chains were removed for the trip and they were disconnected from each other. He decided that would be his best chance, when he was separated from the man in front of him. If he escaped he'd still have the chains around his hands to deal with later, but that was something he thought he could manage. He'd try to jump into the water, then swim a distance away before they could send anyone after him. With all the other slaves, they probably wouldn't have enough people to spare.

"One thing about being trapped here that I can be grateful for," he thought to himself, "They don't have guns they could shoot me with when I start to run."

Kurt promised himself that he'd try and come back for the others… Maybe he could follow the boats along the shore, or go and get help, then tell someone the direction the ships had gone. It bothered him more than anything that he didn't have the strength to save them himself. He liked playing the part of the dashing hero sometimes, not to attract glory to himself, but for the joy of helping others. And his inability to do so chafed his very core.

It wasn't long before it was his lines turn, and he patiently waited for his chance. One by one the others were herded into the boat; one by one their shackles were removed. As his fell away he tensed, his only chance right in front of him. He lowered his head and remained still until they had pushed the dinghy out into the water again, rowing for the ships.

It only took a spit second for him to crouch then lunge forward, plunging into the greenish blue depths of the river and whatever awaited him there.

The book closes

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