Bayou Beast - Bayou_Beast - Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Our Home, Lakay

Now let me be quite clear — I consider myself to be a simple creature by nature. A quiet, uncomplicated life was all I ever hoped for. With that being said, even I cannot deny the way my life has transpired would be considered extraordinary by many. My name is Agwé. More than likely an unusual name to many of you. It is pronounced "Ogg-way". At least I hope that makes it easier. What follows is a first-hand recording of my life, such as it were. Being reluctant to call any amount of attention to myself, it took years of persuading from loved ones for me to finally relent in my old age and put pen to parchment. Without any further dawdling, let us start at the very beginning.

I was born in the village of Lakay in the year 1872. For those unfamiliar, this was located in the heart of Bayou Nwa, a massive swamp in the southeastern United States. It wasn't an easy birth, or so I've been told. My feeding tube was wrapped around my neck three times, you see. Three times! The village healer hadn't seen anything like it. Claims it was a miracle I survived at all. But survive I did. You could say that survival became something of a habit for me over the course of my life.

Many years ago, my Gran immigrated from Haiti to America with my Mama and her siblings when they were children, searching for a better life in this land of opportunity. I consider myself fortunate to have grown up in our little village, surrounded by my entire extended family. As a matter of fact, we comprised the entirety of the town. Gran was there, a few aunts and uncles, and a whole pack of cousins. And Mama, of course. We were blessed, there's no denying it.

There weren't many more caring than my Mama, yet ferocious as a panther when the situation called for it. No one would be harming her loved ones on her watch, no sir. I was her only child. My father wasn't the staying type, I suppose. Never met the man, but Mama and me got by just fine. She sold fishing bait out of our home and I helped out as best a young boy could. Collecting crickets and worms sure never felt like work to me. It let me explore the swamp to my heart's content, which was usually all day, every day.

As a boy, one might say I possessed a good-natured soul. Gentle. Frequently found with a smile on my face, whistling as I went. Usually found in naught but my favorite pair of overalls. Ever since I can remember, there was a desire within me to protect the vulnerable. Though often quiet and measured, there was kindness. And a deep love for my life and the beings within it. How could there not be? I was lucky enough to be surrounded by people I cared about greatly in a land that was dear to me. Not everyone finds themselves in possession of such valuable things.

Now don't get me wrong, there were plenty of things one could dislike about living in the bayou. Between the unrelenting humidity, and mosquitos that seemed to relent even less. There was also the small matter of venomous snakes and man-eating gators to watch out for. Did I mention the vicious panthers? Despite all this and more, the bayou felt a lot like paradise to me. With its soothing warmth and miles upon miles of untouched wetlands, I filled my days with swimming, exploring, climbing trees, and playing games in the mud with my cousins. It's where I learned to be resourceful. To be happy and free.

My uncles were great role models for me. Though certainly not perfect, they were honest, hard-working men. Always willing to pass on skills and lessons to me like I was their own son. I wanted nothing more than to soak up everything they had to offer, through both their words and actions. It was they that taught me how to live off the land, how to locate food in all its varieties, how to remain silent when sneaking through the marshes, and countless other lessons that alone would fill every page of this manuscript.

Our family was kind and peaceful as a whole. Violence never did come naturally to me. With that being said, I was warned that some of the folk that lived outside the bayou could be very different from us. That there were evil men willing to rob and cheat. Even kill to get what they wanted. As a young boy, this frightened me greatly, but as the years passed in peace, I mostly forgot about the outside world. I reckon most of us did. We rarely saw anyone pass through the swamp, and if they did, they never lingered for long.

Mama, Gran, and my aunts loved to cook. And I just so happened to love to eat. It seemed to me a perfectly made match. Fact is, I was always quite large for my age. Even a little pudgy as a child. Now I'm not one to brag, but as I entered my teenage years, I got strong. Real strong. Strong as a bear, my Gran would often say. If anyone in the village needed help with a heavy task, such as hauling a fallen tree, or retrieving a cart stuck in the mud, I became their go-to fella. I sure never minded. Helping others was always something that brought me great joy.

At this point in my tale, it seems as good a time as any to mention my family's beliefs. We practiced a form of voodoo, you see. Now I don't intend to go into great detail about our practices. I've learned from a lifetime of experience that most people become alarmed once the word voodoo is uttered. Certainly, I can recognize how our rituals would seem very different from an outsider's cultural practices. But what I do want to make very clear is that we didn't wish or cause harm to anyone, as the gossipers claimed in that day. First and foremost, we were a peaceful people. Central to our people's doctrine was a belief in the bayou's voodoo spirits. That if they were honored and respected, they would provide us with guidance and strength.

I'll never forget the words of my Gran as she taught us of the spirits. When she first traveled to America she described being guided by some unknown, yet familiar force into the swamps. Once here, she experienced an intense connection to the spirits. A closeness not felt to the same degree anywhere else beforehand. Over time, we have come to believe that when one of us passes on from this life, they live on. Joining the spirits that reside in the swamp from the other side. As a result, a strong feeling of sacredness was developed for the land. We felt encouraged to preserve our home and respect all forms of life found within.

Early on in my life, I developed this same strong love of the land, and most especially for the animals within. I recall as a young boy being drawn to them. Recognizing the pure spirits these creatures possessed, and desiring fully to protect them from harm. Countless hours of my childhood were spent leaping with the frogs, swimming with the catfish, or simply watching the turtles as they slowly journeyed through the mud. Simply put, I loved them. They were innocent and free, and deserved to remain so.

Over time, I found myself becoming more and more in tune with the animals. This was a gift, as Mama saw it, given to me by the bayou spirits themselves. For she witnessed the way that many creatures seemed to be calmed in my presence. That they wouldn't feel threatened or flee as they might with another member of our family. Certainly this didn't mean I was eager to jump in front of a mother alligator and her eggs. All creatures had the ability to be dangerous, with instincts to be respected. But my love for the animals was pure, with only their best interests at heart. By some miracle, many of these creatures could sense my peaceable nature. Once feeling that, they would often feel comforted around me and display that same peace in turn.

Like most growing boys, I was most surely careless at times. This, combined with my growing gift with the animals, had the potential to put me in some highly dangerous situations. Let's talk about the most memorable of those situations next, shall we?

Chapter 2: Night of Ayida

It happened on a particularly stormy bayou night. Must have been about 12 years old at the time. The rain was torrential, wind whipping through the moss-covered trees. Though the village had long since fallen asleep, I found myself unable to drift off. A powerful uneasiness had fallen over me. Despite the storm, there was an unmistakable urge within me to enter the nearby grove of trees surrounding our village. A bizarre impulse, to be sure. I was never one to sneak out of bed at night. Much less into the dangerous wilderness by myself.

Yet the urge grew to be overwhelming, and I soon found myself leaping out of bed, slipping silently through the front door, and bounding into the trees. Bare feet sloshing through pools of mud and water as I went. This was insanity, I thought to myself. Had I simply lost my mind? But no, that wasn't it. Something was wrong in the bayou. I could feel that now. Though my eyes were keen, the night was dark and soaking wet. Continually bombarded with heavy rain drops, I stumbled deeper and deeper into the swamp, praying to the bayou spirits to lead me. Should something go wrong, I doubted anyone would be able to find me in such conditions. But before long the sound of commotion reached my ears from a distance.

I hurried my pace despite the shivering, making a beeline towards the noise. Slipping and sliding as I went, I was soon close enough to make out a particular sound that brought me to an immediate stop. The shrill, enraged scream that only one swamp beast could have made. Panther. My heartrate quickened. Breathing stopped. Above all others, this was the animal we were taught to fear as children. Alligators were in a similar category, of course, but they were often easier to spot and avoid. Panthers, on the other hand, were masters of stealth. Able to blend into the forest and launch deadly attacks from the trees themselves. Everything in my being urged me to flee back to the safety of my village and hop back into my safe bed, but I couldn't.

"Agwé, you're gonna get yourself killed," I whispered in resignation.

The howls continued to pierce through the storm, increasing in intensity as I made my approach. Peering through a large bush, the moon illuminated a disturbing scene before me. It was a panther, alright. A juvenile female. Probably around my age maturity-wise, if I had to guess. I watched as she thrashed around in place. Biting and clawing at her leg. I had never been so frightened in my life, nor so wildly alert.

Though she wasn't fully grown, I was only just a boy myself, and knew she could fatally wound me if given the chance. It was then that I spotted the strange, metal contraption clamped around her leg. A sort of trap, it had to be. Anchoring the poor beast in place and causing her great pain. Concern for my own welfare was wiped away in an instant, as if it were nothing but raindrops wiped from my brow. Only one thing mattered in that moment. I had to free this poor panther from this nightmare.

Of course, this was going to be much easier said than done. As I neared the soaking wet panther, its attention turned fully towards me for the first time. Hissing and roaring, it swiped madly with razor sharp claws. But how could I blame her? If our places were switched, I would consider anyone approaching to be a potential threat as well.

"My friend, I'm not here to hurt you," I spoke to the animal in as calm of a voice as I could muster. "Please, let me get that trap off your foot. Your mama must be worried sick."

My mind considered in that moment what would happen if the cub's mother were to in fact arrive at this very moment. I would surely be killed on the spot, but I couldn't allow myself to dwell on such thoughts. There was work to be done in the here and now, and judging by the amount of blood seeping into the surrounding pools of water, it needed to be done fast. If I ever needed the bayou spirts to guide me, it was now.

I sunk gently to my knees, and the panther's emerald green eyes locked onto mine. Such a beautiful creature. I could almost feel the anger and fear rising from her skin, but I pleaded for her to see of my peaceful intentions. I willed it with every fiber of my being. Time stood still for a moment, before a sudden gust of wind shot through the trees. And then I felt the connection between us. Brief, but tangible. Her disposition began to slowly change. There was still a fierce intensity, but something else was breaking through in her countenance. A recognition of kinship? A pleading for help? I was now within range of her claws. She could lash out and slash me badly at any moment, should she choose. Heart pounding, I extended my hand ever so slowly, and placed it gently upon her damp fur. Miraculously, she allowed it without aggression. This had to be the permission I was looking for.

"Let's get you out of this evil thing."

This type of device was completely foreign to me. Vicious, with sharp metal spikes digging into flesh, like the fangs of an alligator. Gripping hard on the slippery metal, I pried hard on the trap, causing the panther to shriek in pain, yet the trap didn't budge. I continued to struggle for the next few minutes. Tremors rolled through the poor panther's body as I did so. More than once, she bore her fangs threateningly at me, even raising her paw to strike, yet she managed to restrain. Channeling all of the force my twelve year-old body could muster, both our roars ripped through the air as I gave one final, mighty pull. The trap finally gave way, snapping open violently. She shot away instantly into the darkness.

Despite my bleeding hands and throbbing muscles, an intense relief washed over me. I felt warm tears join my rain-soaked face and allowed myself a few moments to laugh happily out loud. Witnessing this trapped soul run free gave me more joy than I could possibly describe. Thankfully, the storm was beginning to weaken at this point, which would likely make the journey home much more enjoyable. Getting to my feet, I reflected on the surreal experience I had just gone through, but was soon startled by the sudden rustle of bushes behind me. And there she was, with those vivid green eyes boring into mine from the darkness.

"Well thank you kindly for not attacking me back there. You're free now, get on home and find your mama," I said.

Instead, the panther hobbled over to me, brushing lovingly against my leg. I scratched behind her ears, causing her to purr deeply despite her pain. One of the sleeves of my pajama shirt had torn on the trap, so I ripped off the remainder of the fabric. She allowed me to use it as a bandage of sorts for her leg. Once this was done, I fully expected her to disappear back into the trees. She didn't. I encouraged her again to return to her family. Even giving her some soft nudges on the behind to make my message clear. Yet she refused to leave my side. Not knowing fully what to do, I began walking home. Surely she would eventually get the message and turn around.

Yet the panther was still at my heels once I had reached the edge of the village. By the looks of things, everyone remained fast asleep, unaware that young Agwé had just been on the greatest adventure of his young life. What was I to do now? My new friend was persistent in not leaving me, but the adults would throw a great fit if they caught me leading a real life panther into the village.

Pleading with her to be quiet, she followed closely as we slipped silently through the village, returning through my front door and into my bedroom before anyone was any wiser. Phew! With the door closed, my mind eased somewhat. Surely she would be safe in here and pose no danger to the rest of my family. Not that I expected she would be anyways. An unspoken, powerful bond seemed to have developed between us. One born in the fires of adversity. The truth was, from this moment on, I would feel completely safe in her company. And I sensed that she felt the same about me.

Why she didn't return to her family, I wasn't sure, but until they could be reunited once more, I knew I would protect her with my life. Fatigue now overtaking my body, I crawled into bed with the beast leaping up to join me. I reached out to stroke her fur as she burrowed her head into my side. What a traumatic night this must have been for her. If she was finding comfort in my presence, I owed it to her to provide that, at least for one night.

"We'll find your mama in the morning," I whispered sleepily. "Until then, I think I'll call you...Ayida."

The next thing I was aware of was waking to Mama's scream.

Exhausted from the evening's adventure, I had slept in much longer than usual. This caused Mama to poke her head inside to make sure I was okay, only to see a dangerous beast in bed with her son.

"Agwé! Look beside you! Get out of there, now!" she roared, bravely rushing to my bedside.

I hugged Ayida's neck at once to comfort her, while hurriedly assuring Mama that we were in no danger. In disbelief, Mama's screams slowly faded as she processed this impossible scene. Naturally she was used to me coming home with small snakes around my neck, or pockets stuffed with frogs, but this was in a different league of its own.

"Young man, I need an explanation, and I need it right now."

I obliged, recounting the events of the night prior and apologizing many times throughout. Her eyes bulged with anger at me sneaking out, which morphed into fear, and eventually amazement as the story unfolded. Upon conclusion, she simply shook her head slowly in disbelief. Mouth slightly ajar. Then began pacing back and forth.

"Son, I simply don't know what to say. I might think that you're telling me mighty tall tales, if not for seein' that cat beside you with my own two eyes," remarked Mama with wonder. "Not to mention that mud caking your bed sheets."

Word soon spread through the village of the panther residing in Agwé's bedroom. I spent the remainder of that morning in my bedroom, as one-by-one each member of the family peered inside to see the truth for themselves and hear of my adventure from the night prior. I reassured Ayida during this whole process, letting her know these were people she could trust and feel safe around. Despite some initial worry, she seemed to eventually gain a sense of this truth. It didn't hurt that a few of my cousins insisted on sneaking her tasty snacks throughout the day.

The adults, of course, were wary. It would be careless not to be. They suggested we send Ayida into the forest once more to reunite with her family without any further delay. Though they admitted she seemed unusually friendly, this was still a creature capable of causing serious harm, should she choose. Problem was, no matter what we tried, this determined panther would not leave my person. It was eventually determined that my uncles would accompany me back to the spot where I found the trap, to see if this might trigger something in her to return home to her den.

My uncles were skilled trackers, and without the storm of the night before, our party arrived at the site of the trap in short order. Ayida hissed viciously at the trap that lay still with false innocence in the mud. Though they tried to hide it, I recall my uncles being quite disturbed by the whole situation. This trap did not belong to any group or individual they were familiar with, that much was certain. This was our first real evidence that poachers had entered our bayou. That our home may not be as safe as it once had been.

Ayida remained close by my side as we combed through the area, looking for further signs of poachers or panthers. After a few hours of silent tracking, only broken by occasional whispering between my uncles, we found Ayida's den. It was deep within the bayou. Deeper than I had ever been allowed to go before. Located in a cave, adjacent to a peaceful body of water filled with lily pads. She became visibly anxious the closer we approached, whimpering softly. Why would returning home cause her such distress, I wondered?

It didn't take us long to discover the answer. I remained outside with Ayida, while my uncles entered the cave and uncovered the sad tale. A mama panther with a bullet wound lay lifeless inside. Hers was not the only body, however, as there was also the fallen body of a man. From what my uncles gathered, this poacher had entered the den, more than likely seeking a panther trophy. Though he did indeed deliver a fatal gunshot, before succumbing to her wounds, Ayida's mother was able to kill the man, defending her child in the process. Judging by the state of the bodies, my uncles estimated this incident happened within the last day. No doubt causing Ayida to flee the den and wander straight into the now deceased poacher's trap.

How could this poacher do such a thing? What a senseless loss of life. Because of him, Ayida was now an orphan. No wonder she clung to me so closely. She had just lost her mother and source of comfort, and immediately wandered into a trap that nearly took her life. How grateful I was that I took that leap of faith and acted on the prompting I received the night before.

Ayida ended up returning to our village permanently. Over time, the family became very comfortable with having her around, eventually gaining complete assurance that she would do us no harm. In turn, she became more and more herself with every passing day, healing in body and spirit. She revealed a loyal, sometimes silly personality that we grew to love greatly. Ayida became an honorary cousin, tagging along with us on our adventures in the swamp. It was amazing to watch her launch her muscular body through the air. Or to simply observe the majesty with which she carried herself. Always alert to her surroundings, she was ready to protect her newfound family against any potential threat.

After a few years, Ayida became willing to leave my side for stretches of time. Even eventually spending the nights out in the wilderness on her own. She was nearly full grown at this point, with strong instincts to spend time with her own kind. Perhaps to even start a family of her own soon. But not a day went by that she didn't come find me at least once, wherever I happened to be in the bayou. To say hello, make sure I was doing okay, and often spend a few hours by my side.

Those were days to be remembered. Simple. Full of joy and companionship. I had recently turned 17, excited for what my life would bring. What is it that folks say? That we usually don't recognize the good old days until they're gone? All things considered, I reckon I would have lived out the entirety of my days in those swamps in peace. Surrounded by my family and animal friends. But life, as it often does, had other plans for me.

Chapter 3: Jean-Pierre Laguerre

As far as I can gather, our family's troubles began on account of our voodoo heritage. Gossip had begun to spread that a "strange and unnatural" religion was being practiced by a "dangerous bunch of savages" in the bayou. Well you can imagine how those untruthful words stirred up quite the hornet's nest in the surrounding towns. "Bayou Beasts". That's what they had begun to call us. Now you got to remember, folks at that time especially were of the notion that if a culture or lifestyle was different from what they knew, then that thing must be dangerous.

Enter Jean-Pierre Laguerre. A powerful business tycoon in the nearby city of Saint Denis. Among the wealthiest in the entire country. A ruthless man, willing to do most anything to expand his influence. For some time his mind had been fixated on Bayou Nwa and the riches he might gain within this largely unexplored land. Rumor had it there were rich iron and coal deposits deep within the swamp, not to mention the huge price that the exotic animals and their parts could fetch on the black market. In Laguerre's eyes, taming the bayou was a way to etch his name into the history books. To be famous. Eternal, even.

Through the observation of his spies, he had learned of our village and the deep love we held for the land and creatures within. Thus, in his eyes, we were viewed as a threat; an obstacle standing in the way of untold wealth. It was Laguerre, that cunning snake, that first planted the rumors about us being dangerous. And once that fear had been born, it didn't take long for him to rile up the towns and assemble an angry mob to drive out these bayou beasts. For it was either them or us, or so Laguerre had poisoned their minds.

The mob arrived in the dead of night. Rifles in their hands. Malice in their hearts. Our people had no previous quarrels or enemies, and had never felt the need for someone to stand watch during the night. We were in a deep slumber when the onslaught began. I can still hear the screams these many years later. The deafening cracks of gunfire that erupted through the night. They attacked without warning. Without explanation. Without humanity.

Mama and me were the fortunate ones, as our hut was furthest from the mob's arrival, giving us a few precious seconds to slip out the door before becoming detected. Torches in all directions confirmed that our village was completely surrounded. Despite the choking fear and confusion, I guided Mama to a nearby bog that I had often used during games of hide-and-seek years earlier. Once there, we submerged our bodies into the thick mud and slathered it upon our faces. Doing my best to cover every inch of my body that now stood six-and-a-half feet tall and nearly 250 pounds. And there we lay in panicked silence as the chaos continued around us.

I made to return to the village and my family's aid several times, but Mama's tight grip convinced me to remain hidden each time. We lay still in that cold mud for hours, terrified every moment that the invaders would discover our hiding place. Praying that the rest of our family would find a way to escape their pursuers. My heart slipped down into my gut as I heard the voices of two men growing progressively louder. They ceased their approach only a few yards shy of our hiding place.

"It would appear a couple of the bayou beasts managed to escape, Mr. Laguerre, but the mission has otherwise been an overwhelming success. These savages won't be a danger to anyone ever again," exclaimed one of the men, snorting with laughter.

"Very good, Bernard," replied Laguerre with a smile.

Their gloating caused my blood to boil, but before I could leap out of the mud to strangle both of these heartless men, Mama gripped my wrist once more, which always had a way of cutting through my emotions. I remained anchored in place.

As the men continued to converse, it soon became clear that this Laguerre was the architect of our village's attack. He was spoken to with a deep respect. Fear, even. Through the moonlight, I began to memorize every detail of his sharp, yet wrinkly face. Every cadence of his raspy voice. To my horror, the men suddenly resumed their approach. Any moment now, their torches would illuminate our hiding places. I readied myself to shield Mama from the gunfire that would surely follow.

But just then, the scaly head of a massive alligator emerged from the water mere feet from Mama and me. The gator's eyes were locked intently on the men as they neared the water's edge. Launching from the water, the beast snatched Bernard by the leg and ripped him back and forth with overwhelming power. Laguerre let out a yelp, firing a wild shot with his pistol while tumbling backwards. The noise startled the gator as it retreated back into the water. I watched as Laguerre scrambled to his feet and hobbled back to the village without a single glance back for his fallen friend.

With dawn now approaching, the roar of the mob mercifully faded, before ceasing altogether. Mama and I finally felt safe to emerge from the mud. Bodies numb and exhausted, we stumbled back to our village to discover the unthinkable. My family, the kindest, most peaceful people you could ever hope to meet, had been killed. Every last one of them. Murdered in cold blood. My life to this point had been largely filled with peace and happiness. I had never known true grief until that very moment. Not from experiencing it myself, mind you, but from seeing the devastation on Mama's face and hearing her agonized wailing. Those types of things leave an imprint on you forever.

I held Mama tightly, but as for myself, I felt only numbness. This couldn't possibly be real. Any moment now I would surely be waking from a horribly vivid nightmare. But I never did. In a sort of daze, I began to do the only thing I could think of. I fetched a shovel and got to work. I remember very little about digging those graves, having entered a sort of stupor, but it took many hours, leaving my hands battered by the end. Yet I didn't feel a thing. There were twenty-two graves in total, one for each of my loved ones. As was our custom, I placed a vanilla flower upon each mound. The flowers were a symbol of our people and the pleasing scent was meant to guide their spirits upon passing.

Lakay. It means "home" in our native tongue of Creole. But on that day it felt more like a tomb.

Once the burial was finished, I thought to retrieve Mama to make sure she was okay. I had escorted her an hour earlier into our home to rest. Before I could reach the front threshold, Mama burst outside, seized my arms, and looked fiercely into my eyes. She stated that she had fallen into a vision upon lying on her bed. In this vision, the bayou spirits warned her that we must flee from our village before the next nightfall, else we should be killed by the mob that would be returning later that night.

Furthermore, to my great astonishment, she informed me that I must leave Bayou Nwa altogether. And I must do so alone. Wait...what? This couldn't possibly be right. Not only had I never been away from my family before, but I had yet to set a single foot outside the swamp in my 17 years of life. Never had a reason to. My family had been murdered mere hours ago, with my only solace being that Mama had survived, and now I was expected to part ways with her too? This was simply too much. I began to feel fractured within from the life shattering changes.

Mama had always been especially in tune with the spirits. More so than anyone else in our village. Even Gran, and that was saying something. We often gained this ability much later after years of practice. While the idea of leaving everything I knew behind seemed impossible, Mama spoke with such a conviction that I knew within my bones what she was saying was true. My mind continued to spin, but with night fast approaching, I set to packing a knapsack with some essentials. A bedroll. Some rope. A few cans of beans. My trusty knife. I took that wherever I went. Upon the handle was carved a frog's head. My good luck charm.

"Where am I to go?" I managed to ask.

"The where wasn't revealed to me, my son, only that the spirits would guide your way."

I knew Mama was nearly as lost as I was by the events taking place. We were as tiny minnows, caught up in a swift wave of murky water. Tossing to-and-fro. All we could do was swim strongly onwards, with faith that the water would eventually calm and we would find our way back home.

Chapter 4: A Grizzly Encounter

"Be strong, Agwé. Be an honor to your family members that have now joined the realm of spirits. You are still young, with much to learn, but your heart will carry you through. Above all else, trust in the spirits. They will be your guide. There may come a time when you question their motives, but rest assured they will lead you in the ways that you should go. That much has always been certain to me. I love you. I will make contact when you are ready. We will see each other again," said Mama, tears falling down her cheeks.

Those quivering words would carve themselves into the depths of my memory. I would replay them countless times, as they were the last words I heard her speak before I left the swamp. We shared one final bear hug, each of us reluctant to let go. But let go, we did. And with that, I swung my knapsack over my shoulder and left the only home I had ever known.

Having no idea where to go, I figured I would start walking towards the sun as it began its western descent down the horizon. Everything felt surreal. Like wandering through a dream. Looking back, I realize I was in a state of shock. My feet carried me out of the village and into the marshlands I knew so well from my childhood.

Every landmark I passed seemed to have a story tied with it. My life replayed before my eyes as I passed those familiar spots. Carrying an old turtle safely across that busy pathway there. Would I ever see my animal friends again? That watering hole there, my cousins and I would swing from the vines of a nearby tree and cannonball into the refreshing water below. But my cousins were gone now. My uncles and aunts, too. Even Gran. Painful thoughts. Agonizing thoughts.

I soon found myself standing on the banks of the Kammasa River, the boundary separating Bayou Nwa from the outside world. New Hanover, that was the name of our neighboring region. I was unfamiliar with the place. The folk's customs there were guaranteed to be mighty different than my own. After a long look back, and a big lump forming in my throat, I waded across the river and set off into the woods of this new land, following the sun as it sunk ever lower in the sky.

As night began to fall, my emotional numbness from the day was starting to fade. It was replaced with torment, as I replayed the events of the past night in my mind. I began to run, becoming more distressed with every stride. I should have stayed in the village and fought the attackers, or tried some other way to help my family during the onslaught. Instead, I hid in the mud like a coward. Would it have done any good? Odds were I would have died in the process, but could I have saved anyone else through my efforts? It all happened so fast.

I kept Mama safe, I continued to repeat to myself, but the guilt was becoming overwhelming.

I ran many miles that night before becoming aware of my burning lungs and aching legs, and decided I better set up camp for the night. These forests were much different than the ones I was familiar with. Trees with needles instead of leaves. Definitely more of a chill to the air. No fireflies, but there was at least the familiar trilling of crickets out in the surrounding darkness.

I made myself a fire, but couldn't bring myself to eat. A rarity for me, to be sure. All I could do was stare into the crackling flames. As I did so, my grief began to morph into another sensation I wasn't much used to. One that I disliked fully. Rage. A burning inferno in my chest like I had never known before. I was livid with the bayou spirits for letting my family die. Why did they not warn us about the incoming danger? But most of all, I felt an overwhelming anger towards Laguerre and his mob of murderers. Such destruction, and for what? We had done nothing wrong to anyone. It made no sense at all. Bayou beasts. That's what they had called us. Well, if they wanted a beast, maybe a beast is what I should become.

Suddenly, the hairs stood straight up on the back of my neck. Without thinking, I leapt to my feet. A creature was lurking around me in the darkness, there was no doubt about that. Something big. I could sense it. Could hear it's heavy footsteps and powerful, ragged breath. I grasped for the knife in my pack, but not before the massive grizzly bear made his move. With tremendous speed, the bear charged straight over the fire, sending flaming embers in all directions, and tackled me viciously to the ground. The wind was knocked completely from my lungs. And there I was, flat on my back, pinned firmly to the ground by the creature's monstrous body.

Dodging and ducking, I managed to deflect the grizzly's first few bites and swipes as it bellowed deafeningly. But I inevitably felt the rigid claws as they raked deeply down the right side of my face. This was pain like I had never before experienced. Deep and visceral. Blood poured in all directions. Straight into my eyes and blinding my vision. All I was conscious of now was the mass of hair and stench above me as the grizzly continued to gnaw and claw at any part of me it could reach.

Adrenaline surged through my body in that moment. A bestial need to survive burst through in full force. And that, paired with the intense rage from the events of the previous day, gave me a power and determination I never thought possible.

"Fight back, Agwé. Fight back. FIGHT BACK!"

I knew the odds of defeating my opponent using brute force were low. This was 700 pounds of muscle, fangs, and claws, after all. I would need to catch him by surprise. Biding my time, I waited until the bear rose up to bring down another slashing strike. This was my moment. Crunching up with my abs, I delivered two devastating punches to his torso. The resulting cracks echoed off the surrounding trees as his ribs fractured, causing the bear to howl in pain and leap back off my body.

I quickly wiped the blood from my eyes to regain a sliver of vision. Enough to see that my assaulter was still very much present. He had begun to slowly circle the campsite that had been set ablaze, eyes fixed intently on me. Was I his desired meal? Raising to the balls of my feet, I bounced softy back and forth, preparing to dodge the next attack. The reflection of fire glinting off the buckle of my knapsack caught my attention. It was sprawled on the ground in front of me, and I quickly formulated a plan. A risky plan, but every second longer I had to spar with this behemoth was flirting with death. This seemed like as good a chance as any to survive.

Taking a deep breath, I readied myself. Broad jumping with all my might, I landed adjacent to my knapsack. As predicted, the bear responded by barreling towards me at full speed, determined to finish me off once and for all. Plunging my hand into my bag, I gripped the handle of my trusty knife and thrust forcefully in the direction of the beast's attack. A direct, blunted impact followed, as my blade met its mark just below the grizzly's eye. The resulting roar shook the very ground, as the bear wheeled around and retreated headlong into the forest.

Judging by the searing pain and significant stream of blood flowing from my face, I knew I was hurt pretty badly. I wiped my eyes once more to better see the battle scene before me. My campfire had spread to the surrounding trees, illuminating tufts of hair floating through the air. A trail of crushed branches signaled where the grizzly had plowed through moments earlier. My vision began to swim before my eyes, and then I fell unconscious.

It felt like I slept for many years, as I drifted through dream fragment after dream fragment. Wandering through deep, fiery caves, sprinting upon snow-capped mountain peaks, and witnessing strange sicknesses in a scorching desert. Such strange things, and more, did I witness. In my final and most vivid dream, a giant frog traveled alongside me in the dark. It must have been ten feet tall. We trudged through deep, thick mud, as boisterous laughter and piano music rang through from the distance.

Thereupon, I regained consciousness. Laying in a puddle of my own sweat.

My eyes darted around anxiously, and I found myself to be inside a dimly lit tent. The events of the grizzly attack rushed back to me in a flash, as did my throbbing face. My fingers found my wound from the beast's claws, to discover it had not only begun to heal, but that there were rows of neat stitches holding it all in place. Muffled voices from what sounded to be three men came from outside. Rising to my feet, I approached the tent door so as to make out what they were saying.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, ol' Cripps. This'll be our biggest score yet. We're gonna be rich as kings, we are!"

"Now hold yer horses, Limpy. Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet, this is a well guarded bank after all. Heck, who am I kidding, the plan is foolproof!"

Bank robbers. Just the type of individuals I didn't want to get mixed up with in my weakened state. And yet if these were true ruffians, why did they help me? Or stitch me up for that matter? As my mind reflected on the dilemma I found myself in, the tent door was suddenly ripped open, sending rays of sunshine into my eyes and blinding me once more.

"Shut up, you nincompoops, the big feller is awake."

As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, the faces of three peculiar looking men appeared.

"Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle!" came the cheerful voice of the man that appeared to be the leader of this party. "J. B. Cripps, at your service, mister." He was a short, balding man with a large and unkempt salt-and-pepper beard. "These here are my incomparable associates. Meet Limpy Pete and Phil the Crab."

The men each gave a short bow. Pete was quite a skinny fellow, who as his nickname suggested, hobbled with a noticeable limp ever since falling out of a tree as a child. Phil, on the other hand, was stout and strong, with a thick, jet-black mustache. Why they called him the Crab I never did ask, but if I had to guess it was due to his ruddy complexion. After the introductions, the trio of men promptly guided me to a seat by the campfire and placed a hot bowl of stew in my lap.

"Eat up, feller. I'm sure you're starving. You've been out cold for a week straight. This here is a minty lamb and pea stew, a special recipe of yours truly," said Cripps.

My mind briefly flirted with the thought of poisoned stew, but surely it would serve no purpose to save my life, only to poison me now? Anyhow, I was absolutely ravenous, and quickly inhaled the bowl without even picking up my spoon. To say it was delicious would be a massive understatement.

As I inhaled another bowl, the men filled me in on the events that had transpired since my coma. It became clear that fortune was on my side that night. How else could you explain three travelers happening to pass close enough through those sprawling woods to hear the commotion with the grizzly at precisely the right time? Upon noticing the ruckus, they came at once, and arrived at the scene to find me passed out on the ground.

Cripps had been the one to stitch me up. Luckily for me, he had gained experience with the needle and thread from working as a pelt trader on-and-off throughout his life. With the help of their horses and rope, the men then loaded me into the wagon, where I had remained unconscious the forthcoming week. Not knowing what else to do, they had continued their journey west, nursing me back to health along the way.

My impression of the people outside the bayou to this point was less than pleasant. There was the poacher that trapped Ayida and killed her mother. Even worse was Laguerre and his mob that murdered my family. Though Cripps, Pete, and Phil were clearly a little rough around the edges, these folks had stopped to help a total stranger in his time of need and nurse him back to health. Not seeming to want anything in return. Without their actions, I would be dead. No question about that. Perhaps not everyone outside the swamp possessed evil souls. Perhaps.

"Thank you kindly, friends. I don't know how to repay your kindness, but I'm mighty indebted to you all for helping me back there," I said.

"Think nothin' of it partner. It's what anyone decent would've done," said Cripps, patting me heartily on the shoulder.

With that, the men resumed strategizing their upcoming "big score" in hushed voices, leaving me to work on three more bowls of stew. Despite the cuts to my face and body, I felt my strength returning rapidly. Credit goes to the warm company and seemingly never-ending stew. The morning afterwards, when it became clear I was well on the mend, the men announced they would be continuing their journey to Tennessee, where they had some "work" to attend to.

I thanked them again and wished the folks well on their journey. After doing the same and pointing me in the direction of the nearest town, the caravan of J.B. Cripps, Limpy Pete, and Phil the Crab were on their way, disappearing into the woods.

And there I stood with my knapsack for a time, in the remnants of our former campsite. My first foray out of the bayou could not have gone less smoothly. And yet, in the face of sure death, I had managed to survive. It's what I had always done. What I planned to always do. I knew not where my next adventure would take me, but I felt emboldened. Bring it on, world. Here comes the Bayou Beast.

Chapter 5: Blood and Mud

Banished from my home. Unsure of where to go next. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone. The nearest town was a place called Valentine, just a couple miles up the road. This seemed as good of a place as any to venture. Plus I must say I was curious, as I had never been to a town outside of the bayou before. As I walked, I took in the scenery. Nature here was really quite beautiful in its own way. The full, billowy trees. The lush grass. The flowing, blue rivers.

Many of the bird calls here were unfamiliar to me, but I was soon able to mimic most of them. This was always a favorite pastime of mine from back home. It became even more enjoyable when these new birds would return my songs. Further down the trail, I shared some dried fruit given to me by Cripps with a pair of squirrels that approached timidly. Though I still had a lot of built up anger for the world, and specifically the evil folks within it, I was determined to never have those emotions spill over to the animals. They were innocent and I cared about them more than life itself.

Before long, I entered the borders of Valentine, with the unmistakable sounds of livestock filling my ears. It was followed by the excited voice of a man's rapid, rhythmic shouting. I had never heard anything like it before.

"Twenty dollar bid now thirty. Will anyone give me forty? Forty there, thank you sir. Forty now do I see fifty? This is a fine animal here folks. Fifty dollars anybody? Forty dollars going once, twice, SOLD to the fine gentleman in the third row."

A large livestock auction was underway, adjacent to pens full of dozens of sheep and pigs. Arms folded, I leaned against a nearby fence and watched in fascination as the ranchers milled about with their prized animals, while others vied to be the winning bidders. I found myself having a jolly time simply taking it all in.

Curiosity soon carried my attention elsewhere, however, and I continued my way down the road, eventually reaching Valentine's main street. Soon apparent was the deep, wet mud that filled the entire street. Naturally, this part didn't bother me as it felt like home, but the rest of the scene before my eyes I wasn't so sure about. The street was packed with horses and wagons, while the town residents popped around to the various shops. Such hustle and bustle I was certainly not used to. There was a general store with all the supplies you could ever want, and a doctor who seemed somewhat similar to the healer of my old village. There was also a gunsmith, sheriff's office, and even a hotel.

The villagers kept largely to themselves, other than sending a few alarmed looks in my direction. Looking back, I can hardly blame them. Here I was, quite an imposing figure in naught but a pair of overalls. Caked with dirt and gashes upon my face, arms, and chest. The majority of that day I spent wide-eyed, exploring the various curiosities that this bustling little town had to offer. Having no previous need for money, I began to realize the importance that this currency had outside the bayou. How was I going to pay for food, or for a place to stay for that matter? I had no prior experience in matters of employment. What would I even have to offer anybody?

These uneasy thoughts continued to churn through my head, as a chilled night slowly rested upon the town. Droves of men began to filter into one of the few buildings I hadn't yet stepped foot in: Smithfield's Saloon. A bright light shone through the swinging doors onto the street as each patron entered. As I took a moment to scrape the mud off my calloused feet, the boisterous laughter and piano music from inside met my ears. How strange, I thought, this scene is quite similar to that dream I had with the giant frog, shortly before waking from my coma.

I felt compelled to enter through the swinging doors, and took in yet another new world. The smell of liquor filled the room, as a bartender served out large glasses of beer and whiskey to the numerous patrons. Fancy dressed women filtered through the establishment, giggling and flirting to the delight of the drunken men. One group, though, seemed to be behaving much rowdier than the rest. Three men at a table in the back of the bar sang loudly at the top of their lungs. And quite off-tune, I must say. They then began to smash their empty bottles on the floor, which I thought was shameful behavior. Is this a common practice in these saloons? The uncomfortable glances from the bartender and other patrons seemed to suggest otherwise. Next, one of the ruffians spanked one of the girls roughly on her backside as she was walking by. The men laughed among themselves as she hurried off, visibly upset.

Chapter 6: Annie May

I would miss Hank, Ernie, and the girls, of that I was sure. They were genuine folk, doing the best they knew how. Smithfield Saloon had become a sort of sanctuary for me, helping me to regain my footing after being uprooted from the swamp. Despite their sadness at me moving on, they understood it was what I needed to do. Would the place be okay without me? You know, after disposing of those Caliban Boys, I reckoned no one would be bothering that saloon again, at least for a good long while.

I stood on that main street of Valentine with my knapsack in tow, not entirely sure where I was to go. Again. In my dream I was riding an iron boat on a huge body of water. Was I meant to go to the ocean? And if so, was it the Atlantic or Pacific? A massive distance separated the two, so I supposed I had better choose correctly. The sooner I was able to more clearly decipher these visions, the better. When it was clear no further insight was coming, I decided to flip a coin on it. Heads...so the Pacific Ocean it was.

As fortune would have it, Valentine was home to a fine train station, with tracks that could take me all the way to California. Having earned the first money of my life, I purchased myself a fresh ticket, and within the day was aboard a train and off on my next grand adventure. With a great billowing of steam and firing of horns, we chugged to life and rolled down the tracks. What an incredible piece of machinery, I thought to myself. I wonder what Mama would think of all this? Not a day had gone by that I didn't think about her. Where was she now? Was she safe? Was she happy? I frequently relived our last conversation, where she assured me that we would see each other again. It was the hope that got me by.

A few hours down the track, after traveling in a southwesterly direction from the town, I spotted a beautiful, sprawling lake out the window. Stretching clear to the opposite horizon. I asked the elderly nun seated across from me if she knew the name.

"That lake there? Why, that's Flat Iron Lake. You've never seen it before?"

Did she say...a flat, iron lake? Like the iron ship from my dream? Or the flat water our vessel sat upon? Was this simply symbolism, meant to draw me to this particular lake? As I leapt to my feet to survey the lake further, I spotted a host of boats cruising upon the surface of the water. Each of them spewing steam into the sky.

"Trust in the spirits, Agwé," came the words of Mama into my mind.

This had to be the place the spirits were guiding me to. With our next scheduled train stop a full day's journey down the line, there was only one thing for it. I would need to jump off this train. Snatching my knapsack, I proceeded to the doors of our train car. Once I had the doors pried open, the craziness of my plan became apparent. But there was nothing for it. Thanking the nun, I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and launched clear of the train, wind flapping through my cheeks as I soared.

My landing was less than graceful, as the sloping hill down to the lake caused me to tumble into a fair number of somersaults before regaining control, sliding eventually to a stop. What a sight that would have provided the train passengers! I allowed myself a hearty chuckle. After a short trot down the remainder of the hill, I reached the shores of the mighty lake, with its sparkling, wavy water as far as the eye could see.

I had always felt at home surrounded by water. At peace. This was likely due to the happy memories of splashing around with my cousins in the bayou, but it went deeper than that. Fact was, I was named after the voodoo spirit Agwé, the patron of water and fishermen. Mama thought it a fitting name, considering the central role the water and fishing played in our community, and I grew quite proud of the name too.

After a quiet moment observing a group of large sturgeon as they glided through the shallow water, I was soon interrupted by the reflection of a boat. Two boats actually, by the looks of things. Steamboats, both far in the distance, but heading fast in my direction. What's more, as they neared my location, the eruptions of gunfire became audible. This was clearly no innocent race. One of the boats was in pursuit of the other, with the most violent of intentions.

Taking shelter behind a bramble of bushes, I observed as the boats continued their charge towards the shore, until the steam emitting from the lead boat suddenly ceased. What an odd thing to do, I thought. They were still at least one hundred yards from the shore. Surely they couldn't swim to land in time before being overtaken by their pursuers. Though it was hard to tell from this distance, it seemed there was only one passenger aboard the lead ship. They suddenly seized a pistol and fired frantically at the rapidly approaching boat, before screaming loudly with frustration and hurling the gun at the attackers for good measure. It was a woman's scream. Out of bullets, I thought.

With the lady's life appearing in danger, I hunkered down low and slipped into the lake. Submerging smoothly into the depths and performing powerful breastrokes underneath the water, I reached the boat in a single breath, with only my head emerging unseen next to the woman's vessel. The other steamboat had since reached her location and boarded her ship. I could hear their voices clearly as I floated hidden below.

"What a stupid wench! You didn't really think you could outrun the US Navy, did you?" came the agent's hateful voice.

"I did outrun you, pigs! If I hadn't run out of coal, there's not a chance you would've caught me!" said the woman in defiance. She spat at the agent and was given a back-handed smack in response, sending her to the edge of the ship. Close enough for me to catch a glimpse of her for the first time. To see the flowing, jet black hair that I instantly recognized from the night before. This had to be the woman from my dream.

"Oh you'll get what's coming to you, you can be sure of that. A bullet to the brain and a swim with the fishes. But what's the rush, eh? My boys are due for a bit of recreation, and you surely don't deserve a peaceful ending," said the agent, grimly. Whatever was coming, I needed to act fast.

Sinking below the water once more, I hurriedly drifted underneath the boat to its other side and quietly pulled myself up to peek over the ledge. There were five soldiers in total, with their attention fully centered on the woman. At the far end, one of the agents had the woman's neck grasped in both hands, pinning her painfully against the railing, while the others laughed cruelly amongst themselves. Two soldiers leaned lazily against the railing closest to me. Another had taken a seat on a bench, while the other paced slowly around the boat. Though they were all armed with guns, the weapons were currently strapped to their backs or in their holsters.

This was my moment to strike. Grasping the ledge, I exploded hard out of the water, landed in the ship, and smashed the heads of the two closest soldiers together ferociously. The thunderous crack caught the whole boat's attention, but I was able to reach the pacing man in time to deliver a front kick to the chest. The force of which sent him crashing over the railing and into the water with a splash.

Seizing the shovel next to the empty coal stash, I leapt at the fourth soldier, who at this point had risen from his chair and raised his rifle in my direction. My shovel swipe deflected the rifle downwards. In the nick of time too, as the resulting gunshot pinged loudly off the boat's steel deck. Another swing of the shovel dispatched the man, who was sure to have a nasty headache upon waking. I swirled around to eliminate the final soldier, but stopped short in my tracks. The agent was holding the woman against his body as a shield, with his pistol pressed firmly to her temple. A spineless move. I threw down my weapon at once.

"Now that's a good lad, but you're in a world of trouble I'm afraid. Those were federal agents you just assaulted. That's more than enough to lock you away in Sisika Penitentiary 'til you're wrinkled and gray. More than likely we'll just hang you though. And you risked all that for this piece of meat. Why...she your lover or somethin'?"

It happened shockingly fast. The woman twisting her ankle upwards as the soldier monologued, allowing her to grasp the dagger hidden inside her boot. The resulting upward thrust lodged the blade deeply into the man's throat, causing him to buckle to the deck. A few agonizing moments later, and he was gone. I stood rooted in place, locking eyes with the woman in silence. The prettiest thing I had ever seen, but clearly dangerous. Had I just aided in the escape of a wanted fugitive? There was no question though, these agents were despicable human beings and about to do her serious harm.

"Thanks for the hand there, beasty. I must say that was highly impressive," said the woman, slightly out of breath from the encounter. "I would have gotten out of there myself, but the help is still appreciated."

"Is that so?" I chuckled. "The question is, who are you and why are you being pursued by the Navy?"

"That happens to be a bit of a long story, really. As for who I am, the name's Annie May. You just so happen to be looking at the newest river pirate to sail these waters!"

River Pirate? Gran had told me stories as a child about cutthroat pirates that pillaged and plundered throughout the Caribbean. We even had an ancestor or two among their ranks. They always scared me a little, but that was usually outweighed by the excitement of it all as I imagined their adventures, filled with both danger and reward.

"As captain of this vessel, I'm in present need of a crew," the woman continued. "I can hold my own, of course, but having some muscle to watch my back would go a long way in surviving out here. After what I just witnessed, I think you might fit the bill nicely. Just think of it. We'd be pirates! With all the treasure you could ever want at our fingertips! I'll be more than fair and split the plunder with you 50/50, just so long as we're clear that I'm in charge. What say you?"

She spoke with such confidence, but underneath it all there was a vulnerability. I wondered if she was in over her head. Never in my wildest dreams had I considered becoming an actual pirate. I was a good person. A decent person. At least, I used to be. I had just spent the past year pummeling drunkards on a nightly basis, but at least they had deserved it. I was still feeling quite reckless at this point. Rudderless, really. Plus, I couldn't deny the air of destiny I felt in this moment. This was who my vision had guided me to, after all.

"Well, miss, you've surely got my attention. But I need to make one thing very clear. I'm unwilling to murder people unless they try to murder me first. As long as that point is agreeable, you've got yourself a deal, Captain."

Annie May let out a shriek of delight, slapping me hard on the shoulder.

"Beasty, this will be the cleverest choice you ever make. I swear it!"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" I chuckled.

"I mean...look at the size of you! Nearly big as a buffalo. What else am I supposed to call you?"

"Well my name is Agwé, but beasty works fine, too, I suppose."

Taking up the old family business. What would Gran think about all this? But she wasn't here, was she? Murdered by evil folk, maybe the same types of people I would be robbing on these waters. Rich merchants out to make even more money. That just might ease my pain a little. Annie May promptly began giving me a tour of her boat.

"I'll be honest, Annie May, I was unaware piracy even existed in this part of the world, so far from the ocean."

"It actually used to be a thriving enterprise here. These days though, the Navy and local law have largely driven piracy from the American lakes and rivers," she explained. "But for those of us yet willing to risk life and limb in the name of pillaging, there's a bounty to be had!"

Flat Iron Lake proved to be a harbor to some of the largest cities in the country, including Blackwater and St. Denis. Many prominent rivers emptied directly into it. As a result, there were many ships coming and going all hours of the day. It also meant that in the event we were pursued by the Navy or the local law, which happened from time to time over the ensuing months, we could zip into a number of hidden coves to lose our pursuers.

It was soon apparent what a formidable pair we made, with Annie May's cleverness and my brawn. After chasing down a ship, her smooth talking was often enough to grant us access aboard. She would simply spin a tale, such as needing to deliver an urgent letter, or perhaps demanding to inspect the steam engine to ensure it was up to code. One time, she even convinced a merchant ship we were US Marshals in search of a notorious fugitive. And they bought it! She simply oozed charisma and charm.

Once aboard, we were often able to swipe goods with the merchants being none the wiser. Annie May's hands were lightning fast as she rummaged through belongings and even passenger's pockets. When the stealthy option wasn't possible, one of us would hold the crew at gunpoint or tie the patrons together with rope, while the other pillaged the ship. My size and brute force was often enough to subdue our opposition before anything could turn too violent, but my experience as a bouncer meant I was prepared for those types of encounters as well.

Naturally, with a crew of 2, we were careful not to target any ship too extravagant or full of obvious security. Cargo ships were often a good target, carrying anything from food and clothing to coal and weapons. Many things we could flip on the black market. Personal recreational vessels were also highly sought after for the valuable jewelry and cash they had on hand.

As for Annie May, she opened up to me more and more over the coming months. She spoke of her family moving from China to St. Denis when she was a young girl. How her father was soon murdered over a poker game gone wrong, with her mother passing the year after from pneumonia. She was forced to carve out a life on the street. Picking pockets simply became a way to stay alive, and as she aged she became a true master of thieving. Built to survive.

But it was a rough life, with frequent violence and abuse. She dreamt every night of escaping from it all. Often romanticizing the pirate life and its freedom. Being able to create a life of her own making. Her true given name was actually Mei, but she adopted the title of Annie May to match her pirate persona. After imagining this pirate life for many years, she decided to make those dreams a reality. Mei acquired a pistol and nicked a prized steamboat from the St. Denis docks. It was shortly afterwards that I spotted her with the Navy hot on her trail.

Our skills continued to grow, and so too did our treasure coffers. We made out like royalty over the following months, a pirate king and queen, secretly siphoning our wealth to orphanages and organizations meant to aid homeless children on the street. Children like Mei would have been. Word soon spread of the gorgeous pirate captain with silky black hair, and her hulking, bald-headed first mate.

"We're living the life now, aren't we beasty? Adventure, riches, freedom. What more could anyone want?"

I could think of one thing.

Her.

Chapter 7: Give No Quarter

My feelings for Annie May weren't present at first. Yes, I found her to be beautiful beyond words, but she was my captain. I desired fiercely to protect her, especially after learning of her traumatic childhood. So yes, I cared for her deeply, but never in that way. But time passed on and slowly, without fully realizing, things began to change. To grow. Sharing exhilarating experiences like we did daily often has that effect. At least, that's what I've been told.

But there was more to it than that. She was full of energy and a love for life. Wild and fun. And yet, beneath the mask she wore so well, there was a real softness that came out in those quiet, peaceful moments. Often during those times when she felt most safe, which was usually on our boat when it was just her and me. We came from different worlds. Her, from a traditional Chinese family in the city. Me, from a voodoo village in the bayou. Different upbringings, different skin colors. But despite it all, we seemed to connect on deep, spiritual levels.

These were the first feelings I had ever felt before since becoming a man. Though I couldn't be sure, I suspected she might feel similarly towards me. There was the general warmth and frequent smiles. A soft touch on the arm here, an interrupted stare in my direction there. Or was this me only hoping she reciprocated these feelings? More than anything, I didn't want to ruin what we had going between us. Our working chemistry, yes, but our personal friendship also meant very much to me. What was a fella to do? Eventually, though, the feelings became too strong and I resolved to tell her how I felt that very evening.

We targeted a small vessel that day. The kind that never gave us much trouble before. We weren't expecting any big score, just to get in, grab a few valuables, and get out. Maybe we had been too greedy lately. Hit one too many ships. Made one too many enemies. But one thing is for sure, we were caught entirely unaware by what would come next.

After boarding the ship, Annie May held the small and unarmed crew at gunpoint, while I ventured below deck to check the cabins for any treasures they might contain. It wasn't long before I heard Annie May's panicked shout echoing down to me.

"Agwé, get yourself up here, now! We've got company, and a whole lot of it!"

She wasn't kidding. No question about it, this had been a trap from the start. Navy boats from all directions were closing in around our position. We must have really been making a name for ourselves to receive such a response. There wasn't even a small chance we could fight them all off through gunfight. Our only option was to flee.

Grabbing Annie May by the hand, we leapt into our trusty steamboat and tore off into the water. As always, she insisted on driving, and I was more than happy to oblige. A more skilled captain I wasn't sure existed. As the boats closed in on our location, the bullets began to fly, ricocheting off our hull and splashing in the water around us. With the circle closing fast, our only hope seemed to be a small opening between two of the slower incoming ships in front of us. Despite multiple boats attempting to ram us and block our path, Annie May bobbed and weaved, dodging the first few ships that entered our path.

"Punch it!" I roared into the chaos.

We surged forward through the gap and into open water, with countless gunshots whizzing dangerously close from the fleet on our tail. Thankfully, Navy or otherwise, no ship could match our vessel for speed. They stayed on our rear for a time, but minute by minute we increased our lead, until losing them altogether in a group of islands towards the eastern bank of Flat Iron Lake.

As we docked ashore one of the largest of these islands, I knew something was gravely wrong. Upon exiting our boat, Annie May collapsed into the shallow waters. I rushed to her side, scooping her into my arms, and was shocked to feel how cold her skin was. How pale it had turned. I placed her softly onto a patch of warm sand on the beach and removed her wet jacket. The sight below knocked the wind from my lungs. Her shirt dyed blood red, I counted at least five bullet holes.

"Captain! You...You're wounded! Why didn't you tell me you had been shot?"

"Needed..to get you...to safety...beasty," she grimaced.

I removed my shirt and started mopping up the blood as quickly as I could, but she was already starting to slip away.

"Stay with me, please Mei! I can't lose you too! I can't do it, I won't!" I pleaded.

"Agwé...thank you...for helping...a young girl...fulfill...her...dream..."

And she was gone.

We all deal with grief in our own way, and that can sometimes look differently at various parts in our life. After my family died in the bayou, I entered a state of numbness at first, a defense mechanism I reckon, which eventually morphed into the rage and violence that had carried me through the past couple years. But after witnessing the incredible spirit of Mei leave her body, a spirit I loved, that had so much life left to live, I crumbled.

Men aren't supposed to cry. To feel those strong emotions, right? That was the mindset that existed so heavily in those days. That real men are meant to bottle up their feelings. Stuff it all down deep. However, I counted myself lucky to have grown up in a family that showed affection. Hugs and declarations of love were frequent. As children we were encouraged to talk about our emotions. To cry when needed. And I feel we were better off for it.

I didn't often have occasion to cry, but in this moment, the tears were uncontrollable. The pain intense. Sobbing heavily, I fell to my knees and rested my head on Mei's slowly cooling body. Certainly, my grief was largely for the loss of someone I deeply cared for, but this moment also allowed me to truly mourn for the family I had lost back home for the first time. I had missed them deeply, of course, but had never mourned for them properly. These were all such beautiful souls that I desperately wanted back in my life. It was almost too much to bear.

After a few hours of this, and as the evening progressed into night, I felt a slight bump on my knee. Wiping my eyes, I spotted a bright green iguana as it climbed into my lap. It simply looked up at me, straight into my eyes. Sensing my pain, it snuggled into my chest. How touched I was by this act of kindness in my moment of grief, I can still not properly say. But it meant the world to me in that moment. Despite losing the people that I loved, goodness was still clearly to be found. I leaned down and embraced this kind lizard for a good, long while.

Eventually it was time to rise to my feet and get to work. Among the tools on our ship was a shovel, which I retrieved and used to dig a resting place for Mei towards the middle of the island. Here the sand was compact and protected from the watery shore. I carried the now lifeless body of my dear captain and reverently placed her inside the grave.

In that moment, I knew I needed to change. It was clear where this life of violence and recklessness would inevitably lead me. Purging the rage from my system completely might not be possible, but I would need to learn to manage these feelings. To channel them in the right way. This I will do for you, my Annie May.

With that, I bid goodbye to my iguana friend, started up the steamboat and pushed off into the water. Where was I to go? My days of piracy were behind me, of that I was sure. It was time to leave Flat Iron Lake behind for good. South of the islands, the lake was emptied into by the large Lannahechee river, so I decided to travel there first. From there, I headed east and up the river. Though the current was strong in places, Annie May's steamboat had more than enough power to take me upstream.

I traveled all through that night, and in the early morning saw the lights of St. Denis. Laguerre was in that city, somewhere. I felt the strong urge to dock ashore and hunt him down, to obtain some justice when everything else had been taken from me, but this was the rage I needed to control. Laguerre's time would come eventually. I continued as the river curved north around the city, and kept on going for that entire day.

By the middle of the next night I came upon another town by the name of Annesburg, which I knew to be a mining center. With the boat running short on coal, and myself exhausted beyond measure, I knew it was time to come ashore and find somewhere to rest my head. A few men were still awake and smoking on the dock when I arrived.

"Excuse me, gentleman. Do any of you happen to be in the market for a new boat?" I asked.

"That boat there? Well that's a fine looking steamboat, that is. How much you want for it?" replied one of the men.

"I'll sell it to you for a fair price, with the one condition that you are to emblazon the name "Annie May" upon its hull."

There was simply no way I could keep it, not with all the attached memories. Soon after finding myself in the small room of a dingy, little inn, I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. What I wanted more than anything else was a long and dreamless sleep. The giant frog had other ideas in mind.

Chapter 8: The Deep

The giant frog had hopped into my dreams for the third time. We found ourselves in a dark, spacious cave. Though I sensed people on the opposite side of this chamber, I could not discern their faces. Yet their voices were all too familiar.

"Come to us, Agwé."

Gran! And soon followed the voices of my cousins, aunts, and uncles, beckoning to me. I hurried towards them at once, but paused when an explosion erupted in the chamber high above us. Following which, a flaming boulder was sent careening down towards my family. I shouted for them to move and sprinted forwards desperately, but it was no use. I woke in a sweat the moment before the boulder crushed them all.

"Are you having fun, spirits?" I gasped, still breathless from the incredibly realistic dream. "Is this all just a game to you? Why do you torment me so?"

I didn't want anything to do with these spirits or the visions they induced. What good had they brought me anyways? Let's make a tally, shall we? Not only had they failed to warn my family about the mob, but they had also separated me from my Mama for no good reason, and then promptly led me to a grizzly bear which mauled me within an inch of my life. The icing on the cake was introducing me to a woman I learned to love, only to snatch her away from me forever.

All in all, more trials than anyone should be asked to bear. I was seriously tempted to ignore these spirits completely and go my own way, if not for the words from Mama that flooded my mind in this exact moment. Ringing clear and firm, exactly when I needed them most:

"Above all else, trust in the spirits. They will be your guide. There may come a time when you question their motives, but rest assured they will lead you in the ways that you should go. That much has always been certain to me."

My anger softened as I let that message sink in. Though I may not trust these spirits at all myself, I trusted my Mama unconditionally. There was also Annie May to consider. She wouldn't want me to live with such anger or distrust, and I very much wanted to honor her memory. Therefore, while I didn't understand these spirits or their purpose, I chose to continue heeding their advice, at least for a little longer. Reckon there wasn't much left they could take from me at this point anyways.

With that issue resolved, there was now the matter of figuring out the meaning of my latest vision. Thankfully, it was much simpler this time around. No trains would need to be leapt from, as I happened to be residing in the town of Annesburg, a prominent mining town with no shortage of caves. In order to follow the guidance of these spirits, it seemed I would need to gain access to one.

This proved to be an easy endeavor, as numerous "Help Wanted" signs dotted the soot-lined streets of the town. Following a dirt road that curved up a nearby hill, I soon located the entrance to the mine. An imposing gateway, gaping open into the depths of the world itself. A foreman approached me shortly after my arrival.

"Looking for work, lad?" asked the miner. He was completely covered in dark soot, from his boots to the top of his head. Even nestled in his otherwise graying beard.

"I am, sir. I must admit I have no prior experience in a mine, but I assure you that I'm a hard worker."

I was hired on the spot. Jeb, the foreman, retrieved my pickaxe and promptly led me down into the deep mine. I got the feeling they would have employed anyone with all four limbs and a functioning heartbeat.

After a lifetime of fresh air above ground, the mines were stifling. Suffocating. Months of back-breaking labor followed. We entered the mines before sunrise, worked all hours of the day, only emerging long after the sun had set. Darkness became our constant companion. Lungs struggling to expand with every breath due to the thick soot lining their insides. Muscles throbbing with pain after smashing rock for days on end. Mental exhaustion from the constant danger of cave-ins. Being a miner, I found, was not for the faint of heart. But America needed coal for their trains and steamboats, and we were the ones to retrieve it for them.

The men that had worked here all their lives seemed empty of hope most days. Almost lifeless. It was hard to blame them. The mine inflicted terrible damage. Most had developed nasty coughs and were prone to catching illnesses. And yet for many, this was their only means of putting food on the table for their families. They were good people, most of them anyways, and I tried to always maintain a positive attitude around them. Whistling as I worked, with a frequent smile on my face. Taking an interest in their lives. Though they were too gruff to say it, I could tell this made a difference and lightened their days. Even if only a little.

Towards the end of one grueling shift, we were preparing to blow quite a large section of rock to unearth additional coal seams. Dynamite was our tool of choice in these situations. If I'm being honest, I never loved working with the stuff myself. Always seemed like a ticking time bomb to me, especially this old stuff we were being forced to work with lately. Many of the men enjoyed watching the explosions. One of the few perks of our job, I suppose. They gathered in the chamber and watched from a distance while Jeb and I began to remove stacks of dynamite from the crate, positioning them at the base of the rock.

A rat approached and brushed softly against my leg, squeaking gently. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, of course. Rats were one of the few animals that resided in the mines, and I always ensured to show them affection or share a crumb from my lunch. They showed me much care in return.

But then another rodent arrived. And another, and another, and soon an entire pack of rats was there, nibbling at my pants, and then tugging on them firmly.

"Not now friends, this isn't a great time actually. You need to get well clear of this area. I promise to come find you all after my shift ends."

They refused to leave. When I wouldn't budge, they increased their resolve, crying loudly and even biting me on the ankles. Now this really grabbed my attention, as it was very unusual behavior from what I had experienced with them. It all became clear. Their desperate efforts to lead me away from the crate of dynamite could only mean one thing. I immediately leapt to my feet and tackled Jeb behind a large boulder with the rats right on my tail.

"The blazes did you tackle me f—?" began Jeb, but was interrupted by what came next.

Being face down to shield Jeb, I didn't see the explosion that ripped through the cave, but the massive boom eliminated my hearing. In its place was a muted, high pitched ringing. What's more, a flickering light was apparent even behind my tightly shut eyes, and an intense heat had filled our chamber. Despite my disorientation, I knew this could only be one thing. Fire. And lots of it.

I urged my eyes to adjust to the newfound light and slowly the scale of the disaster was unfolded before me. The blast had blown a massive hole in the cave wall, setting ablaze numerous coal pillars, in addition to the many wooden support beams and crates. All miners within the chamber had been thrown from their feet, many now pinned underneath rockfall and debris. Pebbles continued to rain down from the roof, which seemed highly unstable and at risk for additional cave-ins.

We needed to get out of here, and fast. Getting to my feet, I first hoisted up Jeb and guided him to the tunnel that would bring him to the mine entrance. Debris and patches of fire partially obstructed this path, but it was still mercifully open for the time being. Though Jeb was hurt with a heavy limp, he would make it out in time, with the pack of rats scurrying behind him.

The next moments were a blur. Quite literally due to the blinding smoke quickly filling the air around us. Wrapping my bandana tightly around my nose and mouth, I set to unburying my fellow miners, heaving rocks and shattered wood from their pinned bodies.

"Faster, Agwé! Faster!" I urged myself.

Some of the men were able to stumble down the tunnel under their own power despite their injuries, but many others were immobile, or even unconscious altogether. Scooping up the first two men and throwing one over each shoulder, I bounded with all my might towards the mine entrance, dodging fire and falling rocks along the way. Laying their bodies on the ground outside, I sprinted back into the fray to retrieve the next two bodies. Trip after trip I made, each time with more and more of the townsfolk having congregated outside to investigate the source of the chaos.

After dropping off another two miners, my body began urging me to remain outside in the breathable air. With my lungs screaming for relief, I'll admit that I seriously considered falling to the ground and being done with the whole affair. Surely I had done more than enough at this point. But then I remembered my dream from months ago. The one with my family and the fiery boulder. The trapped men still inside the mine were someone's father, or husband, or son. I was unable to save my family from their deaths in Lakay, but I could save these folks today.

The last few trips were the most perilous, forcing me to traverse over large boulders and leap past the fire that now blocked parts of the path. I could feel the flames lick my skin as I went. But I kept on going. After what felt like an eternity, I exited that hellish mine with the final miner. Once depositing him safely, I fell heavily to the ground, gasping for breath that didn't come. The entire town had arrived at this point, with the villagers applying medical care and carting the seriously wounded to the town doctor. A flurry of activity formed around me, though I still could not hear a thing.

The world began to spin, and all became black.

Deafening silence followed for a time, but I soon found myself surrounded by animals. Cows, pigs, sheep, chickens. Others, too. They seemed so happy to see me, and I them. Had I died with my spirit wandering to this peaceful place? But no, there was that giant frog. This had to be my next vision, then. My attention was soon drawn upward. The sky here was a brilliant emerald green, which of course I had never seen before. Strange to be sure, but beautiful. I liked it here in this dream. No fiery boulders raining from the sky was definitely a plus. But next thing I knew, the scene had vanished.

I woke to reality, immediately entering into a violent coughing fit. The smoke and flames had taken their toll, but to my amazement I was still alive. My hands and arms were wrapped in bandages, as well as patches on my legs and torso. I was lying in a room with numerous beds filled with the wounded. Some groaned quietly in their sleep. A woman approached my bedside.

"Bless my stars, how are you feeling dear?" whispered the nurse.

"The men..." I started in a croaky voice. "How many..."

The nurse beamed and informed me that every miner had currently been accounted for and incredibly were alive. Some naturally were pretty banged up and burned, but they were expected to pull through. All alive. I had to repeat that to myself a few times for it to actually sink in. As it turned out, my burns were expected to heal up quite well. The cough would likely persist for some time, but with some fresh air that should eventually clear up too.

A part of my soul was healed that day. With the aid of the spirits and advice from Mama, I found the will to put my life in danger to save others. Please don't misunderstand, I'm not proclaiming myself to be a hero, but saving the lives of those men and ensuring their future with their families provided nourishment to my wounded heart at a time that I needed it most.

The next day I was out of bed with a clean change of clothes and exited the inn which had been turned into a makeshift hospital following the explosion. A small crowd waited outside. Family and friends of the wounded. They rushed to my side and threw their arms around me at once. Thanking me over and over for saving their loved ones. I didn't say much, just held each of them tightly. Gratefulness swelling in my chest. One thing was for sure, if love could be found in such quantities in Annesburg, this downtrodden, mining town with some of the gruffest people you could find, it could surely be found anywhere on Earth.

I informed these folks that I would need to be moving on now, and to please pass on my well wishes to the miners once they were back on their feet.

"But where are you to go?" asked one of the ladies.

"You know, ma'am, I don't rightly know the answer to that myself. But I'm thinking somewhere with farm animals. And emerald skies, perhaps."

I could only smile at the perplexed look she gave me.

Chapter 9: An Emerald Ranch

After bidding goodbye to the townsfolk, I was pulled aside by a kind looking elderly man and woman.

"Excuse me, son, I couldn't help but overhear you," said the man. "Well I don't know nothin' about emerald skies, but we happen to be headin' to a farm ourselves. And it's just the darndest thing, but it goes by the name of Emerald Ranch. Ain't that a coincidence? My wife and I'd be happy to take you, if you were interested?"

Well you can imagine my surprise and relief in that moment. Truth be told, I had no idea where the spirits were guiding me in this latest vision, as there were countless farms and ranches spread across America. The spirits must have brought this couple into my path to ensure I was guided to the correct one.

"Well thank you kindly, sir. That's mighty generous and if it's not too much of a bother, I would gladly take you up on your offer."

"Anything for you, my boy. You saved our nephew's life. We've been in town visiting him and his family, you see. If not for you, he'd surely be a goner."

As I helped load the couple's supplies into their horse-drawn wagon, I was surprised to find a donkey named Walter riding in the rear. He suffered from severe separation anxiety, so had accompanied the man and woman on their journey. And what a good boy he turned out to be. Our peculiar caravan was soon off and on our way to this Emerald Ranch, which was around a day's journey from Annesburg. I came to find out that the man's name was Otto Pollard. He had worked at this farm his entire life as a ranch hand. His wife, Martha, was a retired school teacher. Despite their elderly age, they both retained keen minds, and were about the sweetest folk I ever had the pleasure of meeting.

We enjoyed a pleasant journey, passing smoothly along the rolling green hills through the Heartlands. Before daybreak, Emerald Ranch itself rose into our view. It was rather impressive, with its sprawling pens full of all manner of farm life, just as my vision foretold. Rustic barns and fields of crops filled the area, in addition to the spacious farmhouse, which was painted emerald green in color.

Upon arriving, Mr. Pollard promptly introduced me to the owner of the ranch, a man by the name of Eugene Wegner. He was quite a nasty fellow, who eyed me immediately with distaste. Even refusing to shake my hand, I'm saddened to say. But Otto vouched wholeheartedly for my character and hard work, which seemed to hold some weight. They happened to be in need of another ranch hand, and Wegner reluctantly gave me the job. Even he couldn't pass up a man of my stature, as there was no doubt I was built for the rigors of farm labor.

Otto and Martha insisted that I stay with them until I got settled in my new role, and I gratefully accepted. We had clicked on our wagon ride, quickly forming a kinship of sorts. They were very much the type of folk I enjoyed spending time with. Genuine and kind. Easy to talk to. Salt of the earth. Their cottage was a short distance from the ranch. Though small, it was highly comfortable, with the fireplace warming every nook and cranny of the place. Mrs. Pollard was a master chef, and always ensured my belly was full of something warm and delicious. She reminded me of my Mama in that way. Gran and my aunts too. Always ensuring their loved ones were filled to the brim. Had it truly been four years since they'd been gone?

As a ranch hand, Otto took me firmly under his wing. He seemed to know everything one could possibly know about ranching, and was generous with passing these tips along to me. The work wasn't easy, to be sure, but after spending the past year below ground, this was paradise. Feeling the sun on my bald head and breeze through my beard were sensations I never thought I would appreciate so deeply before.

The highlight of my day though, as you might imagine at this point, was working with the animals. Cows, horses, sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens, and all of them needing to be fed and watered, with their pens kept clean. While Mr. Pollard was highly skilled with these animals, even he was amazed at how quickly they became obedient and formed bonds with me. As always, my desire was to develop a relationship with each and every one of them and ensure they felt safe and happy.

It was here that I met the most ornery creature I had come across in my journey yet. One of the bulls, given the name of Brutus, was pumped full of testosterone and prone to aggressive charges at the slightest provocation. More than once he caught me by surprise and sent me into the mud. I never held it against him, of course. In his mind, we were trespassing in his territory and he was protecting what was his. A natural response, to be sure. Though I spent plenty of extra time in his company, attempting to build a rapport, he was proving to be a tough one to befriend.

In our rare downtimes during the day, Otto was kind enough to teach me how to fire a rifle. We only ever used bows and arrows in the bayou. I hated guns. Always had, especially after witnessing the mob use them to gun down my family. Destructive and unnatural. But Mr. Pollard reasoned that this is exactly why I should learn to use one, should the need ever arise to protect a loved one in the future. Otto made practicing an enjoyable experience, setting up tin cans on hay bales for me to practice on from various distances.

Despite being small in stature, Walter the donkey insisted that I take him for daily rides once our chores were complete. I was worried about crushing him initially, but the little guy was full of spirit and much tougher than he looked. Plus, I could never say no to his charming face. I let him take me wherever he felt like exploring, and grew quite fond of our trips together.

The evenings were spent under the tutelage of Martha. As a former school teacher, she had graciously offered to teach me how to read and write. It may seem odd to anyone today, but few people had both the time and opportunity to develop those skills during the late 1800's, so I jumped at the offer. Mrs. Pollard was a patient teacher, and claimed I had an affinity for absorbing knowledge. Under her tutelage, not only did I become proficient in reading and writing, but we even progressed to basic math and science. I owe a lot to this service selflessly shown to me. Without her, I would not be capable of writing the very words you are reading at this moment.

These were days to be remembered. The Pollards were not wealthy by any means, but they were rich in spirit. It became clear that as long as they had each other, that would always be enough. Despite being married for 45 years, they still held hands wherever they went. I always admired that. Everyone should be fortunate enough to witness such a wholesome relationship and have that example to follow. To realize that it is often the simple things in life that matter most in the end.

No doubt I had already traveled far and seen much in the years that had passed since leaving my bayou home. I missed it greatly, of that there was no denying. And yet, on those mornings where I would lead our flock of sheep to graze in the lush, green hillsides surrounding Emerald Ranch, with the warm sunrise sending streaks of orange and pink across the sky, peace flooded my healing soul. I thought to myself that though it wasn't home, this place was still a pretty amazing place to be. What's more, one morning I woke up to discover my cough following the mine disaster had faded completely. The healing power of fresh air, just as the nurse predicted.

Cattle drives were a common occurrence for us on the ranch, as we would transport herds of livestock from one pasture to another for grazing or to sell. Martha accompanied Otto and I on one such occasion. She loved to ride on the back of Mr. Pollard's horse, never passing up a chance to spend more time with him. I myself was riding a horse I had given the name of Juju. I loved them all, but he happened to be my favorite steed. A reliable Dutch Warmblood with a sooty buckskin coat and the loveliest of temperaments. We were herding the cattle to Carmody Dell, just a few miles up the road to the west. It was another lovely summer's day and Otto was regaling us with a humorous story of attempting to court Martha in their youth, but was cut short by the sudden cracking of gunfire.

Armed men on horseback, galloping towards us at full tilt from the distance. Bandanas draped across their faces. I counted six of them. Cattle rustlers, they had to be. Here to steal our livestock for profit and kill all witnesses in the process.

"Martha...Otto...get out of here, now!" I roared.

"Not a chance, son!" was Otto's reply, pulling out his rifle. "Remember what I taught you: keep your elbow high, and light on that trigger finger! Into the crops, Martha!"

I helped Mrs. Pollard off her horse and she disappeared into the adjacent field of barley. Close to harvesting time, the crops were tall and thick, making them easy to vanish within. Our cattle, panicked from the gunfire, bolted off in all directions, but the rustlers continued to make a beeline towards Otto and I. Their intentions became clear. They meant to kill us first and gather up the cows afterwards.

After dismounting our horses and shooing them to safety, Otto began firing off carefully placed rifle rounds, muttering under his breath as he did so. My first few shots were panicked and rushed, failing to find my target each time. Hitting tin cans was easy. They were stationary. And more to the point, no one was shooting back at you in those situations. Aiming is far more challenging when you realize you could die at any moment! Mr. Pollard had disposed of two of the rustlers at this point, but the remaining four men were getting dangerously close. Their bullets zinging directly past our heads. Steadying my breath, my body, and my mind, my next shot met its mark, sinking into a rider's chest and sending him toppling backwards off his horse.

"That's my boy! Just like I taught yeh!" boomed Otto.

But the celebration was short lived, as an incoming bullet next struck Mr. Pollard's shoulder, causing him to drop his gun. The rustlers were nearly upon us now. I snatched up Otto and burst with him under my arm into the field. We raced down the rows of crops and frantically called out to Martha, relieved to hear her faint voice deep within the field. We soon located her hunkered down within a row of barley, eyes wide with fear. I set Otto beside her and turned my attention back to the cattle thieves who had entered the field on foot. One of them called out to us, taunting.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are. A hag, pathetic old man, and their negro. Credit where credit is due, we didn't think you would pose much of a threat. But those were our friends you gunned down back there. You're going to regret that, mark my words."

While we had put a few moments of distance between them, they were on a path directly towards our hiding place. Having dropped my rifle in my haste to rescue Otto, I was unarmed. Crouching low, I circled silently a few rows to the side of the rustler's approach. I had to act fast. They were fairly bunched together, which gave me the chance I needed. Rising from my squatted position, as a sprinter rising from their starting block, I took three powerful strides before exploding into the air towards the rustlers with my arms stretched wide. I managed to tackle two of the men to the ground and promptly delivered a pair of knockout punches to the pair of them.

As I whirled around to charge the final enemy, I was stopped dead in my tracks by the butt of their rifle, which smashed into my face with devastating force. Sent to my knees, I looked up at the man, who was now pointing his gun directly between my eyes. He was sporting a toothless, maniacal smile.

"Got yeh, yeh big bugger. Gonna finish you off quickly before yeh can cause any more trouble, but don't worry, I'll take my sweet time with that old couple over there."

This was it, the moment of my certain death. I had escaped it many times before, of course. Laguerre's raid on Lakay, the grizzly bear mauling, the escape from the US Navy, and the Annesburg mine explosion, to name a few. There didn't seem to be a way out of this one though. Any second this thug would pull his trigger and it would be all over.

But before the bang could sound, the heavy thundering of footsteps signaled the arrival of another combatant. Except it was no human this time. A large, dark blur arrived from my side, followed by the toothless man being launched twenty feet into the air, crashing hard a few rows over with a broken neck. Standing in his place was Brutus, that surly bull from the ranch. How on earth had he come to be here? Had he heard the gunfire and broken out of his pen to investigate?

I stared at him, intensely grateful, but also a little wary from his previous attacks on me. Yet it seemed my attempts at friendship had finally led to a tentative alliance. I let out a sigh of relief. After allowing me to pat him briefly on his nose, Brutus turned hoof and exploded back out of the field the way he had come. Gathering Otto and Martha, we made our way out of the thick fields of barley and rounded up our horses, who had remained nearby. Loyal creatures, of that there was no doubt. We returned to the ranch, but not before rounding up each and every one of the scattered cattle, at Mr. Pollard's insistence. Despite a bullet to the shoulder, that man was unceasing in doing the right thing at all times.

Looking back on my life, those months spent on the Emerald Ranch always stand out as a bright spot. That peaceful time with the farm creatures was wonderful of course, but being introduced to the Pollards was a blessing I haven't taken lightly. It changed my whole life's trajectory. Having people truly care for you, in the way they did for me, has a way of doing that now and again. That's not to say I wouldn't still make plenty of mistakes in my life, but I was an improved man moving forward.

Upon getting Otto stitched up, we returned to the Pollard's for the night, where I promptly slipped into one of those familiar, vivid dreams that could only mean one thing. It was time to be moving on.

Chapter 10: Peak Performance

Though I had never been around it before, I knew the white, powdery substance surrounding me to be snow. I ran knee-deep through the stuff, racing against the giant frog. Its hops covered great distances, and the heavy snow made it difficult to keep up. Falling behind, I became reckless in my pursuit, losing my balance and sliding to the edge of a cliff. I grabbed a hold just in time. Looking down, I realized just how high I was, towering over the land surrounding me. Panic filled my body as I clung to my lifeline, but my grip abruptly failed, sending me plummeting to my doom.

I woke from my dream in that all too familiar cold sweat, which I thought was oddly appropriate considering the frigid landscape of my vision. Those must have been mountain peaks I was racing upon, the snow and sheer height seemed to confirm that fact to my mind. The thought of leaving the warm, cozy cottage of the Pollards, themselves some of the warmest people I had ever met, was painful, but I knew it was time to go. They were saddened at hearing the news, but not shocked.

"Agwé, there can be no doubt you are destined for great things in your life. We can never repay you for what you have done for us. Not only in rescuing our nephew from that mine explosion, but now in saving our own lives from those cattle rustlers. Though we could never have children ourselves, you truly have felt like a son to us. Our door will be open to you, always. You know that right? I hope we get to see you again some day."

I fought back tears during our farewell embraces, and thanked them for all they had done for me. Hearing I was bound for the mountains, Otto lent me his horse Juju. It had always possessed an uncanny ability to find his way back home, and was sure to return to the ranch after bringing me to my destination. I gratefully accepted this final gift of kindness from the Pollards.

The closest mountain range I was aware of was one to the northwest that went by the name of The Grizzlies, with the tallest among them being Mount Hagen. So with my knapsack crammed full of assorted baked goods and vegetables from Martha, I mounted Juju and was on my way. The four day journey was mostly uneventful, and I once again enjoyed observing as the landscape gradually transformed along the way. The grassy hills gave way to dense trees upon entering Cumberland Forest. Following which, the terrain slowly became more and more rocky and cold. I then crossed the Dakota River and followed the windy trail as it continued down towards Cattail Pond. I was even able to catch a glimpse of Valentine far in the distance, and wondered how Hank, Ernie, and the girls were faring at the saloon.

As I followed the river, which now snaked steadily north towards Mount Hagen, the temperature plummeted, and to my joy large flakes of snow began to drift down from the sky. With childlike excitement I opened my mouth wide and caught a few of the snowflakes in my mouth. Used to the hot, humid weather that I grew up surrounded by, this was a great treat to me. I was going to enjoy this wintery weather, I thought to myself. It was truly magical, in its own way.

Pockets of snow began to form as Juju carried me steadily onwards, and I began to observe animals I never had before. Bighorn rams, snowy foxes, mountain goats, and even a few bison. What a thrill! By the end of the fourth day, deep snow blanketed everything as far as the eye could see. Once we reached the base of The Grizzlies, I bid a heartfelt goodbye to Juju, who promptly began the return journey that would reunite him with the Pollards at Emerald Ranch.

Despite my success interpreting the previous few visions, I experienced a pang of doubt as I looked upon these intimidating mountains. They were miles high and pierced into the clouds themselves. Was this even the right mountain range, I thought? And if so, which of them was I to climb? Mount Hagen was the largest and most well known, so that seemed as good of an option as any. Steeling myself, I began to scale.

Step-by-step I trudged through that snow. Similar to walking through deep mud at home, the added resistance made the climb especially difficult. At its deepest, my hips were fully submerged under the powder. Do you realize how difficult hiking up an incline is in those conditions? I sure didn't until that moment. Large clouds of breath emitted through the frigid air in front of me. Never had I been so grateful for the furry beard helping to keep my face warm.

The spirits gave me strength, of that I was sure. I climbed through all hours of that night, pushing through the discomfort in my throbbing legs and frozen lungs. Mercifully, I reached the mountain's peak as the sun began to make its appearance, which took the bite out of the bitter cold ever so slightly. And what a glorious view to behold as I stood on top of the world itself. The lands below me stretched out to the edge of the opposite horizon. Truly a humbling experience. One I would have never expected to have as a young boy in the swamp.

Now that I was here...what exactly was I supposed to do? There wasn't a soul in sight, and I must say my stomach had begun to rumble something fierce. Martha's baked goods had run out the afternoon before, and there didn't seem to be much in the way of food on this barren mountain peak. Just as I began to feel worried and weigh the option of descending, I heard the wolves. Quietly, mind you. But while it was true that I had never heard a wolf's howl before, I knew in an instant this was the beast these noises belonged to.

Wolves were dangerous at the best of times. Everyone knew that. And by the sound of things, these ones were angry. A whole pack of them. And yet, I found my legs carrying me in their direction. Was I a fool? Probably, yes. But there was also that air of destiny I could feel in my bones, which I often felt when I was close to reaching the destinations in my visions.

The howling continued to grow as I traversed to the other side of the mountain, until the pack itself came into view. Ten wolves strong. Massive with thick, gray fur. They circled at the base of a large boulder, occasionally leaping up in an attempt to snatch what was on top. For there stood a young man, perched atop the rock and kicking at the beasts as they jumped up to nip hungrily at his boots. Quite the predicament he had found himself in. What on earth was he doing on top of this mountain, anyways?

One thing was for certain, this fella was going to get nabbed by these wolves, it was only a matter of time. He badly needed help, so I rushed into the fray. My desire was not to harm these animals. They were precious to me. In ideal circ*mstances, I would attempt to charm the beasts and lead them away peacefully, but there were far too many and in a highly aggressive state. In this situation I needed to quickly send them a message that they would be better served finding an easier meal elsewhere. This one was off limits.

Distracted as they were, I was able to rush between the pack and their cornered victim before being discovered. Standing tall with my arms out wide, I released a booming, adrenaline fueled battle cry that surely would have sounded for miles around that mountain. The wolves hunkered down at the sound, but it was going to take more than that for them to back down. These were the rulers of these peaks, after all. They began to snarl, sharp teeth bared menacingly. Then the assault began.

The wolves took turns lunging at me, one after the other, forcing me to dodge or redirect their attacks. More than once I was forced to give them a sharp blow to the nose when their fangs sunk into my arm or leg, but more often than not I was able to avoid dealing significant damage. On the other hand, their damage to me began to accumulate, with the blood soon soaking my shirt and pants only heightening their aggression.

During our fight, I had located what appeared to be the alpha of the pack. An especially large male covered with many battle wounds. As I continued to fend off attacks, a plan hatched in my mind. A dangerous one that would leave me open to counterattack, but that also had the potential to end the conflict in an instant. The alpha readied himself for yet another attack. It was now or never.

As the leader lunged towards me, I dodged and seized the mighty wolf tightly by its sides. Spinning twice in a circle to gain momentum, I hurled the alpha high into the air, where it flew thirty feet and landed in a deep pile of snow. Stunned by this turn of events, the other wolves ceased their attack briefly, eyeing their leader as he gingerly regained his footing. After eyeing me up for a moment and considering his options, the beast turned tail and retreated down the mountain, with the rest of the pack scurrying off behind him. A great round of applause followed from the grateful man on the boulder.

"Now that, my friend, was impressive! You'd make a fair shot putter, if you ever had a mind to compete. The name's Bobby Baker, at your service. I've no idea what you're doing up here, but boy am I ever glad you came along. Not sure how much longer I'd have avoided them. What on earth are you doing up here?"

"I don't rightly know that myself, mister, I'm just glad I wandered along when I did," I replied. "What's a shot putter?"

"Well that just so happens to be an Olympic sport. Throwing a heavy sphere as far as one possibly can. There's other events too, of course. Kind of like competitive games or tests of strength. It's the reason I'm up here on this mountain myself, actually. I'm training, you see. Word is, across the ocean in a place called Athens, they're planning on reviving the ancient Olympic Games. Inviting countries from all around the world to come together and compete for glory. I'm planning on going myself, and what better way to prepare and push my body to its limits than on an actual mountain!"

As it turned out, Bobby was a student athlete at Harvard University, with access to the latest research on helping the body reach its maximum potential.

"I would be honored to teach you all I know. Even train you myself if that's something you were interested in? Assuming you don't have somewhere else to be, naturally."

In fact, this was apparently exactly where I was supposed to be. I was now used to going with the flow, and trusting in the spirits more and more with every vision. Plus, I was fascinated with the idea of helping my body reach its peak level.

"You know, Bobby Baker, I think I must just take you up on that kind offer."

"Splendid news! It's the least I can do, my good chap. But don't thank me just yet. You're clearly a fine specimen, but there's a lot more to reaching your full potential than brute strength alone. Speed, agility, endurance, these are all athletic qualities that can be improved upon. But don't worry, stick with me and we'll make an Olympian of you yet."

The wounds from the wolf attack were fairly superficial, so after a quick patching up at Bobby's mountainside home, which was more like a shack really, we began our training immediately. Ceaselessly running up and down mountains, huffing and puffing all along the way. We hurdled over boulders and scaled walls of vertical rock, with breaks in between for dozens of push-ups and sit-ups. We even dipped into nearby Lake Isabella, with great slabs of ice floating within. What an absolute rush that was! I thought I might actually die at first, but once my body acclimated, it began to crave that icy water. Swimming countless laps as Bobby shouted encouragement alongside me.

This continued on for the next 6 months. Rising with the sun each morning and pushing our bodies to their breaking points. Though I thought myself to be in relatively good shape beforehand, the improvements in my fitness began to be dramatic. Everything from my muscles to my lungs and heart strengthened greatly. I felt vitalized. Able to run faster, jump higher, swim further. Even able to lift objects heavier than I ever had before. Was this why the spirits brought me to the top of the world? To raise my body to it's peak performance? While it filled me with great pride to reach these levels, it also made me wonder. What was coming in my future that this physical enhancement was seen as necessary?

As I drifted off to sleep that night, with bags of ice strapped to my recovering muscles, that mischievous giant frog made its inevitable return to my dreams, with the most troubling vision I had yet received.

Chapter 11: Desert Plagues

Baked by the blistering desert sun, I stumbled through the sand alongside my oversized amphibian companion. After a short time, we reached the border of a small town, which caused me to stop dead in my tracks. For above the town hung a cloud of bright, green mist. It pulsated ominously, growing in size with every passing second. Without warning, it plunged into the town itself, infesting the people found within. One-by-one, they collapsed lifelessly to the ground. The mist continued to grow, eating up every inch of space it could find, and eventually filled the very air in my lungs. Choked by the toxic substance, I felt my consciousness slipping, and gratefully woke from the nightmare.

Whatever this mist was, or what it was meant to symbolize, was very bad news. I had a hard time shaking the anxiety that the dream brought on, especially knowing the spirits wanted me to travel to this location myself. But go, I must. Though my journey had been far from easy, the spirits had a plan for me. My trust in them had become firm. The deserts of America were found far to the west, so it was time to grab my trusty knapsack, tighten my boots, and mosey on in a westward direction.

After bidding goodbye to Bobby Baker, thanking him for his training and friendship, and wishing him well in the upcoming Olympics, I descended the mountain home that I had become quite fond of. As I neared the bottom a few hours later, my ears were greeted by the faint sounds of a howling wolf pack. Were they ambushing Bobby again now that his protector was out of the picture? But no, instinctively I knew these howls sounded different. Non-threatening. Almost friendly in nature. Perhaps a signal of respect, or wishing me well on my journey. Whatever the case, I was grateful for the gesture, and howled right on back in return.

Thus began my longest trek yet. A ten day journey from the mountains to the arid deserts of New Austin, resting briefly at notable locations along the way. I visited the quaint mountain village of Strawberry, the enchanting woods of Tall Trees, and the renowned McFarlane's Ranch. As I disembarked from the final train stop, with my boots sinking promptly into the scorching sand, the rickety wooden sign confirmed to me that I had arrived in Armadillo. I was used to the heat of course from my life in the bayou, but the air here was dry. Stifling. The town consisted of a single main street, with saloons and shops lining each side. But something was deeply troubling about this place, that much became clear right away.

The unusually thin, pale residents eyed me with distrustful eyes. Most homes were deserted. A grief-struck wailing filled the air. Most ominous of all was the smoke billowing over the large, recently dug pits. Something indeed was terribly wrong among the folks here, and it didn't take long to discover its cause. Cholera. A word I was unfamiliar with, but one that held great significance to the people here. It had torn many families apart and brought this former bustling town to its very knees.

How the disease reached Armadillo, no one was entirely certain, but people began to become mysteriously sick only a few weeks prior to my arrival. Within that time, this terrible illness spread at a rate never witnessed by the region before, infecting the majority of the town before the lockdowns were put into place. With so little known about the sickness, and with scores of people dying every day, the town doctor insisted that the corpses must be burned to limit the spread of the cholera. That explained the pits that I witnessed soon after arriving. Mass graves, filling the air with the smell of death.

Now let me be clear: My intention is not to disturb any readers of this account. Surely I do not delight in such death and destruction. Rather, I only wish to convey the seriousness of the plague that Armadillo faced, and my complete sense of helplessness upon arriving. What was I to do for this town that seemed to have descended into the very depths of hell? Was I, too, destined to catch this sickness and meet my own end as a result? Yet I refused to dwell on such things. I had traveled thousands of miles from my bayou home to this abandoned desert for a reason. There were people here in desperate need of help. It was time to forget myself and get to work.

Luckily it wasn't all that difficult to find something to do. The town doctors and undertakers, though initially taken aback at my offer to help, were soon eager for whatever aid I could provide. They were few in number. Spread hopelessly thin in dealing with the outbreak. I soon found myself building coffins and wrapping bodies in linen cloth in that sweltering heat. The type of unheralded work, that is nonetheless essential, if there was any hope of weathering the storm of sickness that had swept over Armadillo.

The doctors were completely swamped with managing their cholera patients, but what about residents that still needed other forms of treatment? To have a wound stitched up, a cough managed, or broken bone attended to? Well, that's where I could come in handy, too. Though my medical experience was quite limited at this point, I was introduced to a portly Mexican woman by the name of Silveria. She spoke very little English, but had gained much experience with medical care in her life. I aided her in any way I could, soaking up the knowledge she had to show me. Despite the language barrier, Silveria had a highly soothing way with her patients, one that I tried to emulate. Before long I was able to treat a host of different injuries, even stitching up wounds in a way J.B. Cripps would be proud of.

For many months I labored ceaselessly in these endeavors, pouring all of myself into the work for the betterment of the town and its people. Death had been a defining concept in my life to this point. Driving me from my home. Spinning my life out of control for a time. But I had recovered. Though the pain of losing loved ones would never fade completely, I had become grounded. Found perspective. The world became beautiful again. Vibrant, even. This was in large part a result of the love shown to me on my travels, such as that from Otto and Martha Pollard. And my dear Annie May. Why are the innocent allowed to pass on far too early, while scoundrels are blessed to live full existences? I know not. What I have learned is that peace and happiness can be found despite this injustice.

After a while, it became clear that I hadn't been brought to this town to simply help weather this plague. No, I was guided here to also spread the peace I had found to these people who needed it most. And that's what I did. Don't get me wrong, I didn't work miracles or anything of that sort. Losing loved ones is always an excruciating experience. Many are inconsolable for a long while following such trauma. And I could never take such pain away. But I have been blessed with a comforting aura, or at least so I've been told. And I honed that gift in my time spent around Silveria. I learned to connect with folks and make them feel truly heard. Was I able to ease grief in a few people? To offer insight and hope, or lift someone's spirit along the way? I would like to say I did.

Surrounded by such levels of grief on a daily basis, I admit it sometimes felt too heavy of a load to bear. On those days, I made sure to retreat into the wilderness after my shift to recharge my emotional batteries. And once I reached the solitude of the desert, I did what is always sure to uplift my soul. I spent time with the beasts. Here were multitudes of friends I had never interacted with before. Between freeing a rattlesnake stuck in a bramble of bushes, befriending a den of desert foxes, relaxing in the sun with a friendly Gila monster, and helping a great condor that had broken her wing, I always returned to Armadillo rejuvenated and ready to give all of myself.

The cholera continued to be an outbreak for the ages, but we began to slow the spread and make a measurable difference. I learned a lot about selfless service during that time. In my opinion, the number one way we can improve our individual circ*mstances is by reaching out and helping others. Your own problems usually find a way of improving in the process. Don't believe me? Try it out and you might just be surprised.

One night, after a particularly grueling yet rewarding day, the giant frog visited me in vision for the final time. I found myself bounding through an immense valley, as the frog hopped by my side. We were joined by the animals of a forest realm, in all of their varieties. To my great surprise, I became aware that I was running on my arms and legs on all fours. Well, that's new, I thought to myself. Halting briefly to quench my thirst in the nearby creek, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. In place of my familiar features was a pair of intense, glowing eyes, sharp fangs, and thick fur all over. The face of a grizzly bear. I fell right out of my bed as I woke from the dream.

I recognized that valley. I had seen it many times from above as I trained in the mountains with Bobby Baker. My time in the desert had come to an end. Big Valley was calling.

Chapter 12: Valley of Ogoun

It was impossible to wipe the smile from my face as I arrived back east in Big Valley. Truly, the place was a sight to behold. Just as the name implied, this was a spacious, tranquil valley. Miles in length, with countless trees surrounding the perimeter. A gentle creek weaved through the land, which was nestled within the footsteps of Mount Shann to the south and Mount Hagen to the north. Of course, I had gained a first-hand appreciation for the latter during my Olympian training with Bobby Baker.

My trust in the spirits was nearly complete at this point in my journey. Though they had often led me down difficult paths, sometimes even downright dangerous ones, I was at peace with their direction. I knew if I gave each situation my all, I would develop towards my full potential, and often help others along the way. I still could not decipher the full meaning of each vision, but if I had to guess, I was being led to this Big Valley because of the animals that resided within. And my were there ever a lot of them here.

To my delight, one of the first species I spotted was a group of wild horses. How amazing it was to see these creatures in this natural paradise. Grazing on the plentiful grass, feeling the wind flow through their manes as they galloped and played. This was the purest form of freedom I had ever seen. The way that we all deserve to live. Acting on instinct, I found myself unbuttoning my shirt and letting it fall to the earth, along with my socks and boots. My pants and suspenders soon followed, leaving me in naught but my undergarments.

The northern air was frigid against my bare chest, but it made me feel alive. Leaning down, I scooped a handful of crisp mountain water from the creek to my mouth and was instantly refreshed. Slowly, I approached the nearby herd. Upon sensing my presence, their muscles tensed, ready to bolt. I ceased at once.

My way with animals was the gift I had always been most proud of in my life. Not in a boastful way, but more so that I strongly appreciated being allowed to connect with them in the way I could. It was at this moment that I fully realized why I was brought to this beautiful place. I was to be given a chance to further develop my gifts with nature. Perhaps to enhance them to a greater level than I ever had before.

"Okay. You've got this. Trust your instincts. Don't think. Just do," I whispered to myself.

I found myself raising my arm to the front...and whistling. There was nothing new about this, of course. I often whistled joyfully as I went through my day. But never at any point in my life had my whistling sounded like it did in this moment. It seemed to rise from the depths of my soul itself. Peaceful. Almost enchanting. A cascade of notes that fully caught the attention of the horses where they stood.

One by one, the beasts relaxed. And once comfortable, their curiosity grew. The first approached and pressed her muzzle softly into my outstretched hand, allowing me to caress her gently. Others followed her lead, to where I was soon fully encircled by the herd. Each resting their muzzles upon a part of me they could reach, be it my arms, chest, or back. It was a wonderful display of trust. My bayou heart burst with joy as I felt each of their gentle, warm exhales of breath.

The herd then backed away and began to trot slowly down the valley, looking back in my direction as they did so. Were they wanting me to...to join them? I caught up with the horses, who slowly increased their pace. Faster and faster, until together we entered a full on sprint. Surrounded by these galloping, noble beasts, and inhaling that brisk mountain air, I ran faster than I had ever ran before. Faster than I even thought possible. A surge of euphoria shot through my body, sending goosebumps up and down my arms and legs.

The next few months of my life were spent in that peaceful dale. A period of my life now sacred to me. Each night sleeping under the wide expanse of stars, it seemed to me the entire universe opened itself over that valley. During the days, I lived completely off the land among my new woodland friends. There were the moose and elk, racoons and rabbits, deer and badgers, and a great deal more. Gradually, I grew accustomed to their ways. They each possessed their own unique personalities, and needed to be interacted with in certain ways for them to feel comfortable. Mastering the call of each species quickly became a favorite pastime of mine.

One evening in particular stood out more than any of the others. The sun had just begun to dip behind the mountain range, creating a brilliant, bloody red hue along the horizon. Redder than I had ever seen before. I was particularly pleased at that moment, as the notoriously timid opossums were finally warming to my presence. I may have been enticing them with huckleberries at the time, but I was still counting that as a win.

Just then, an eerie hush settled over the valley. We all felt it at that moment. There was danger nearby. The animals bolted into the surrounding trees. I sensed the beast well before it entered my vision. Rising from the huckleberry bush and turning around slowly, I spotted the enormous figure standing in the center of the valley, one hundred yards away, with his eyes trained intently on me. Comprised of thick fur and muscle, and equipped with monstrous claws and fangs, this could only be one beast. A grizzly bear.

My chest tightened, as did every other muscle in my body. The last time I had come across a grizzly was on the very night I left the bayou almost seven years ago, nearly losing my life in the process. Though the scars had long since healed, I felt a tangible pain on my face from the intense memory of that night. This bear looked to be a similar size to that one. However, last time I was able to drive off my attacker with a thrust of my trusty knife to its face. Today I stood before this formidable foe barehanded. Not good, not good at all.

Before my mind could form a plan of any sort, the grizzly began to charge. Bayou spirits, I need you now more than ever! The chances of escaping into the woods in time were slim to none, so I did what my instincts told me to do. Something that likely only the craziest of folks would think of doing. I let out a battle cry and charged the bear right back. Those brief, few seconds seemed to occur in slow motion. Here I was, racing towards what was surely certain death, and yet it felt right, as odd as that was to say. If today was indeed to be my final day on this earth, I would be going out on my own terms. If the grizzly expected me to go quietly, boy was he about to be disappointed.

Forty yards, thirty, twenty, ten, with the bear growing larger and more intimidating with every stride. At this range, I was finally close enough to see it. The great scar beneath the bear's right eye, as if delivered by a blade. Curious, I thought. It seemed to be in a very similar spot my knife struck that grizzly all those years ago.

But that...that's impossible...

My feet dug hard into the dirt, sliding to a halt. Surprised by this action, the bear also halted its charge for a moment. Rising to its feet, it let out a deafening roar, drool spraying from its mouth as it crashed back onto all fours. A brief moment before launching his deadly attack, the grizzly locked his eyes onto mine. Just for one moment, but that one, powerful moment was all it took. This was the same grizzly alright. Though we were hundreds of miles from our last encounter, there he stood before my very eyes. The traumatic memories of the night of our first meeting had been burned deeply into my mind. I would remember every detail upon that beast's face until my dying day. They were the same details in front of me now. A trickle of recognition seemed to have fallen upon his face as well.

And there we stood, face to face, illuminated by the glow of that bloody red sunset. I knew any moment this beast's instincts could kick in and I would be mauled on the spot. But despite all this, despite my impending death, all I felt was peace. Had I gone insane? No, at least I didn't think so. More than anything, the oneness I had gained with nature over these past months had given me perspective. I would never know what prompted that first grizzly attack. Had it previously been attacked by humans? Was it fearing for its life? Or perhaps just simply acting on instinct?

The reason itself didn't really matter so much to me. Despite the pain and damage he had caused me, I understood there was a good reason behind what he did. But it was even more than that. In that moment, I forgave this bear. I felt a love for this bear. He was doing his best to survive in this sometimes unforgiving world. The same as I was doing. The same as all of us were doing. A smile spread across my face.

"It's okay, big fella. I know you're not acting out of hate. If it sounds good to you, I'd like to name you Ogoun, a famous voodoo warrior spirit. One of my favorites to hear about as a boy. Do what you feel you need to do. I can't promise that I won't fight back in defense, but I truly have no ill will in my heart for you."

Ogoun suddenly brought his face close towards mine, sniffing curiously for a few moments, before planting a massive, wet lick across my right cheek. The same spot where he left those deep claw marks years earlier. The same spot where I had left my mark on him, as a matter of fact. Our eyes met again for a moment, before he bounded into the forest, disappearing out of sight.

I stood rooted to that spot for a time, reflecting on the incredible nature of what had just happened. I had forgiven a grizzly bear for wounding me, and he had done the same in return. Of this, I was convinced beyond all doubt. Some readers of my account may question whether animals are capable of showing such reason, or feeling such feelings. But they have shown to me time and time again over my life that they can. Whatever animosity had existed between us over these past years, we had looked into each other's hearts and found understanding. A weight that I wasn't even aware of had been lifted from my soul.

My ponderings were soon interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats. Not of my wild horse friends this time, but of a saddled horse with a rider, trotting directly towards me. I was taken aback, as this was the first human being I had seen since entering the valley.

"Excuse me sir, I believe I have a telegram for you," said the courier, seemingly amazed.

"Oh I doubt that very much, mister. Nobody knows that I'm here."

"It's for you, I'm sure of it. Not only do you match the description I was given, but you're in the exact spot she said you would be."

Somewhat bewildered, I took the note from the man, and he promptly rode off. Unfolding the letter, it read as followed:

"Agwé, my son, meet me in Lagras. It's time for you to come home." - Mama

Chapter 13: Homecoming

I stared in complete shock at the note. After all the years of silence, of not knowing for certain if I would ever hear from Mama again, here was my answer. Come home? Could it finally, mercifully be time? But how did she possibly know where to send the delivery man? To know that I would be here at this very spot, at this very moment? Why, I didn't even know those details myself beforehand! I petitioned the horses of Big Valley, whom three volunteered to escort me on the long journey home. I would ensure to rotate between these friends, so as to not exhaust any of them.

You know, the spirits demanded me to leave my beloved bayou, and it took me much reflection to understand why. But as they say, some wisdom only comes with age and experience. Would I have learned the same lessons, gained the skills, and become the very person I was had I stayed behind in the swamp all these years? I knew the answer was almost certainly no. As it was, I had traveled to all corners of this country. Pushed my body to its limits in every climate imaginable. Enhanced my oneness with nature and the creatures within. Increased in strength of body and knowledge of mind.

Perhaps most importantly of all, I had forgiven myself for being unable to protect my family during the attack on our village. But make no mistake, I was unsure complete peace was ever possible until my family had been given justice. Whatever form that would take. And above all, to ensure that the bayou was safe and protected. These desires had been placed to the side for a time, but I allowed them to return in full force now that I was allowed to come home. I prayed that the spirits would give me the strength that was needed to accomplish what was to come next.

At the conclusion of a week of steady riding, we entered the borders of Bayou Nwa itself. I descended from my mount, thanked the horses for their kindness, and bade them to return to their valley oasis. Even after all these years, it's hard for me to put into words how surreal that moment felt. After all that time, the swamp was still here in all of its glory. Wave after wave of nostalgia washed over me with every familiar sensation. The thick humidity against my skin, the buzzing of insects, the soft mud squishing underneath my bare toes. This was where my soul belonged. The Bayou Beast was back, at long last!

Everything was as I had remembered it. Though I was no longer the innocent boy retreating from the bayou all those years ago, I had no problem yielding to my inner child and cannon-balling into the first body of water I laid eyes on. What can I say? I had waited a long time for this moment and the desire was overwhelming. My joyful laughter filled the air, as I floated gently on my back through a group of lily pads. A frog promptly hopped upon my chest, croaking peacefully. Meanwhile, a flock of beautiful, pink spoonbills soared overhead. I reckon I could've stayed in that moment forever.

In my bliss, I had let myself grow far too careless. A stream of bubbles suddenly broke the surface of the water, followed by the immense head of an alligator mere inches from where I tread. Face to face with this mighty beast, I knew these could well be my final breaths. Though my gift with the animals had grown stronger than ever, I was not immune to their aggression. Especially when I had so rudely wandered into their territory and taken them by surprise. How could I be so careless? A cruel irony to be killed the very day I return to my bayou home.

Attempting to swim away would be a death sentence. This would trigger the creature's attack instinct. I wouldn't stand a chance once clamped in those powerful jaws, and the death rolls that would then follow. As with my encounter with Ogoun, my survival depended completely on connecting with this gator's soul. Willing him to realize that I was friend, not foe. Spirits, please be with me. I spoke next in the calmest, most peaceful voice I could manage.

"I'm very sorry for the intrusion, mighty beast of the bayou. You don't know me, that's true, but I am not your enemy. This is actually my home, too. It's where I grew up. All I want is what's best for this swamp, and the creatures living within. That includes you. But I need you to give me the chance to prove it."

The gator drifted forward and I knew I was done for. Any second I would be yanked under the water. But then the miracle happened, as this great beast bumped his nose against my chest...and rested it there gently. Slowly, I raised my hand up and patted the top of the gator's head. He seemed to rather enjoy that, so I started rubbing around his eyes and all along the top of his nose. Could this actually be happening? Following this, he slowly rolled onto his back while floating in the water. Was he asking me to scratch his belly? I quickly obliged. Completely exhilarated, I let out a relieved hoot as he rolled back up to look at me.

As I held this mighty creature in my arms, I was suddenly hit with a vivid memory from my past. One that I had replayed many times beforehand. There I lay, hiding in the mud with Mama, while our village was attacked by the mob. Laguerre and his henchman, torches in hand, neared the very place where we lay. They would have discovered us seconds later, that much was certain, had it not been for the gator that launched a surprise attack and drove Laguerre from our location.

The bayou spirits whispered to my heart in that moment that the beast before me now was the very one that saved my life those many years ago.

"Incredible! Can it really be you? My friend, I am indebted to you forever. Not only did you save my life that night, but the life of my Mama as well. I shall call you Damballa, if that sounds okay to you?"

Damballa did something quite unusual at that moment, as he nudged his side against me repeatedly. I couldn't decide what he wanted at first. Was he coaxing me to climb aboard? I tentatively slid onto the gator's scaly back, and he burst off at once into the water, leaving me to frantically find my grip. We motored around and around that lake, even diving into the depths for a few seconds, before blasting above the surface for air. I had never felt so alive in my entire life.

I was home, alright. And it was better than I could have ever imagined.

Chapter 14: Visions From Afar

As unforgettable as this experience was, the urge to find Mama became overwhelming. Wrapping my arms around Damballa, I bid farewell to my friend, but with the reassurance that we would see each other again. With that, I surfaced from the water and entered a blistering sprint towards Lagras. Less than a mile to go now.

What had Mama been up to these past seven years? And what had changed that it was finally deemed time for me to return? My mind pondered these questions as I ran, but snapped back to the present when I realized I was being followed. Whoever it was, they were incredibly stealthy. I only caught brief flashes of the dark figure between the thick trees, speeding alongside me as I ran. I came to a sudden stop on the path.

"I see you out there, fella. Please show yourself. I mean you no harm," I spoke calmly into the trees.

It took a few moments, but slowly a pair of black tufted ears emerged from the grass, followed by a set of brilliant emerald eyes I would have recognized anywhere.

"Ay...Ayida?"

Dropping to my knees, my dear panther launched herself into my arms before I even reached the ground. Licking me frantically, I held her tightly against my chest. Though I had allowed myself to hope, I honestly wasn't sure if she would still be alive. She was quite old at this point for a panther and had to be nearing the end of her lifespan. Yet here she stood. Looking as majestic in her matured age as ever. Ayida felt more to me like a sibling than a pet, and I was beyond happy to be reunited with her.

After a few more moments of affection, she signaled that she had somewhere to lead me, so I followed at once. It felt just like old times, sprinting through the swamp at top speed, hurdling over the logs and shrubbery in our wake. Before too long, we reached our destination. A quiet, secluded corner of the bayou, with a small, mossy rock formation nestled into the side of a hill. This must be her den. She wouldn't have led me here, unless...

I walked with reverence towards the mouth of the den, where Ayida stood with pride. She let out a mighty growl, which echoed deep within. A pair of emerald eyes broke through the darkness of the cave, followed by another pair. And another. I gasped as the cats timidly entered into the light. These were Ayida's cubs alright. Nearly full grown, and each appearing powerful in their own right. Two females and one male, by the looks of it.

With their mother's assurance, the panthers warmed quickly to my presence, bounding and playing in a way that immediately reminded me of a young Ayida. Seeing her life come full circle was a truly amazing experience. That she was willing, even eager, to introduce me to her cubs, was a demonstration that she still trusted me fully after all these years. I did not take that lightly. We played in that quiet glade for an hour or so, reuniting bonds and forming new ones too.

"It was wonderful to see you again, my friend, and your beautiful family too. But the sun is due to set soon and I really need to find my own Mama. I will come find you again soon, I promise."

I set off for Lagras once again, with great anticipation. There was still one person I had not seen. The person that knew me more than any other. That quiet fishing village of Lagras soon appeared before my very eyes. I knew it well, with it being only a ten minute walk from my home of Lakay. It was largely the same as I remembered, other than a few extra buildings that had been raised in my absence. A flock of chickens brushed softly past my ankles, their clucking seeming to welcome me home.

And there she was, as if not a single day had passed. Gently rocking in her chair on the front porch of a home just off the main road. I stood there for a moment, in near disbelief. But then her eyes met mine. A tear of joy rolled down her cheek, with a smile spanning ear to ear. I was still damp from my swim with Damballa, but this was no time to care about such things. Bounding up the stairs, I scooped up Mama into a massive bear hug, quite similar to the one we shared the night I left the bayou.

"My boy, my Agwé, it's really you!" she exclaimed, caressing my face and taking in every detail. "My, how you've grown."

"I've missed you very much, Mama," I replied.

"I've missed you too, son. Not a day went by that I didn't imagine this very moment. There is much to discuss, but first things first. Let's find you something to eat."

I didn't think this day could get any better. A home cooked meal from Mama ensured that it would.

Though we had been separated for many years, our love was unbroken through the miles and time apart. Mama naturally whipped up her patented jambalaya, my favorite dish, which we shared while catching up on where life had taken each of us over these seven years. Where to even begin? The moment felt so surreal, but I suppose most moments are like that when you dream about them countless times beforehand.

To my astonishment, I discovered that Mama already knew most every detail of where I had gone and what I had done during our time apart. She explained that many nights she had received visions, which revealed moments from my life. Little did I know that she had been mourning from a distance during my struggles, and cheering me on in my victories. Praying steadily to the bayou spirits to protect me through my journey.

"I couldn't be more proud of you for the things you had to go through, my boy. It's not been an easy road you've been forced to travel. The spirts encouraged me not to make contact with you. They explained that hearing from me would make being away from the bayou unbearable for you. That it would have stunted your progression. I wanted so badly to reach out, nearly every day, but I honored their request," she explained.

As for her, Mama revealed that she had remained safely in the bayou the entire time I was away. The night I was banished, she retreated deep into the swamp to avoid Laguerre and his mob. As the spirits foretold, they had returned that evening to look for the survivors of the night before. There Mama remained hidden, until she was confident the mob had disbanded for good a few days later. Returning to our home in Lakay would not be a safe option, nor would she have wanted to with the painful memories now associated with the place. So she ventured to nearby Lagras. It was there that she mercifully found a room to lodge in. How grateful I was to the couple that provided her sanctuary.

She sold fishing bait on the front porch of that house during the day, giving her the means to survive and live peacefully among the people there. In particular, she seemed to gain the favor of the home owners where she was staying. A few short months later, the couple decided to move to Strawberry and, quite surprisingly, left the deed for the entire house to Mama. Shortly removed from having her life torn up, she had endured and established new, firm roots. I wasn't surprised. Mama had always been a most determined, resourceful woman.

Her thirst for revenge, I soon found out, proved to be a most potent tonic. For not a day passed by that she didn't crave payback for the wrongs done to her family. Retribution must be answered upon those that murdered her kin and threatened our bayou home. Mama explained that Jean-Pierre Laguerre, the puppeteer responsible for our family's murder, had since launched an expedition into the bayou and began to strip the land of its valuable resources. He used his substantial wealth to employ a large group of men with equipment to dig deeply into the land, unearthing valuable iron and coal deposits, and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Sacred trees hundreds of years old were ripped from the ground without a thought, to say nothing of the atrocities committed by Laguerre's hired poachers. Alligators were murdered for their teeth and hides, beautiful birds slaughtered for their plumes, and countless other creatures eliminated in the name of greed.

My heart broke at hearing this news. How could they do this to such a sacred land? To the innocent animals? I had no idea it could be so bad. My eyes welled up as I spoke:

"Mama, this must be why the spirits asked me to leave the bayou all those years ago. They've been training me. Preparing me for this very moment. Our home is in trouble, and has been for much too long. This ends now. I'm ready to bring peace back to the bayou. And if that means waging war against our enemies, well, then we best prepare for battle."

Chapter 15: The Night Folk

Violence was never my preferred option. This I've said before. But on rare occasions, such as when standing up to a tyrant, there can be no other way. After hearing my declarations of war, Mama smiled. An intense smile, that I must say unnerved me a little. She then revealed the full details of the vision she received the day I was asked to leave Bayou Nwa. After falling unconscious, Mama foresaw Laguerre's upcoming reign of terror upon the swamp. It was clear that she and a 17 year old Agwé would have little chance of standing up to this formidable threat by ourselves.

Thus, the bayou spirits formulated a plan that would grant us the power to defeat this enemy. A plan that would take many years of preparation, and much sacrifice on our parts. Everything that we had to give. Part of this plan, of course, involved banishing me from the swamp. For in the eyes of the spirits, this was the quickest way to achieve my full potential and prepare for the battle that was to come.

Meanwhile, Mama had also been given a part to play in liberating the bayou, albeit in a very different way. While she served as a humble fishing bait merchant by day, this was simply a disguise she wore. A way to ward off suspicion. For now that Mama had a house all to herself, she had all the privacy she would ever need. You see, during the nights she engaged in voodoo rituals with the spirits, becoming more and more in tune with their whisperings and visions than ever before. With time, she gained the ability to monitor my progress from afar, and had labored constantly to increase her powers since then.

The spirits had been taken by surprise by the ruthlessness of Laguerre and his mob following their raid on Lakay. Never before had they observed such evil. Usually peaceful beings, the spirits became enraged at the murder of their loved ones. They recognized that in order to save the bayou from such a violent foe, a similarly brutal force would need to be raised to stand up to this enemy.

"We have been chosen to lead this resistance, Agwé. I am now the Vessel, responsible for receiving direct communication with the spirits and commanding our legion."

Our...legion? What was she talking about? I wasn't sure I liked that wild look in her eyes. The tenderness Mama showed upon our reunion had quickly faded. She continued:

"Meanwhile, you will become our Beast. Once you are ready, the spirits have entrusted you with eliminating Laguerre himself, once and for all."

Now this I could get behind.

"I've pushed my body to its very limits, Mama. My mind is strong. I'm ready for whatever the spirits require of me," I replied.

But I could never be fully prepared for what would come next. For not only had this "legion" that Mama spoke of already been assembled, but it was comprised entirely of unconscious bodies. Yes, you read that correctly. Through much practice, she had developed the power to possess the bodies of men and women around the bayou, only possible through a powerful ritual with the spirits at her basem*nt altar. These bodies would then rise from their sleep in a sort of trance to do her bidding. At first, she could only control a few bodies at a time, but as her power grew, so did the size of her force, which could now reach twenty members at once.

The Night Folk. That's what Mama had decided to call them. A terrifying force, operating in the darkness of the night.

For five years now, Mama and the Night Folk had been waging a war against Laguerre in the swamp. He had hired countless guards and mercenaries to ensure his "Holy Work", as he now called it, continued uninterrupted. Come morning, those Night Folk surviving the events of the night before would return to their beds, waking from strange dreams and a feeling that they had been sleep walking. In the event that one of these souls should perish in the night, Mama would simply choose another as their replacement. In this way, her force would have a near endless supply.

This revelation troubled me to my core. Though I was no stranger to the voodoo rituals, they had never been performed to harm others before. The possession of bodies was unnatural. Wrong. Downright disturbing.

What made matters even worse was the barbaric methods this legion used in their fight with Laguerre, as they sought at every moment to use psychological warfare against their enemies. Faces painted white to resemble skulls, they would set gruesome, inhumane traps to inspire fear. These were usually followed up with lethal ambushes to take their foes off guard. None were spared. No mercy shown.

As Mama continued, a heavy sadness washed over me. Along with a sharp stab of regret for the simple life we could have had. We should have had. But that was taken from us. Our lives hadn't been fair, there was no denying. More than anything, I was worried for Mama. Though I knew she was still inside, it was clear now that a darkness had taken root in her soul. An obsession to achieve revenge by any means necessary. But what was the cost?

"Join the Night Folk, my son. Learn of their ways. Hone your skills in battle, and help us vanquish our enemy once and for all!" cried Mama.

Join this unholy legion? It felt so wrong. Yet it seemed that we needed them. Even with the Night Folk's aid, Laguerre's operation only continued to grow larger by the day. As his profits increased and word of it spread, it was only a matter of time before others came in search of their own riches. At that point, it would be too late to act. Irreversible damage to the environment would occur, not to mention the extinction of multiple species of animals. Unthinkable. Unacceptable. At this point, the resistance from the Night Folk was the only thing that had prevented this from already happening.

I simply needed to put my reservations on hold. To trust in the spirits. This was their master plan, after all. If I needed to get my hands a little dirty to liberate the bayou, then so be it. Surely a necessary evil for the greater good. Mama and I had been given a chance to right what had been wronged, to perhaps even avenge our fallen family members. My sadness dissolved, replaced by a fierce determination. Not the volcano of rage I felt as a younger man, but a measured emotion developed through years of practice. Equally as potent, if not more so.

"I'll do it, Mama. I'll join your Night Folk. For our family. For the bayou."

Mama triumphantly led the way as we descended into her dimly lit basem*nt. There was the altar, adorned with its various charms and talismans. She then performed an elaborate ritual, eventually entering a trance-like state. Within minutes, the bodies of the possessed individuals arrived one-by-one and entered our home. The Night Folk. Obeying Mama's silent commands. I was unsettled, no doubt about that, but I suppressed the feeling as best I could.

My training with the Night Folk filled the next few months. Some aspects were already second nature to me. From my childhood years I had learned how to trek silently through the mud and water. How to scale trees and leap down skillfully from above. Even how to communicate through animalistic noises, which I had honed during my travels. This proved highly useful, as hisses, growls, clicks, and hoots were the language of the Night Folk, each signaling a specific message. In this way, they could speak in secret and blend in completely with the wilderness.

On the other hand, I had much to learn in the ways of combat. Though my proficiency with the bow and arrow was an asset, I soon found myself training in all varieties of melee weaponry. Axes, machetes, and the like. These were just as deadly as guns in the right hands, but also allowed us to remain silent whenever we desired.

My skills grew rapidly, soon able to unleash multiple forms of ambush, while leaving the cruelest of traps to the Night Folk themselves. Before long, it was time to put these skills to the test, starting with small groups of poachers and ushering them swiftly into their graves. I couldn't help but picture Ayida stuck in that poacher's trap, or her mother murdered on the cave floor. Spilling the blood of these killers was saving the lives of innocent animals. Violence seemed to be the only language they understood, so it would be uttered upon them. Frequently.

Our victories became many. Word of the Night Folk had begun to spread like wildfire. Townsfolk were soon afraid of entering the bayou at night, as few desired to encounter the men and women that acted more like savage animals. Bayou beasts, that's what Laguerre had called my family years ago. Well, thanks to him, I had fully entered my element as a beast of the bayou. At times I thought I could feel the blood of the grizzly surging through my very veins. With so much killing, I often wondered if I would lose myself completely in the process. But I didn't start this war. That choice was made by Laguerre alone. Because of him I was transformed into an instrument of justice, with the formidable Night Folk by my side.

Without Mama, none of this would be possible. It took every ounce of strength in her slight, but tenacious body to maintain the ritual that would allow the bodies to remain possessed. The spirits continued to supply her with power, but I began to worry. Of the toll this was taking on her physically, yes, but more so of her mental state. For she was growing increasingly reckless and violent. Giving in to the madness more and more every day. Even attacking innocent travelers entering the bayou, despite my protests. In her current state, everyone entering our home was viewed as an enemy, which of course was not the case. I was lost in knowing what to do.

Our progress was undeniable, but after bombarding Laguerre's men with ambushes for half a year, our victory remained elusive. Despite eliminating many troops, and others retreating in terror from the swamps altogether, the power-hungry Laguerre simply financed more workers, more mercenaries, and more guns. He had become deranged. Driven by his unyielding obsession for wealth and fame. Laguerre himself had long-since barricaded himself within his heavily guarded mansion in the city of St. Denis, directly adjacent to the bayou. He would never back down, that much was now obvious. The puppet master cared not for the lives of his men that were lost, and directed his operation with vigor from afar. All the while, our land continued to be destroyed and animals slain.

It became clear to me what needed to be done. In order to rid the swamps of this menace, I would need to cut off the head of this snake once and for all.

Chapter 16: Scale, Fur, and Feather

Jean-Pierre Laguerre had taken everything from me. My home. My family. The peaceful life that should have been mine. All in the selfish pursuit of greed. I knew in my heart that while he existed on this earth, the bayou and my animal friends would never truly be safe. To fully end this war, my enemy must die. Would I lose my soul, too, through all this violence? Perhaps. I truly didn't know.

This was the moment my journey across America was leading me to, even if I didn't fully know it at the time. The people brought into my life and experiences I went through had morphed me into the man I now was. Those crafty spirits had done everything that was in their power to do. Now it would be up to me, my ever determined Mama, and her legion of Night Folk, to drive off the threat once and for all.

Laguerre was holed up in his mansion, which had been transformed into something more resembling a fortress. Sensing danger from our attacks in the bayou, his paranoia grew, and he ensured swaths of mercenaries were available to guard his home twenty-four hours a day. Never venturing outside, he conveyed his messages through couriers and demanded all his needed supplies be brought to him directly. Make no mistake, this would be a tough nut to crack. But I was willing to give my life, if it meant purging the swamps of this menace. Mama was too.

The problem? Her powers were confined to the bayou, meaning the Night Folk were unable to venture beyond its border to eliminate Laguerre himself. There was no other way around it — the upcoming raid on the mansion would have to be a solo mission, with the responsibility for eliminating the puppeteer placed firmly upon my shoulders. And yet Mama's legion would still have a vital role to play in the upcoming battle. A large train packed full with iron and coal unearthed from the bayou, surely worth many thousands of dollars, was due to depart for the city that very evening. This was the very opportunity we had been waiting for.

Over the past few months, we had stolen a significant amount of explosives from Laguerre's forces during our ambushes. Our plan was for the Night Folk to set their most devastating attack yet, using these explosives to derail the moving train from its tracks before it exited the swamp. Upon hearing the commotion and realizing his shipment was in danger, Laguerre was sure to panic and send a portion of his guards from the mansion to ensure the goods were secured. If there was one thing to force him to lessen his personal security, it was his lust for wealth and fame. We were counting on it.

Meanwhile, I would be waiting nearby to strike at Laguerre when his security was at its weakest. It was sure to be a small window, as the guards would return to the mansion before long, but it was the best we could ask for. Mama and I understood that the risks would be high. That perhaps I might not even survive the night. But this was our golden opportunity to achieve liberation for the bayou. For vengeance. We couldn't pass that up, no matter the danger.

As night approached, I embraced Mama. Despite the darkness that had fallen over her, born from trauma and grief, I loved her deeply. I saw a glimmer of her former, warm self in her eyes for a brief moment, but then the ferocity returned.

"The time of our vengeance has arrived, at long last. Remember, the spirits of your fallen family are now bayou spirits themselves. They will be with you tonight more than ever. Trust in them, impose your will, and we will rise triumphant!" she howled.

"I'm ready, Mama. Our oppression ends tonight."

Taking a few moments outside to prepare and quietly meditate, my eyes were drawn to the fireflies flitting through the night sky. My ears to the hooting of a great owl in the distance. I felt the warm, soothing air against my skin. Surely, this was a paradise worthy of saving. Equipped with my axe and bow, adorned with white war paint, and full of purpose, I took one final deep breath and set off towards Laguerre and his mansion.

Slipping silently through the misty night, I reached the outskirts of St. Denis. Laguerre's mansion was built in the wealthiest neighborhood at the very north of the city. A large river was all that separated this area from the bayou. Wading neck deep into this river, I observed a humbling scene. It was even more heavily guarded than our intel had suggested. Massive, well-lit walls had been erected around the perimeter of the mansion. Scores of mercenaries with guard dogs patrolled the gates and every possible entry into the building itself. Not to mention the state-of-the-art maxim guns that had been positioned around the grounds. I had heard of these before. Lethal. Capable of firing hundreds of bullets per second.

An irrationally large force to protect one crazed man. More of a small army, really. How deep must have been Laguerre's pockets to fund such a force?

BOOM!

The explosion erupted from deep within the bayou, followed shortly by dark smoke pluming up into the sky. Yes! The Night Folk were right on schedule, and quite clearly successful with springing their trap on the train. Within a few short minutes, Laguerre's commands from within the mansion had reached the mercenaries, urging a portion of his men to protect his goods. Just as we had predicted.

But it wasn't nearly enough.

While three dozen men left the mansion and set off at once into the bayou, this still left an overwhelming force before me. At least one hundred guards with rifles patrolled outside, to say nothing of those sure to be stationed within. A barricaded gate lie closest to my location in the river, but it would be suicide if I were to be spotted in my approach. My initial plan had been to use stealth to sneak inside a vulnerable section, yet none seemed to exist. Would I be forced to attack the compound head on? The fortress before me seemed impenetrable, and I confess a sliver of doubt crept into my mind. Should I retreat and return another day? But no, with the distraction of the train explosion, this was still likely to be the best opportunity we would ever have to get to Laguerre.

"Spirits of the bayou, you've brought me so far on my journey, but I don't know how I'm going to do this final part on my own."

"Agwé," came the sudden voice, whispered behind me in the bayou. The voice of my Gran. I whirled around to spot the giant frog from my dreams, standing among the trees. Had I fallen into vision? But no, I was still clearly awake. The frog looked at me for a few moments, smiling lovingly, before fading softly into the mist of the night.

Somehow, I knew in that moment what I was supposed to do. Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes as I floated weightlessly in that cool river water, and began to let go of every thought. To forget my worry, my anger, my fear. And then...I began to whistle. From deep within my soul. That same sort of whistle first performed among the wild horses of Big Valley. But more powerful than anything I had ever felt before, or would yet feel again. The music of the whistle seemed to carry multiple notes all at once. An enchanting song radiating out in every direction. I don't know how else to describe it, but I was one with the bayou, and the bayou was one with me.

After a time, I let the tune fall silent and realized that the evening breeze had fallen still. And then the river itself began to ripple and churn around me. A steady pounding, as if from a deep drum, grew louder and louder behind me from the bayou, as if from the thundering of hooves. A chorus of screeches and roars pierced the night sky. The guard dogs from the mansion began to yelp, some even tearing from their leashes and fleeing the grounds in panic. The men themselves stirred uneasily. Even from this distance, I noticed the whites of their eyes dilate with fear from this ominous commotion.

Silence fell once more for a brief moment. Then came the most extraordinary moment of my life. All at once, the animals of the bayou burst into view. Ayida and her teenaged cubs led the charge, leaping majestically in my direction. They were followed by a stampede of other panthers and boars, exploding past the trees and into view. My eyes were drawn to the largest figure in this group, and was shocked to see Ogoun, my grizzly bear ally. He must have followed me from Big Valley, revealing himself now when I needed him most. Dozens of alligators emerged from the river around me, including Damballa, that same gator that had saved my life years earlier. Entire flocks of herons, spoonbills, and cranes soared into view, filling the night sky. Below them, the ground itself wriggled before my eyes, as a flood of venomous snakes joined the fray. I watched in awe as this army of bayou beasts rushed through the river and towards our common enemy.

"I'm coming for you, Laguerre. And this time, with the bayou itself at my back!"

Sprinting to the head of the pack, I instinctively leapt onto the back of Ogoun, who continued his charge without breaking stride. Adrenaline pulsing like lightning through my body, I raised my axe high into the air and let out a deafening battle cry, the noise of which caused the guards to flinch. Shoulder-to-shoulder with my formidable allies, we charged towards the gate as one.

Bullets rained down from the rifles and maxim guns of Laguerre's men upon the walls, downing multiple creatures in their approach. Our flock of birds countered by nosediving from the sky into the enemy, knocking away guns and drawing the enemy's attention. Nearing the wall and maxim gun above us, Ogoun seemed to realize my unspoken plan. I steadied my feet upon his shoulder blades and catapulted myself into the air, the momentum sending me high and directly towards the maxim gun. With a mighty swing of my axe, I lobbed off the gunner's head mid flight, soaring overtop the wall and landing hard on the opposite side.

Ogoun crashed at full force into the locked gate, knocking the doors clean off their hinges, whereupon the rest of the beasts stormed through and into the mansion grounds themselves. Chaos erupted around me during the ensuing battle. The mercenaries were powerful, but we had something they didn't. A cause worth dying for. The boars rammed men from their feet, where they were quickly finished off by Damballa and his horde of gators and snakes. Ogoun mauled any man unlucky enough to enter his path. Boy, did I ever remember what that felt like. Ayida and her panthers flew around the grounds and attacked with stunning ferocity, while the swarm of birds continued to swirl around and cause great havoc for the enemy.

I was fully unleashed in that moment, surrounded by my brothers and sisters. Focusing first on the remaining maxim guns atop the wall, I rolled and dodged while firing off a flurry of arrows. I then set to work on the ground units, darting around with an animalistic fury. More and more mercenaries fell to our advance.

At this point in the battle, we had carved a path through the heaviest defenses towards the mansion itself. Smashing through one of the back doors, I was prepared for another fight inside, but before I let my arrows fly I noticed the men kneeling upon the floor, weapons lying before them. Having witnessed the terrifying scene outside, they decided they wanted no part of it. I spared them with gladness. Though these guards may have worked for Laguerre, he alone was responsible for pulling the strings. This was a tyrant willing to decimate an entire village to get what he wanted. My village. No longer would I allow him to butcher my animal friends and destroy my home. I approached one of the guards, who answered my unuttered question.

"The bossman is upstairs," he whimpered.

Reaching the top landing, I located the master bedroom where Laguerre was surely hiding. This was confirmed once his ragged, anxious breathing reached my ears. Suspecting he was likely armed, I kicked open the door, but took shelter around the corner while he fired his pistol wildly at the opening. The gun soon clicked empty. His hands fumbled to frantically reload, but not before I popped into the doorframe and sent a well-placed throwing knife deep into Laguerre's thigh. Letting out a yelp, he buckled to the floor.

"Animal! You're one of those flea-bitten savages messing up my operation in the swamp, aren't you? What claim do you have to it? That land is mine now. It's mine!" Laguerre spat.

Pinning my enemy firmly to the ground, I looked him dead in the eye and spoke the words I had rehearsed in my head many times beforehand.

"Jean-Pierre Laguerre, my name is Agwé. I grew up in Lakay, that small bayou village you massacred seven years ago. We were a peaceful community. Never harmed a soul. But that part wasn't important to you, was it? Your mob murdered twenty-two members of my family that night in cold blood. Women and children among them. Not a day goes by that I don't think about those souls and the horrible things you did. But guess what? Mama and me survived. She says hi, by the way."

Laguerre's eyes bulged as I spoke, unable to look away. The panic became palpable.

"While we used to avoid violence at all costs, your cruelty changed all that. Now we'll protect the bayou by any means necessary. But you know all that now, don't you? Thought you could hide away in your fortress and buy your way out of danger, but there's no hiding from justice. There's no hiding from the Bayou Beast. I got that name from you, by the way. No one will ever be safe that chooses to harm our swamp, from this day until the end of time. Devil, your tyranny has reached its end!"

Exchanging one final, meaningful look, I hoisted my enemy above my head, let out a mighty roar, and hurled him through the large bedroom window. Glass shattered as Laguerre toppled from the top floor of his mansion to the ground beneath, where a group of hungry gators waited below in anticipation. A fitting end for this vilest of men.

The battle was over in that instant. Upon seeing their leader's demise, the remaining men had fled the scene in defeat. A barrage of emotions attempted to surface all at once. Our enemy was vanquished, at long last. Nothing could ever truly fill the void from losing my family, but there was no denying the waves of relief that washed over me upon avenging their deaths. My eyes welled up with tears.

"We did it Mama. It is finished."

Chapter 17: Bayou Forever

Rejoining my friends outside the mansion, I was immediately grateful for the medical training I had previously received from Silveria in the desert. For many present had sustained wounds which I was able to treat. We weren't without our losses, though, as numerous creatures had given their lives during the battle. My heart grieved for them. They had fought so bravely and given all in defense of their home. Without question, I would not have taken down Laguerre without their help. To honor their memory, I pledged to become a guardian of the bayou for as long as my lungs drew breath. Protecting the bayou and its creatures from anything that would do it harm. I think I had known for some time that this was my life's purpose, but the sacrifices of this night had sealed the matter completely.

Our bonds now permanent, I gratefully embraced every single one of my surviving friends that night. This of course included a pat of the head, scratch of the belly, or stroke of the feathers, according to their preference. Following which, my allies one-by-one slipped back into the swamp, river, and skies. Gone just as swiftly as they had arrived, but never to be forgotten.

With a feeling of euphoria, I sprinted back towards Lagras at once to tell Mama the good news. It soon became clear that Laguerre's men stationed in the bayou had retreated from their posts as well. Word had traveled quickly about their boss' death, it seemed. With no one left to pay their wages, entire camps now stood empty, with weapons and tools left abandoned on the muddy ground. All was peaceful. Quiet, other than the chirping of insects. The way I remembered the bayou from my childhood.

Entering Mama's house, I hurried into the basem*nt. There she lay on the floor, atop the rubble of where the altar used to be. Alarmed, I rushed to scoop her up in my arms.

"Did...we...succeed?" asked Mama with great difficulty.

"Yes, Mama," I replied, very relieved she was alive. "The threat has ended. The bayou is safe."

A frail smile stretched across her face, as she rested her hand upon my cheek, but she was very weak. Mama soon revealed that she had petitioned the spirits that night for more power than she had ever received before. They answered her plea, allowing her to control a Night Folk force nearly twice the usual size. This allowed her to not only successfully derail the train, but to also prevent any forces from returning to the mansion. But the effort proved to be too heavy to bear, sapping all the energy Mama's body had to give. Upon Laguerre's death, the altar collapsed upon itself at once. And with it, the Night Folk, who would rise no longer.

Three days was all we had left to spend with each other. Three wonderful days. Mama laying in bed as I provided care by her side. We reminisced at length about the old days. Laughing, smiling, and sharing many happy tears. We rejoiced in the salvation of our home. Gone was the darkness that existed inside Mama. Finally released from her quest of vengeance, her soul became free. And then, as with the passing of a gentle breeze, she was gone. Honoring her wish, I buried her in Lakay next to her kin. I picked a beautiful vanilla flower and lay it atop her body's final resting place, with the assurance that her spirit would live on. To watch out for me, and give me guidance. We would be reunited, one day. Of that I was sure.

Word spread about the attack on Laguerre's mansion. The legend of the animals that fought to protect their home, accompanied by this ferocious man, this bayou beast, would not soon be forgotten. Despite the years of harassment, the land healed, while the plants and animals recovered and flourished with time. In turn, my soul was given a chance to renew itself once again. Gone were the days of bloodshed. The days of revenge. The days of war.

I remained in those sacred swamps the remainder of my days, as guardian of the bayou. Naturally, I insisted on visiting my friends from the outside world from time to time. Many of which had become like family. Hank, Ernie, and the girls at the Valentine saloon. The Annesburg miners and their families. Bobby Baker. Otto and Martha Pollard. Of course, those visits also included spending much time with their trusty steed Juju, Walter the donkey, and Brutus the bull.

I even caught up with J.B. Cripps at one point, though was saddened to learn that Limpy Pete and Phil the Crab had met their end years earlier in a failed bank robbery. There was a visit to the island resting place of Annie May to tell her all about my adventures. I know she would have appreciated that. Finally, I journeyed all the way back out to Silveria in Armadillo on one occasion. After many years of dealing with cholera, I was overjoyed to see that the townsfolk had persevered through the plague and were well on the road to recovery.

As I look back on my life, every one of these people made an undeniable impact on me. They taught me priceless lessons, helped me move past my anger and guilt, and perhaps most importantly, showed me that good still existed in this world. Because of that, I found the goodness that still existed within myself. And you know, I think that's why the spirits led me to the places they did. Sure, they needed help with freeing the bayou, but after all that was over, they wanted me to find my peaceful, happy self again.

And I'm happy to say that I did just that. Though it seemed impossible for a time, I was now free to return to the simple, peaceful bayou life I had always dreamed of living, surrounded by Ayida, Damballa, and the rest of my animal friends. Even Ogoun, who chose to remain with me in the bayou. We were free and safe, at long last, in the home that I loved beyond words.

I eventually even found a woman to love. My queen of the bayou. And was lucky enough to have her love me in return. Together, we raised many children and lived with much happiness. Though I have revealed much of the content of my life in this record, I will keep the details of this final, special chapter of my family life for myself. What I will say is that I've done all within my power to teach my children, and now grandchildren, how to respect the land and the creatures within. My posterity, who many of which are now adults themselves, have taken up the mantle of protecting the swamp with me. Such comfort this provides, as I find myself to be old at the time of this recording, soon to depart this mortal body. My bayou home will be in good hands once I am gone, of that I am sure.

I am a man who, despite the trials of my life, has found peace. May any reading these words be so fortunate to find such peace themselves. So concludes the Book of Agwé, the Bayou Beast.