Nature's Gift

He was waiting nervously for his flight. This would be his first trip to Canada, and his first time flying in first class. He was aware that he was firmly in the grasp of fate. His instincts were telling him to be on guard. Something was wrong in the universe and it was going to affect him directly. He had no clue as to what, exactly, but his instincts were never, ever wrong.

He was a stunning sight. Dressed in black leather pants that couldn't have been a more perfect fit, a skin-tight zippered turtleneck of shiny black spandex, which was open low enough to allow a glimpse of his tanned, muscular chest, and a pair of shiny black boots. Around his neck he wore a Native American choker made of black and white Bear bones, with a single black feather suspended from the center. He casually brushed back his long black hair, revealing three silver hoops in each ear, as he put on his black leather trench coat. His bright aqua colored eyes stood out in stark contrast to all the blackness, and they were the first feature most people noticed about him. He looked much younger than his 39 years, thanks to his way of living and some great genetics he had inherited from his maternal grandmother.

He was aware that several of the other passengers were looking when he stood to board the plane. Bending down to pick up his black leather carry on bag, his shirt opened just enough to show off the tattoo over his right breast. He could feel the stares, and he grinned slyly to himself. He always got this kind of reaction, no matter where he went. The air of mysteriousness about him was genuine, though. He was a mystical man... a Shaman, trained by a genuine Native American Elder Shaman for many years... and it tended to show. People often mistook the term Shaman to mean Magic User... but that wasn't exactly the case. He didn't resort to such things as Witchcraft or magic... instead, he lived in harmony with the Earth and all her creatures, and he used the power of nature to do what he needed to do. There was no magic about him... just knowledge and a tranquil, though forceful, energy. His Shaman Elder had called it "The way of the Peaceful Warrior", and it had become as much a part of him as was his skin.

He was also known among the Native Americans as "berdache"... a name from antiquity for people of his kind. Berdache referred to his homosexuality, which was revered rather than ridiculed by the ancient tribes. To the Old Ones, the berdache was considered more than human, but less than gods. They were the third gender, and the term applied to males as well as females. They were the ones who led the tribe into battle, who educated the young, healed the sick, and led in the hunts. The berdache always had the ear of the Chief, and he usually weighed their words heavily in his decision making. They were, in modern terms, demi-gods and demi-goddesses, and were welcomed heartily into the tribe in days of old as a gift from the Great Spirit.

His flight from Raleigh would connect in Dallas before heading to Vancouver. He hated being cooped up in a plane for so long, but at least he would have a 3 hour layover in Dallas to stretch his legs and relax. As he prepared for take off, he closed his eyes and placed himself in a light trance. It was much easier this way... much less stressful. During the flight, he politely declined the airline food, opting for a bottle of water and a pack of dried fruits and nuts that he had packed in his bag.

Arriving in Dallas, he braced himself for the stench of fast food as he neared the concourse. Walking quickly, he crossed the food court and allowed his nose to lead him to a small shop tucked away in a corner. Inside, he stocked up on essential oils and loose herbs that he doubted he could find in Vancouver. It was winter, and he knew that many herbs and flowers simply wouldn't be in season now. The shop was owned and operated by a young Native American woman, so he knew he could trust the quality of his purchases. He was struck by her outward beauty and her inner light. When she looked up at him, her eyes stopping on the choker and black feather, she instantly knew who he was. He was called Nightwing by the tribes, though his Christian name was Timothy. He had left that name long ago, in what seemed another lifetime, using it now only when necessary. He had become Nightwing... his appearance foretold in ancient lore... and he was respected and honored by all tribes.

The shop owner smiled at him as she cast her eyes down immediately. He gently lifted her chin with his hand and returned the smile, gazing into her expressive brown eyes. He spoke softly in her native language, asking for the supplies he needed as she retrieved them for him. Her heart leapt with joy to be so honored by his presence. He was the one who walked the shadows... the one who dared go where none else could. She tried to refuse his money, telling him that the honor of his presence was enough. He insisted on paying as he placed his purchases in his leather bag, reminding her that she needed to earn a living. Unwilling to offend him, she accepted his money, but insisted on presenting him with a most cherished gift... a black bracelet she had made herself from Bear bones, which matched his choker. Each bone bead was hand carved with ancient symbols of Shamanic totems, intended to protect and strengthen its wearer. He accepted the gift graciously with a smile, as he bent down and kissed her softly on her cheek. He placed the bracelet on his right wrist and thanked her again as he turned to leave.

On board the plane, he smiled to himself as he looked at the bracelet. He could feel the spirit of the Bear within those bits of bone, and he could easily see the love and skill with which she had fashioned each part. There was strong medicine in this gift, and he welcomed it gratefully. He looked over to the seat beside him, which was still empty. His gut told him that it wouldn't remain empty much longer, even though all of first class had already boarded.

Glancing at the door, he wondered whose energy he was picking up on. He could feel a strong, tranquil energy, that was also very forceful. Searching the eyes of each passenger as they boarded, he dismissed each of them in turn as the source of this energy until the last one had boarded and the door had been closed. He was puzzled. He could feel it very strongly, but it wasn't coming from anyone here. Clearing his mind, he noted that the seat next to him was still empty. He began his deep breathing and was about to enter the light trance again, when the door to the plane was suddenly opened.

A few seconds passed before he arrived. This was the source of the energy. He was at least six feet tall, and quite stunning. His eyes were like liquid emeralds that burned with an inner fire, and for a moment, they locked with Nightwing's. The man apologized to the flight attendant in a soft voice as she welcomed him and pointed to his seat. Nightwing watched him as he approached, noting the tight leather pants, black turtleneck, and black leather trench. He was also wearing black boots, and his long nearly black hair fell carelessly in his face as he walked. He smiled at Nightwing as he took his seat beside him, and Nightwing returned the smile as he resumed his deep breathing once again.

When he came out of his trance, they had reached cruising altitude. He blinked a few times and looked out the window at the fluffy white clouds beneath them. Feeling eyes on him, he slowly turned his head, only to be met by those liquid emerald eyes again. Green fire...

"You must not like to fly..." He smiled.

"I love to fly... what I hate is being cooped up with so many people. Flying alone is so much better..." Nightwing smiled back.

"You're a pilot?" His emerald eyes sparked.

"No... there are more ways to fly than in a machine."

"Oh... well, if that works for you. I don't get into that myself."

"You misunderstand... I don't mean psychotropic chemicals, nor do I mean flying in the physical sense. I'm referring to the soul."

"That's deep..." He smiled.

"Deeper than you know, my friend..." Nightwing smiled back.

"My name's Kevin..." He said as he extended his hand.

"A pleasure... My given name is Tim, but my tribe calls me by another name..." He replied as he shook his hand firmly.

"Your tribe? Are you Native American?"

"Not by birth... its really a long story. I'm sure you'd be bored..."

"No, not really. You're a Shaman, right? I've always been fascinated by Shamanism."

"Then, you're on a spiritual quest... correct?"

"Actually... yes, I am. I'm going to Vancouver to search for some answers..."

"Perhaps you should seek the questions first, my friend. Once you have found the questions, the answers are much easier to find." Nightwing smiled.

"That's deep..."

"You keep saying that..."

"So... are you going to Vancouver?"

"Yes..."

"Business or pleasure?"

"I don't know yet... I'll find that answer when I get there..." Nightwing said.

"Ok... so, what about that long story? I mean, we have a few hours and I can't think of a better way to pass the time."

"Perhaps there is something there that you need to hear. I will tell you my story then, Kevin... but if you say 'That's deep' again, I'm going to slap you." He smiled again, and his smile was one that any movie star would pay to have.

"Ok... I'm all ears! Something tells me that I could learn something important from you..."

"I feel that, too. So, the story begins many years ago..."

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