Jim crossed the quad at Rainier, heading for what seemed liked the tenth time in a week toward Hargrove Hall. He nodded at the regular group of students clustered around the flagpole in the courtyard before ducking inside the building. He rubbed his cold hands, and vowed to wear his gloves tomorrow. Late fall in Cascade was downright chilly.

"Good morning, detective!"

Jim looked up at the cheerful voice and smiled as Doctor Eli Stoddard strode up to him. He moved to the side of the hallway, out of the path of students changing classes, to talk with him.

Dr. Stoddard's office phone had been the contact number Blair had left with the storage facility. Jim had called the professor and arranged for a meeting at the start of the week, explaining his situation. Blair's mentor had taken pity, recognizing Jim as the Detective that Blair had always spoken of so fondly.

Jim and Stoddard had met for the first time the week before, when he had informed Jim that he'd come into work one morning to find a plain white envelope on his desk. Inside was a note from Sandburg explaining that he'd used the professor as the contact, asking him to check in on his stuff every other month or so. He also showed Jim a copy of Blair's approved request for a six month leave of absence from Rainier. Other than that, the kindly professor had no idea where Sandburg might be.

Jim's heart had sunk when he'd read the note. Every other month. A six month leave. Wherever Blair was, he was planning on staying for awhile.

Stoddard had suggested asking around the campus. Perhaps Blair had confided to one of his fellow instructors or students as to where he was going. He had sent Jim home after their meeting, gently ordering him to get some sleep. He promised the big man that he would do whatever he could to help him track down his friend.

Jim had thanked Eli Stoddard and gone home to pace the length of the loft until late into the night. Then he tossed and turned in his big bed until dawn, haunted by a dream of running through endless corridors, following his guide's cries for help, unable to find him. The faster Jim ran, the more desperate Blair's voice sounded, yet he could never seem to locate his young friend. Even now, the memory of the nightmare sent an uncontrollable shiver through Jim's frame.

"Detective Ellison, are you all right?"

Ellison was pulled from his memories by a soft voice and a gentle hand on his arm. He forced a smile to erase the worried look from the kindly professor's face.

"Hello, Dr. Stoddard," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Have you heard any news about...," Jim's voice trailed off as the other man's face fell, and he slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he said softly, his voice filled with regret. "No word yet. I wish I could help you, but it seems as though Blair has disappeared off the face of the Earth!" He ran an exasperated hand through his gray hair as he continued. "I don't understand it! We've contacted every field expedition from Rainier, and not one person has seen him."

Jim lowered his eyes to the floor, jaw clenching. He'd been so hopeful, so confident he'd discovered the key to Blair's disappearing act. He remembered immediately the trip that Blair gave up to Borneo for him, and had thought that perhaps now that Blair thought his sentinel no longer needed him, he might very well take part in such an excursion. But the sorrowful face of the professor who had taken a very young Blair Sandburg under his wing during his first days at Rainier was telling him that his intuition had been wrong.

"I'm never going to find him," Jim breathed, more to himself than to Stoddard.

Eli stepped forward, and quickly took grasped the detective's arm. "Jim," he said. "Jim, yes, you will. You must believe. It is not time yet to give up hope." Ellison's eyes remained downcast, but Eli Stoddard stood stubbornly still in front of him, waiting.

"You will!" Dr. Stoddard repeated softly when at last Jim's eyes rose to meet his.

Ellison took a deep breath and arched his head back, stretching his sore neck. He hadn't been sleeping well since Blair's disappearance, and he had awakened where he'd fallen asleep on the couch three times in the last week. His neck was incredibly sore. He looked at the professor standing before him, and forced a little grin. "Blair always said you were an optimist, Professor. Now I believe him."

"Would you like to come into my office for a cup of coffee?" Eli Stoddard offered, obviously concerned for his student's best friend. "You look very tired, Detective Ellison."

Jim shook his head. "Thanks, Professor, but I need to get back home. I still haven't given up trying to track down Sandburg. I only wish I knew where to go from here." Ellison took a deep breath. "You'll call if you hear anything?"

"Of course, Detective. Of course."

With a final wave and reassurance that everything would turn out all right, Stoddard watched the broad shoulders of Jim Ellison slump in dejection as he walked alone down the hallway toward the exit. With a heavy heart, the kindly professor opened his office door to begin his preparations for his next class.

* * * * *

Jim went straight to the phone as soon as he walked into the loft. He called Simon, and waited patiently for the Captain to answer.

"Banks," said the gruff voice. Jim could hear the rustling of papers in the background and smiled. That was his captain, perpetually buried under a pile of bureaucratic paperwork.

"Simon," Jim said. "I'm sorry, but it looks like I'm going to need a little more time off." Jim held his breath, hoping his request wouldn't cause Simon to have an embolism. To his relief, the Captain's response was a long sigh, followed by gentle words.

"It's okay, Jim," the older man said. "You take as much time as you need." There was a pause as the big man chuckled a little at his end of the phone. "Lord knows, you aren't gonna be any good to me until you find the kid, anyway. Am I right?"

Jim couldn't help but smile, despite his growing feelings of despair. "No, sir, I don't guess I will be." The sentinel sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Sir, has there been any word at the station yet?" Banks had put an APB out on Blair as soon as Jim had reported him missing.

"'Fraid not, Jim," Simon replied, his voice laden with regret. "But, give it time. If the kid's gone out of the state, it will take longer to find him." There was another rustling of papers before the Captain's voice resumed.

"Jim, I've called up a few of my army buddies from around the country, to see if they wouldn't mind helping us keep an eye out for him. But so far, no word." The sound of a cigar being crushed between strong teeth came through the phone.

Jim just nodded, even though he knew Banks couldn't see him. "Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me, and I know it will mean a lot to Blair." He added softly, his voice a near whisper, "If I ever find him." Jim had to close his eyes for a moment, reaching up to rub his aching temple.

"Jim, don't give up hope," Simon ordered, immediately picking up on the despair in his friend's voice. "Even if we have to turn this entire planet upside down, we are going to find Sandburg."

"Is that a promise, sir?" Jim asked, sounding for all the world like an uncertain child.

"Yes, it is, Jim" Simon reassured him softly, the smile on the big man's face easily heard in his voice. "After all, we're Cascade's finest, right? What chance of eluding our exemplary detective skills does Sandburg have?" The captain was rewarded with the sound of a soft chuckle, and he smiled. Maybe he had succeeded in lifting Jim's spirits a little. At the moment, it was about all he could do.

Jim thanked his Captain and confidant once more, then hung the phone back up and turned to head for his bedroom. He was so tired, he felt sure he'd be able to sleep for a little while. Surely a little rest would help him think more clearly. Then, maybe he'd get the break he'd been searching for ever since he found his Guide's good-bye letter.

The sentinel dragged himself wearily up the stairs and climbed into bed, Blair's voice ghosting through his head, his soft, soothing voice coaxing him to relax...to rest...to sleep. Obeying the comforting whispers, he slept at last.

* * * *

Ellison woke up to the blaring sound of a telephone ringing. Quickly throwing the sheets aside, he hopped out of bed and hurried down the stairs to snatch up the phone.

"Ellison," he barked. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly seven PM. His uneasy sleep had been filled with more dreams of Blair, helpless and in grave danger, calling for him, yet Jim was unable to find his guide to protect him. He was soaked with sweat and his head was still reeling from the reality of the nightmare.

"Mr. Ellison?" the male voice at the end of the phone was faint and hesitant.

"Yes," Jim prompted impatiently.

"Mr. Ellison, I heard you were looking for...," Jim heard paper rustling in the background. "Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes," Jim replied, his heart already beginning to beat faster. "Do you have information about where he might be?"

"Yes, I believe so," came the unfamiliar voice.

"Wonderful!" Jim's voice was ecstatic. He grabbed a pen and paper. "Where can I meet you?"

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone.

"Oh... no, detective, sir," said the unfamiliar voice. "Blair would hate me if he knew I was the one that blew his cover. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to remain anonymous."

"Fine, fine," Jim acquiesced impatiently. "Just give me the information."

"Well, detective, you see, Blair confided in me right before he left. He told me you two had dissolved your friendship, and that he needed some space." The voice at the other end of the phone sighed heavily, reluctantly.

"Go on," Jim urged the caller, clenching the pen in his white-knuckled fingers.

"He made me swear not to tell you where he was, sir," the voice said softly. "So, you gotta promise me you won't tell him how you found him, OK?"

"Yes, yes, I promise!" Jim was nearly shouting now in his eagerness. Why the hell couldn't this guy hurry up?

"Ok," the voice continued at last. "Blair is in Alaska."

"Alaska?!" Jim bellowed in disbelief.

"Yes, sir. He's with an Inuit tribe called the Metlakatla. Their camp is about two-hundred and fifty miles south of Juneau."

Jim was pinching the phone receiver between his head and shoulder, furiously scribbling the information down. His heart was absolutely swelling with happiness and relief. He was going to find Blair. He was going to find his partner and bring him home safe and sound, bring him back to Cascade where he belonged. They were going to be a team again.

"Thank you so much," Jim said from the bottom of his heart, wishing he could reach through the phone lines and hug this mysterious stranger. "Is there any way I can repay you?"

The voice chuckled. "Tell you what. You go and find Blair. Just knowing that the two of you are together again will be my reward."

Jim just shook his head, thanking whoever it was that was in charge of providing Guardian Angels to watch over sentinels and their guides. With another quick word of thanks, Jim hung up the phone and raced upstairs to pack a bag of warm clothes. He was going to Alaska.

He was going to Blair.

At the other end of the phone, Trent Rikert chuckled low in his throat as he laid the receiver gently back in its cradle. He turned to smile at the man standing at his elbow.

"Mission accomplished," he said. "Ellison is on his way."

Klaus Zeller smiled, and patted his new right hand man on the shoulder. "Excellent," he said, in the cold, emotionless voice that had earned him the name 'Ice Man'.

* * * *

Blair snuggled deeper into his little nest of bear fur, pulling the hide up to cover more of his cold body as he shivered on the tiny cot. The chattering of his teeth echoed in the confines of the hut, and he fought to keep quiet. He didn't want to disturb the rest of the family. He was sharing their home, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to be a bother.

A warm bundle pounced onto his back, and Blair turned his head. He grinned at the sight of a chubby three-year-old face smiling down at him. The little girl, named Lela, had climbed onto him and was now snuggling down into the bearskin that covered his body.

Blair rolled over onto his back and untangled his hands from the mass of fur. He wrapped his arms around Lela and started tickling her, causing the little girl to squeal and wriggle with delight. The happy sounds drew attention, and soon Blair found himself buried under the other four children of the household as well.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed cheerfully, smiling at the mother of the brood who was watching everything with glee from across the hut. "I guess this means it's time to get up, eh?"

"Yayyyy!" came the joyous cry from five little voices. They dispersed as Blair sat up, then pointed and laughed as the anthropologist stood up and began his morning ritual of dancing vigorously around the hut to try and warm his frozen body.

"Good morning, Dwight," said Mirake, the mother of the family. A large woman made even more rotund by the layers of skins in which she was enveloped, her smile was warm. She handed over a cup of hot caribou's milk as the young man continued to hop from one foot to the other, trying to get warm.

"Good morning, mother," Blair replied through chattering teeth. He had been urged to call the heads of his host family 'mother and father', in the tribal tradition, to show respect. The custom was fine with Blair, and fitting, since Mirake treated him like one of her own.

He pulled his heavy trousers up over his tie-dyed long johns, still shivering. Then he gulped down the last of the hot milk and shrugged into his parka. No sooner had his hands found their ways out of the bulky sleeves of the fur garment than a slab of dried meat was pressed into his hand. It was little Lela again, grinning up at him. She wrapped Blair's fingers around the slab, nodding at him.

"Oh, is this for me?" Sandburg asked, smiling down at her. The little girl nodded again.

"I think she has a crush on you," commented a smiling Mirake as she came forward.

Blair chuckled, impressed with the fluency of English among the tribe members. Since a good deal of their trading was with English-speaking people, it was taught as a second language in the camp.

Mirake shooed Lela to go and play with her siblings, then stood before Blair. "So what will Apaa Tunu-Kingu do today?" she asked as she helped Blair into his parka. She fastened the fur garment, tying the straps under his chin and pinching his cold red cheeks, trying to warm him.

Blair grinned as he was addressed by his Inuit nickname. He'd been christened with it practically from the moment he entered the camp, and most of the tribe preferred it to "Dwight." Since Dwight wasn't his real name, anyway, the young man didn't see any harm in going by this new, mysterious Metlakatlan name. A few times, he had tried to have someone translate the meaning of the name into English, only to be met with confused stares. He finally deducted that there was no exact translation, and let it be.

"Well," the young anthropologist began, pulling his gloves on. "First, I need to go and meet Professor Schindler. He's coming in on the supply plane today.

"That's good," the little, rotund Metlakatla woman replied. "That will take most of the morning."

"Yup," Blair agreed, nodding. He finished dressing for the cold and smiled as Mirake kissed him on the cheek, before patting him on the back and sending him out the door.

The other anthropologist working with the Metlakatla, a Professor Duqesne, had told the tribe that Blair, or rather "Dwight", was coming. The professor had left for Juneau on the last supply plane, called home by a family emergency before Sandburg's arrival. But he left a message assuring Blair that he had arranged for a replacement to be along shortly. That replacement, Dr. Schindler, was due to arrive today, and Sandburg was on his way now to go and meet the man.

* * * * * *

An hour or so later, Blair and three large men from the camp were trudging along the snaking path that led through the trees. They were heading for a small clearing where Sandburg was told they would meet his colleague. The young man was thumping his arms across his chest, trying to take his mind off the biting cold. He glanced sideways at his traveling companions, and felt a twinge of jealousy at their apparent immunity to the temperature.

"Colder than a caribou's left one, today...."

Blair stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to stare at the speaker. The older man, Kiko, just grinned at him, and pounded him once on the back before resuming his trek along the path. A low chuckle built up in Blair's chest, warming from within, and he shook his head in disbelief.

A few minutes later, they came to a break in the trees, and the young man titled his head back to study the gray, flat sky. Even looking at it made him feel colder, and he turned his attention back to their route. In front of them lay a small lake, its snowy surface as smooth as a new carton of vanilla ice cream.

{I'm hungry,} Blair thought, grinning.

The troupe moved on again, following the path as it curved along the lake's edge. Blair hesitated, looking from his companions to the lake. The pass that continued through the trees on the far side was directly across from him. It would save time, and get them out of the cold faster to take the more direct route.

"Hey guys?" he called. His three burly companions halted as one and turned expectantly.

Blair pointed. "The pass continues right over there. Why don't we just cut across the ice?"

Kiko turned and spoke quietly to his tribe mates, presumably translating Blair's suggestion. As one, the other two violently shook their heads, waving their hands in a universal gesture that said "no way."

"No?" The puzzled student inquired. "How come?"

"Hot spring runs under center of that lake," replied the group's self-appointed spokesman. "Not safe in the middle, no matter how thick the ice at the edge is." He turned and started walking again, motioning for Blair to follow. "Come on, stay on the path, or get wet."

Cold was bad enough. Cold AND wet was not at all appealing, Blair decided. With one last glance across the deceptively solid surface of the lake, he scurried to catch up with the group. As they moved along, he again thought of Jim, and wondered how the sentinel was coping without him. Lost in thought, he was surprised when he suddenly realized they had left the lake behind, and were once again surrounded by trees.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cry from one of the three men, and he glanced up to see the large native moving off away from the group. Blair searched in the direction the other man was heading and spotted a fur-wrapped bundle half concealed under the snow at the base of a large tree. Sandburg quickly moved to follow, and the others did the same.

They reached the spot just as Kiko knelt beside the figure. The fur head covering was pulled away to reveal the face of an old man, unconscious and half frozen from the slightly gray appearance of his skin and lips. Blair knelt beside Kiko and helped the ancient one sit up. He felt for a pulse under the leathery skin of the man's throat, and sighed in relief upon finding one.

"He's alive," the anthropologist announced. "But we should get him back to the camp now, or he won't be for long. Together the men managed to load the elderly stranger onto one of the litters they had brought along to transport Professor Schindler's supplies. Then, Blair and another of the men took hold of the handles of the structure and began the long journey back to the camp, leaving the other two men to meet the Professor.

* * * * *

By the time they had entered the camp, the old man was regaining consciousness, revived by the increase warmth of the skins and furs piled upon him. They quickly rushed the stranger through the crowd of curious tribe members, and into the hut of the tribal doctor. Blair tagged along, standing at the doctor's elbow as he checked over the gnarled visitor. The anthropologist was anxious to learn who the man was, and if he would be all right.

The gaunt, shriveled man in the bed groaned softly and stirred. Intense blue-green eyes flashed momentarily, startling Blair. When he blinked and looked again, he saw that the stranger's eyes were dark brown, as was the norm for indigenous people of this land. The anthropologist rubbed a hand across his face, wondering what had caused the strange hallucination.

"Am I among friends?" The old man's deep, husky voice filled the hut.

It was the first thing the old man had said since they'd found him, and Blair quickly dismissed his puzzlement over the old man's eyes. They were brown, unquestionably brown. Must be the glare of the snow that made his own eyes play tricks on him.

Blair smiled as he came to the side of the cot where the ancient foundling lay, looking around at his surroundings with wide, wise eyes.

"Hey, there, just lie still," Blair reassured him soothingly, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. "You need to rest, you've been through a rough time." For some reason, the stranger's face seemed almost familiar to him, yet, he couldn't place where or when he might have seen the old man before. Must be another trick of the snow and the strange, new surroundings in which he found himself.

"Who are you?" The man asked, eyeing Blair.

Blair grinned, realizing the fellow would no doubt be surprised at the sight of a white man hovering over him. "My name is Dwight Simmons," he explained, with only a slight hesitation at using the unfamiliar name. "I'm an anthropologist from a university in Washington State. I'm here to study the impact of the white man's influence on the Metlakatla tribe." He finished the short speech with a grin.

The old man nodded slowly, as if it was what he'd expected. "I see," he said slowly. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr.... Simmons." A knowing smile glowed in the wise brown eyes.

Blair smiled back, not noticing the old man's slight hesitation. "Actually, you'd better call me Apaa Tunu-Kingu," he corrected. "It's my Metlakatlan name, and what everyone else here calls me."

The old man's eyes narrowed slightly, then crinkled in amusement. "Really?" he asked. "That is your name?"

"Yeah," Blair said warily. "They won't tell m what it means, though." He looked thoughtfully at his companion. "Do you know what it means?"

The ancient one smiled and shrugged slightly. "Only that it is appropriate," he replied cryptically.

Neko, as he introduced himself, was the holy man, the shaman, of another tribe from a region north of the Metlakatla's territory. He'd come here, he explained, after having a dream about a stranger, a white man, who was lost and frightened and looking for his home.

The dream had shown him the path to come south and find the 'One Who Searches.' Neko believed now that he had found the subject of his dreams in Blair.

After telling his story to the tribe, Neko was made welcome by the tribal elders and invited to stay as long as he wished. The holy man agreed, with gratitude, and asked Blair to accompany him into the small storage hut that would serve as a temporary home, until a new hut could be constructed.

Blair lugged a cot through the flap of the hut and set it down in a cleared corner, gently kicking aside the bundles of dried meat and hides that partly covered the floor. After setting the cot down, he turned and sat upon it, and watched Neko unpacking.

The weathered hands were surprisingly graceful as they removed each item from the small pack. Most of the pack's contents consisted of jars and pouches, tapestries, and strands of beads.

Neko reverently lifted the largest of the tapestries and carefully let it unroll. He looked up and met Blair's curious eyes, and then the old man smiled.

"Have you seen one of these before?" the old shaman asked.

Blair glanced up to meet the brown eyes. He studied the beautifully painted cloth for a moment before shaking his head.

"No, I've seen similar ones, though," he replied, standing and crossing to look closer. He raised a finger and pointed to several of the symbols that decorated the tapestry.

"This is a symbol of the hunt, this is summer, winter, night, water...," Blair named the few symbols he recognized. His finger paused over the image of a small, slender male standing in the center of a circle of lines. The lines seemed to radiate from the figure, stretching in many different directions.

"What's this one?" Blair asked, gesturing at the figure.

Neko smiled, turning away to hang the tapestry on the far wall. When he turned back to Blair, his face was serene, solemn.

"I will explain that one to you another day," the ancient one said gently. He laid a hand on Blair's shoulder and led him to the entrance of the hut. "But now, I must ask that you let an old man rest. My body cannot go on as long as yours, Kingu." Neko chuckled deep in his throat as Blair smiled.

"Ok, sure, man," Blair said quickly, turning to go. "But, if you need anything...,"

Neko nodded. "You will be the first one I think of," he said. With a final smile, he dropped the tent flap and disappeared inside.

Blair stood outside the hut for a few moments to make sure Neko got settled. When he heard the old man ease himself down onto the cot, the anthropologist grinned, and headed across the camp to speak with the other new arrival in the small village.

"Come in, please."

Blair ducked into Professor Schindler's hut after knocking, and he nodded at the other man's host family. Schindler was living with a family located near Blair's, to allow easy access to each other's notes.

"Hello, Dr. Schindler, I'm Dwight Simmons." Blair offered his hand with a smile. The older man cordially shook his hand, with a grip that was surprisingly strong for an aged academic. "How was your trip?" Sandburg continued, nodding gratefully as the mother of the house pressed a cup of coffee into his hands.

"Uneventful," the professor replied, with a small grin. He looked past Blair's shoulder as another man entered the hut. "Ah, and here is my assistant, Alan."

Blair turned to greet the newcomer. Alan seemed to be around forty, with jet-black hair and sharp, angular features. Hesitantly, the professor's assistant offered his hand, and Sandburg shook it enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Simmons," Alan murmured with a smile. Blair noticed that the smile didn't quite reach his dark eyes, however. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause, and then Alan politely excused himself, with a muttered "I'll go and start unpacking for you now, Dr. Schindler."

Blair watched the retreating figure's back as he disappeared into the far bedroom, wondering what had caused the other man's apparent discomfort. Did he see Blair as threat to his relationship with the doctor? Perhaps it was just the typical academic rivalry he had encountered before.

{I'm making trouble where there is none,} he finally deduced. Putting the assistant's quirky behavior out of his mind, he smiled again as he turned to his superior.

"I'm really sorry I wasn't there to meet you, Doctor. Did they tell you what happened?" Blair blew gently into his coffee cup, smiling as the steam curled up to warm his face. He stealthily examined his new professor as he sipped the hot brew.

"Yes, they did. An old foundling, was it?" Schindler looked to be about sixty-odd years old, with salt and pepper hair and a kindly face. His eyes were gentle, which was why Blair found it odd to feel a tiny twinge of unease in his belly as the older man smiled at him. Something about the man seemed... familiar, somehow.

He was certain he'd never met Dr. Schindler; he was sure he would remember meeting an anthropologist with the older man's reputation. Chalking it up to paranoia, Blair moved closer as the professor pulled out his notes and motioned for him to sit at the small table.

"So, Mr. Simmons," Schindler began. "It is my understanding that you are specializing in the study of Inuit art, particularly as it pertains to the reflection of traditional tribal life."

Pushing his reservations aside, Blair began describing his find to the professor. Their in-depth conversation continued into the afternoon. Schindler certainly knew his material, and Blair was pleased that the older man seemed impressed with the observations he had made so far about the artifacts he had analyzed. No doubt about it; Dr. Schindler was an expert on Inuit art.

* * * * *