First Encounter ((Open))

[ISAAC KIRKLAND.]

The hour had barely struck midday, yet the clouds overhead made it seem so gloomy. Isaac had been exploring the British countryside for the past three months, yet he still could not get accustomed to the drab country. Everything about Britain, so far at least, was all doom and 'You'll never be seen again'. Isaac scoffed at the thought of entering a forest only to be turned into a toad by an idle Witch baking pies out of toadstools.

Yes, forests and the like were dangerous, but not because of some angered deity or black magic. It was usually human error and inexperience that lead to death in an unfamiliar wilderness. Isaac had gone through many 'Forbidden places' and 'Witch's lairs' and had found nothing but trees and dirt. He had disproved so many superstitions that he almost wished he would have been turned into a toad so at least he'd have something new to experience.

Isaac sat atop an elevation in the earth overlooking the township below. The town was bigger than most, but nowhere near as grand as the first British city Isaac had explored when he first stepped foot off ship. He was in awe of the largest clock tower he had ever seen when he was approached by one of the lawmen patrolling the area. Apparently, being dressed like a savage, being scarred by war, and carrying weapons made the general public nervous.

All of this was a new experience for Isaac. He was certain that Britain would be a more gruesome place, 'Kill or be killed'. Than again, before setting foot on this foreign land all he knew of Britain was the soldiers he fought in the War of 1812. Isaac stood an stretched his scarred old body. At 41 years old, he was damn near ancient according to human standards. With a calloused hand, he ran his fingers through his graying shoulder length black hair.

Isaac was dressed head to toe in clothes made of animal hide. His brown boots were made of durable deerskin, pants and shirt were made of buckskin, and a necklace consisting of of the claws and teeth of the most dangerous game he hunted hung from his neck. A bowie knife and a tomahawk hung from his belt neighboring his Kentucky pistol. Over his shoulder hung his Tennessee rifle, along with his powder horn and leather satchel.

With an exaggerated exhalation, Isaac began walking into the rural township. Isaac could not read, seeing as literacy was unimportant when your family was hungry and there were Indians attacking your home, so he had to speak to people for information. Currently, he wanted to know what this town was called so he could add it to the map in his mind.

Isaac made it as far as the old town square before being accosted by some of the local men. They stood four abreast, making a line and impairing Isaac's advance. "What do you want," asked the apparent leader of the small group, a harsh venom in his tone.

Isaac raised his hands to his chest level, open palms facing his new friends. "I just want to know what this place is called." The growing crowd surrounding the American and his opposition erupted in a hushed chatter, amazed at Isaac's accent.

The leader of Isaac's opposition took a threatening step forward, making angry gestures with his hands. "You're not welcome, Yank."

[ISAAC KIRKLAND.]

Isaac dropped his hands and shook his head, defeated. He was not welcome, that had been clear, and now it was best if he left. He had to be careful with what he said next, as he was in the middle of a mob very capable of going angry at any moment. Isaac silently studied the surrounding people; the poor fools seemed haggard.

"Fine," Isaac said at last. "I shall go."

Isaac began to turn and leave when a distraught woman appeared, forcing her way through the dissipating crowd and stumbling into the center. In a frantic, pleading tone, she began begging for help. "Please, someone, anyone! My children have been spirited away! Will no one help me search for them?"

Isaac expected to hear a mob of men answer this poor woman, but the crowd only broke into a wave of murmurs as they went their separate ways. The woman turned to the leader of Isaac's opposition, asking again in a voice cracking with emotion, reaching for his hand. "Please, will you not help me?"

The cold man pulled his arm away, answering the woman in a heartless tone. "Your children have been claimed by the Black Forest. They're already dead." The woman crumbled to her knees, defeated, sobbing heavily in an anguish only known by mothers.

Isaac was offended by the level of cowardice among the men of this village. Were this Tennessee, the men would have torn the wilderness apart trying to find the children. He approached the sobbing woman, laying a steady hand on her shoulder to ease her suffering. "Where is the Black Forest?"

Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to face the American, face stained with tears. "It's the sea of trees to the north of this village. Will you go?" Isaac answered the woman with a silent nod, then added "And I shall not return without your children." The woman began to thank Isaac, who interrupted with a hand held up to hush her. "Do not thank me yet. I have done nothing." Isaac straightened out his back before helping the woman to her feet. "Please Yank, please," the woman begged Isaac as he began his campaign, to which he responded "I shall do my best."

Isaac was battling the terrain heading North through the countryside for almost an hour now, when he noticed the scrawny boy following him. The boy could have been no older than 15 or 16, with brown hair and eyes. He clearly wanted something, but his body language suggested he was unsure as how to proceed. Isaac allowed the boy to follow him for a bit longer before finally turning to confront him, tired of the boy's indecision.

"What do you want," Isaac asked, slightly annoyed. The boy stood straight and held his chin high. "Sir, I heard you were going to the Black Forest to find those abducted children. I want to help, Sir." Issac arched an eyebrow at the boy, surprised. Honestly, he was glad that someone in that damn town had a spine.

"Very well," Isaac muttered as he handed the boy his Tennessee rifle. "You know how to use one of these?" The boy nodded excessively as he held the rifle in firm hands. "Yes sir, my father is an infantryman under the service of the queen."

"Good," Issac said sharply. "What's your name, boy?" The boy stood straight and saluted, standing the same height as the rifle. "Harland, sir. Harland Tennyson."

"Call me Isaac," he responded. "Come, we have a forest to search."

[ISAAC KIRKLAND.]

There Isaac and Harland stood at the mouth of the Black Forest, the dead trees horribly disfigured twisting up towards the sky. There was something unnatural about this place making Isaac's hair stand on end. It was ridiculous, Isaac had not seen one single sign of movement or heard one bird chirp. Perhaps it was the silence that unnerved him.

"Oy," Harland questioned after the silence stretched too long,"are you a savage?" Isaac arched a brow at the boy as Harland acknowledged the tomahawk on Isaac's belt. "No," Isaac responded coldly,"I just killed a savage and took his." Isaac returned his attention to the Black Forest, eying it as if they were about to cross the gate into Hell.

"Alright," Isaac started, turning to Harland,"I need to know that when the time comes, you're not a dandy when you're supposed to pull the trigger. Have you ever killed anything before?" Harland looked down at Isaac's 'Tennessee' long rifle held in his hands before responding,"No sir." Isaac felt like slapping the boy during the awkward silence that followed before Harland finally continued, his head bowed in shame,"I know how to load and shoot but I only shot at targets. When it came to hunting I couldn't do it."

Isaac let out an exasperated sigh, taking the rifle back from the boy before starting off into the Black Forest,"You're useless. Go home." Harland stood bewildered before yelling after him,"I told you I wanted to help!" Isaac spun around, gesturing angrily with his rifle,"Help? How are YOU supposed to help, hmm?" Harland averted his gaze from Isaac as no possible solution came to mind.

"We're not here for some damn picnic," Isaac continued with his rant,"Something or someone has taken some brats from your village, and I was stupid enough to feel sympathy for the mother!" Harland looked up at Isaac, a combination of hurt and surprise at the cold words. He had not expected the American who so readily went off to find children that weren't his own to be such a bastard. Harland's cheeks burned with embarrassment: here he thought that the American was some sort of Hero.

Harland's face slowly changed from blushing with embarrassment to scowling in anger, the realization that the American was a bastard, just like the rest of the coward men back in Wolverhampton, sparking a fire in the boy's belly. With new found vigor, Harland called out to Isaac who had begun trekking deeper into the Black Forest, "I'll do it!" Isaac was forced to halt as Harland sprinted up to block his path, staring the American defiantly in the eye, "I'll shoot whatever you tell me to."

Harland didn't like it, but the bastard American was the only one other than himself willing to brave the Black Forest. If there was any chance the children were not already dead, two men fighting to save and escort them would be better than just Harland alone and unarmed.

Without a word, Isaac handed his rifle to Harland, along with his powder horn and satchel. Isaac witnessed the fire in the boy's eye and was impressed by his unwavering courage, although he hid all emotions from the boy behind his unchanging scowl.

Isaac pushed past Harland, coldly uttering as he passed,"You better not slow me down."