I stood there and stared at him as Simon Leapfoot the younger looked around the small community, then noticed that I was there.

There was grace and confidence in his every step, the man knew the world around him in ways that I didn't yet.

He stopped in front of me, noting my interest in him, and spoke, "I am Simon Leapfoot the younger, I'm looking to meet with Will Tinker."

I nodded at him, showing a weak smile as I said, "That would be me, Mr. Leapfoot," then waited to see what would happen.

He looked at me again, nodded as if he had seen something of interest, then stated, "I want to hear everything. Speak."

The voice he used on that final word was nothing less than a total command, and I began to recount recent events. I started from the time that I fell, told him about waking up in the hospital in Thunder Bay, then about the dream/not dream and my eventual journey home.

He listened intently as I spoke, only asking for me to expand on what I had said about the dream/not dream.

At that point, I decided what the heck, and told him everything about it, including that I had awoken with a white oak shoot in my left hand.

He nodded and actually smiled as he said, "So you have power, which can be good, but little actual skill in using it, which is not good."

We ended up talking intensely about that dream/not dream, to the exclusion of just about everything else, for over two hours.

At one point, he led me into a nearby copse in the woods all around us and asked me to just stand there and watch.

The two of us stood there, just off a fair sized trail through the woods for what seemed like hours, maybe longer, before anything of note occurred. A young doe and two fawns came along a side trail, then turned a short distance from us to go toward a nearby spring.

The strangest part of that experience was that the doe saw us, yet acted as if we were not there. It had me seriously confused.

Simon and I had remained quiet as the doe and fawns approached, then took the second trail that led to the spring. I was quite surprised at just how quiet he could be. I've lived in these woods all of my life, yet my briefest movements made far more noise than any of his.

We continued to stand there, again it seemed like a very long time went by.

Then we spotted a family of five beavers that were making their way through the woods toward one of the small lakes a short distance away. Most of our camps were situated around a large lake or reservoir, with dozens of smaller lakes scattered all around the bigger one.

I shrugged as the beavers passed us, but they seemed to be more focused on where they were going than on what was close to them. I can't really say, but I got this little feeling that for some reason the beavers knew we wouldn't harm them in any way, so they just ignored us.

We waited again, then watched as a white tail buck followed the same path as the doe and the two fawns. Rutting season was still a few months away, but we could see the horns growing in just with a quick look. The buck was fairly big for a white tail, it might have a righteous rack.

Don't mind me saying things like that, I sometimes use words or expressions for their humour effect, even if that often fails.

Anyway, this large buck followed the trail the doe and fawns had taken earlier, and like them, was soon gone from our direct sight.

The buck had passed from sight for only a few minutes when I spied the doe and fawns returning down the trail the buck had taken.

Once again, the doe looked straight at us, then stepped on at a sprightly pace, leading her little ones down the side trail.

Simon and I stayed out there as the sun slowly descended, and we only left the woods when it became difficult to see without extra light. I suppose we could have stayed in there longer by going back in with long lasting flashlights, but Simon said that was enough for today.

We headed into the small building where my parents, Wesley and I all lived. It was split into three rooms, none of them very large. The main area was the communal area, kitchen, dining room and living room all in one, including a 36" TV with a set of rabbit ears sticking out above it.

Mom had made one or her delicious meals, a stew that had been sitting over the small hearth all day. It turned out to be venison, one of the hunters had gone out two days ago and snagged a rather young buck that was wandering aimlessly around in the woods.

The buck had been acting a bit odd, but a quick check revealed nothing obviously wrong with the animal. On the off chance that there might be something wrong with the brain, i.e., a seizure, stroke, aneurysm, they made sure to leave that behind, burying it deep in the forest ground.

Sometimes the forest will claim its own creatures when their time has come. Sometimes it leads those creatures to hunters like ours.

The hunter had not taken chances, but had called Alan Quince and had him test several portions of the animal as a precaution. Alan had run some tests through his rather limited medical gear, specifically a rather expensive microscope that had 1000x magnification.

Benny, the hunter, had waited in the outer area of the tiny building housing the medical equipment while Alan checked the slides. Alan wanted to be careful, so he checked each slide three or four times. Eventually, he reported to Benny that he didn't see anything that could be harmful.

So Benny had brought some of the newly caught venison to mom, who had decided that some of it would be used for today's stew.

Simon joined us for the meal, talking quietly with me and my dad. He said I had done fairly well that afternoon, then went on to say that that was due to the fact that I had done what I had been told by him to do, rather than doing what I thought might be best at the time.

Let's just say that dad was impressed. He laughed and said that I had always had a feeling for the woods around here.

When Simon asked him about that, dad mentioned the time I had stood in the woods behind our home and with little more than what looked like an occasional distracted glance, had then trotted off into the woods, leading dad and several others to a rabid skunk, which they killed.

Dad mentioned a few other times like that, and I swear, I saw Simon smile.

I'd have to say that seeing that smile almost put me off wanting to eat. It was the smile of a shark about to have its dinner of live human.

The stew was quite good, one of mom's better efforts, and by the time the meal had ended, there was nothing left in the pot.

After we had had breakfast the following day, Simon had me lead him in a different direction.

This time, it seemed that we would be looking for specific plants, herbs and such, that could be used by a competent medic or chemist. Simon led me around, pointing out a wide assortment of plants, naming off their properties and medical uses, if there were any.

Willow bark was one that I had known about for a long time, thanks to a science show I saw several years ago when dad was dozing one day.

Simon pointed out sprigs of wild chamomile, echinacea, feverfew, mint and yarrow just to name a few. He then went on to talk about how these plants could be used in various ways for a variety of health issues, and suggested we should make room for a fairly large herb garden.

He also stated that we would need to have a set of drying racks, or even better, something similar in a well-ventilated warm room.

He lectured me for hours that day about the various plants we had seen, their uses, their growing seasons, how to prepare them, etc.

The day wasn't all that warm, we're quite a bit closer to the Arctic Circle and Hudson's Bay is close enough to have an effect on the weather. I suppose it might be similar to what the folks down south call "lake effect". I honestly couldn't tell you, I don't know about that stuff.

Any way, he grilled me this way, that way, this other way, that other way and the other other way about these plants. It was exhausting, and yet I hadn't done a darn thing except walk a little now and then while he lectured. I was pretty wiped out by the time we returned to the house.

I figure it was because I was out there all day and we hadn't had any lunch. If I'd known we would be that long, I would have packed something to take along with us for lunch. Ah, well, it's no sense worrying about the barn door being open after all the horses have run away.

We relaxed over another nice supper meal, this one being bison steaks someone had sent to dad from somewhere down in the States.

The steaks were quite good, grilled rather nicely, seasoned within a hair of perfection. A spoonful of steak sauce was the final touch.

My steak wasn't as big as the ones dad or Simon were eating, but still big enough to make a good meal. Wesley's and mom's were like mine.

Sammi showed up a short while after the meal had ended. Within moments, I was following her along another trail within the woods.

There was a small clearing about midway between our camp and one of the many small nearby lakes. We headed for that clearing.

Sammi and I stayed there until the sun dipped below the horizon talking about the last few days, then headed back into the camp.

It was the day after I chatted with Sammi in that little clearing that the next odd event occurred.

What made it even odder is that Simon Leapfoot the younger was present when it happened, and kept a very close eye on me.

What was it, you ask? Well, to be blunt, another of those dreams/not dreams like the one I had experienced in the hospital several days ago.

Ayup, another one of those, all right. Simon had led me over to one of the smaller lakes nearby, where we sat and watched the water.

I saw four or five different types of fish jumping here and there as we watched, then the dream/not dream hit me, and I was lost in it.

In this second dream/not dream, I saw that same old ghost shaman, except this time he appeared standing on a small islet in that tiny lake.

I don't think the islet was more than five paces wide in any direction, yet there he stood, on the only dry ground within the lake itself.

He pointed as a fish leaped out of the water, then plummeted back into its depths. And pointed again as a different type jumped. Then a third time as yet another type came out of the water. I sat there, entranced, wondering why he was pointing at the various fish, then it hit me.

He wasn't pointing at the fish themselves, but in the direction they were from the small islet where he stood. The first had been to the east, the same direction as where Simon and I were relaxing by the edge of this particular lake. The second was to the south, the third to the west.

He pointed two more times, the first being to the north, which completed the four directions, then up. That one confused me for a while. It wasn't until I recalled something I had seen about a Wiccan rite, where a priest/ess called the directions, then up, adding Spirit to the rite.

I sat there, musing on this as I continued to watch the old shaman standing on an islet that I couldn't remember being there before today.

It became even odder, though, as the old ghost shaman pointed to each of the directions again, then up once more and vanished.

But the weird stuff hadn't ended yet. Just moments after he vanished, I felt something, a rumble from below the lake, and turned to warn Simon we needed to move, only to see Simon wasn't there. I gasped when a very interesting looking fish splatted on the ground in front of me.

That was when this dream/not dream ended. I picked up the tail of a fish that, as far as I could remember, was well beyond rare. The fish? A coelacanth. I was flabbergasted, as I had been studying various creatures in biology a few months ago and to the best of my knowledge, today's examples of coelacanths live in a narrow area either off the east coast of Africa or in the waters around a specific part of Indonesia.

The coelacanth has long been called the dino fish, as a live specimen was not discovered until 1938. They had been thought to have been dead since the time of the dinosaurs, roughly 65 million years ago, hence the nickname I mentioned and their appearance is quite unusual.

As noted in various places, they are the last remaining representatives of a widespread family of lobe-finned fishes. An adult coelacanth can reach lengths of six feet or more and weigh around 200 pounds. They are covered in a thick, scaly "armour" and can live for 60 years or more.

That was when it was Simon's turn to gasp as he saw what I was holding. "Good god? Where did that come from, Will?" he yelped.

"I'm not really sure, Simon. Remember I told you the other day about having had a dream/not dream?" I asked him.

He nodded, and I continued speaking, "I just experienced another one, Simon. The lake wouldn't have one of these in it, that's for sure. Like the other time that I had one of these dreams/not dreams, I was 'given' something, that fish, to prove the dream/not dream took place."

He looked at the fish, then asked me, "What do you mean, this fish wouldn't come from the lake?"

"The two species that exist now are only found in two places, off the east coast of Africa and in the waters near Sulawesi, Indonesia."

He still looked confused by what I was saying, so I told him more, "This is a coelacanth, Simon, they are quite rare. Part of that may be the fact that they live quite a long ways down, being bottom dwellers, and they wander along the ocean floor, eating other fish and cephalopods."

He took a long, hard look at me before he asked, "You're sure about that, Will?"

I nodded and replied, "Sure enough that I'll show you on my computer once we're back in the camp and can use the camp school network."

Having said that, I pulled out a small but sharp knife and cut the fish open. I removed the whole inside of it, tossing that all into the lake. I doubted any of it would last for long, there are several varieties of fish in these lakes that will eat darn near anything if they can gulp it down.

If the fish couldn't eat it, the flesh of the coelacanth would eventually decompose and then dissolve into the earth at the lake's bottom.

Once all the flesh had been removed and tossed into the lake, I spent several minutes rinsing out the innards of the coelacanth. You won't catch people eating these creatures, as their flesh is filled with oils, urea, wax esters and other compounds that give it a very foul taste.

When I had finished rinsing out the very large fish, I accepted a plastic bag Simon had produced from somewhere and stuffed the skin in it. You might think I was crazy for taking a skin of something like that, but it would be a very visible, blatant proof of what had happened, eh?

Simon was quite shaken after I had explained the presence of the fish to him, and stated that we were done for the day.

The walk back to the camp was not all that long, perhaps a little over a mile along woodland trails, so it took about twenty minutes to get there.

Several people in the camp enquired about what was in the bag, and their expressions ranged from shock to outright wonder when I told them.

As I had said I would do, I left the skin in the bag outside of our home, then led Simon into the room I shared with my brother Wesley.

I turned on my system, waited a few minutes for it to get up to speed, then used my password and logged into the school network. Once I was in there, I quickly pulled up about half a dozen pages with information on coelacanths and let Simon read them.

I guess it must be odd on those occasions where the student teaches the teacher. It must happen fairly often out in the wide world, hmm?