Chapter Seven

Morning came faster than Erin had expected. It seemed as if she’d only closed her eyes for two seconds last night and when she opened them, it was morning. Yes, she’d had a dreamless sleep and now she was awake, feeling refreshed and ready to go to work and gloat at Devon about how she’d known all along that his stupid dream stone was nothing but an ordinary pebble that he’d probably picked up at a riverbank somewhere and transformed it into something special with his fake story about werewolf legends. What a tall glass of horseshit. And to think that she’d nearly fallen for it. Ha!

With an unusual burst of energy, Erin sat up in bed and threw back the covers, but the moment her feet hit the floor, she knew something was wrong. Her energy levels immediately dropped down to zero as soon as she looked at her feet and saw them encased in a pair of primitive leather booties instead of the soft woolen socks she’d worn to bed last night. The tan carpets on her floor had been replaced with what looked like bear fur, although she couldn’t figure out how she knew that particular information. She looked up and to her horror, discovered that she was not inside her bedroom, even though this place seemed familiar, but in a strange room that looked like a wigwam. Woven mats and leather apparel were hung on the walls, there were three baskets in a corner of the room and what looked like a clay pot with a cover on it, placed near the entrance of the room. The lingering smell of smoke and roasted meat in the atmosphere made her feel as if she had just woken up on a campsite.

As she continued to observe her surroundings, her confusion slowly gave way to dread, and her brain refused to accept what her eyes were seeing. Where was she? What is this place and why was she dressed in – wait, what was she wearing? A dress made of fur and animal skin? No way!

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered to herself. “This can’t be happening.”

Had Devon been right after all? Had she somehow been transported back in time by the dream stone? Was any of this even real or was she dreaming?

She lifted the makeshift pillow on her bed and to her surprise, the dream stone was there. Erin picked it up, staring at it as if willing the pebble to say something to her and assure her that she was hallucinating, and this weird place she’d found herself in wasn’t real.

“What is happening?” She asked the stone, even though she knew she wouldn’t get an answer from it. “Where am I?”

Erin heard what sounded like the shuffling of feet outside her room and before she could gather her thoughts and figure out what could be going on, the flank at the entrance of her room swung open and a man stepped in. He was tall and broad, and his presence seemed to fill the entire room even though he was only standing at the doorway. There was something familiar about the man, but she couldn’t quite place it. He was dressed in a matching vest and breeches that were made of animal skin and artfully decorated with fur and beads. His forehead was encircled by a colorful headband with a grey feather stuck on one side above his left ear. The man’s dark hair was held up in a half bun and the rest fell down his back in rich waves. He was indeed a sight to behold and she couldn’t help but notice the instant physical attraction she felt toward him.

“I have come to fetch you for the morning meal,” said the man blandly. “You will have a short time to attend to your personal needs after then before we ride home.”

Erin was immediately irritated by the man’s rudeness. Not even a ‘good morning’ or ‘hey, how are you?’ and what did he mean by riding home? Wasn’t this place her home? Strangely enough, he did not speak English, but she understood what he had said perfectly.

“Who are you?” She asked him. She’d spoken in English, but her words came out as the native Athabascan language which the man spoke. How that was even happening was beyond her imagination.