Three Days Ago

Michael Twoyoungmen loaded up his jeep with various camping supplies as Roger Yellowstream leaned against it.

“How long you plan on being gone, Mike?” Roger asked as he cleaned his fingernails with a pocketknife.

“I’m not really sure, Roger. Hopefully not more than a week or so,” Michael said tossing a duffel bag into the back of the vehicle. “I guess when the land tells me it is time to come home.”

Roger looked up from his nail work. “’The land?’ Heh, I can’t believe you still think all that hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo is real. You…a doctor!”

Michael looked at Roger. “This coming from the man who refuses to get a flu shot because he believes the government puts stuff in it to track you!”

Roger stood up straight and put his arms straight out to the side. “Okay then, Dr. Medicine Man of the Sarcee…show me some magic!”

Michael stood still for a moment, then began to chant and prance around a bit. He drew close to Roger, waving his hands in front of the other man’s face. He then stopped, reached behind Roger’s ear…and produced a quarter.

“Well, I’m a believer now,” Roger said sarcastically as Michael dropped the quarter into his hand. “Seriously, though…what are we supposed to do if someone needs medical help?”

Michael, having loaded the last of his supplies, closed the back of the jeep. “My nurse can handle most of the bumps and bruises, but I’ve left the numbers of several doctors from the city in case of an emergency.”

Roger looked skeptical. “Huh. Don’t trust those anglo doctors.”

“Wait…didn’t you go to college in Wisconsin?” Michael asked quizzically. “What could be more white than that?”

“Exactly! And the things I saw there is what makes me not trust ‘em!”

Both men laughed heartily and clasped hands. Farewells were exchanged and Michael climbed behind the wheel of the well-used jeep. With a wave out the window, Michael drove off.

Two Days Ago

The previous day’s journey had been relatively uneventful. Michael traveled westward, stopping mainly for mundane matters like eating, fueling up, using the facilities, etc. However, once in a while he would stop alongside of the road, climb out of his vehicle, and look around. To any onlookers, he would appear to be just another traveler stopping to stretch his legs. He’d draw lines in the dirt with his toe, casually inspect a plant on the side of the road, or stare up at the clouds with his hands in his pockets.

What those onlookers would not realize is that Michael was looking for signs that only someone with insight into the mystical world could decipher. They continued to point him toward the west. He would climb back into his Land Rover and continue heading that direction.

As the afternoon turned to evening, the flat land of the central plains began to turn into the rolling hills and forests of the Canadian Rockies. Michael stopped at a public campsite to rest for the evening. A few campers dotted the area, but he was able to find an isolated corner in which to set up his camp. He built a small fire and put up his tent, then ate a small meal. He retired early in order to get an early start the next morning, but around 1 AM he was awakened by a noise outside.

Something was rustling in the underbrush just outside his tent. Michael figured it was some wild animal attracted by the fires and smell of food in the area. While he figured the animal was no harm to anyone, he was afraid that if the other camper’s discovered it, they might overreact. He exited his tent and turned his flashlight toward the noise.

He was quite surprised to find a large grizzly bear peering back at him from just a few feet away. The bear froze as the light shined upon it. Michael, unafraid, reached his hand, palm upward, toward the bear.

“Hello, friend,” Michael said warmly. “I mean you no harm, but there are others here who might misconstrue your presence here. Perhaps it would be better if—“

He paused as he looked into the bear’s eyes within the glow of the flashlight. They looked at him not with the normal dark eyes of a bear. No, they were blue, and peered at him with intelligence.

Before Michael could determine if this was just a trick of the light or his own mind, the bear turned and quickly retreated into the thick woods. Michael momentarily considered chasing after the animal, but since he had felt no malice from the creature, he decided otherwise. His mission was too important, and he discerned that the mystery of this bear had nothing to do with it. After a minute of staring into the woods, he retired back to his tent and quickly resumed sleeping.

One Day Ago

Michael rose well before the sun rose, and after a small meal, quickly packed up and began driving again toward the North and West. The roads were beginning to get rougher and less maintained as he got further away from civilization. At this point, the roads were beginning to wind their way up the mountains and mainly used by logging trucks and hardcore hunters, though he had seen neither in a while. The forest was thick, tall, and full of evergreen splendor.

Just as the dark of night began to lighten with the coming of the dawn, the headlights of Michael’s jeep saw something in the middle of the road ahead. He stopped and hopped out. He quickly realized it was the carcass of a deer.

“Hmm,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Pretty obvious sign here. I guess the easy part of this venture is over.”

Michael got back into the jeep and pulled it as far off the road as he could. He pulled out a large backpack filled with camping equipment from the rear. Before putting it on, he opened one of the pockets and removed an aged leather pouch about the size of a textbook. Michael fastened it to his belt on his right side. Carrying his pack, he walked a few feet away from his vehicle into the road. He reached his hand into the pouch he had affixed to his hip, his fingers descending deeper than the depth of the bag would suggest possible. His fingers clenched as he grabbed something and pulled his hand out.

He opened his hand, which now contained a powder that sparkled even the dim pre-dawn light. He muttered a few words in Sarcee under his breath and blew the powder towards the jeep. It spread and drifted lazily toward the jeep, despite the breeze blowing the opposite way. The powder spread to the length of the jeep and settled down atop it like a blanket. As it drifted down, the jeep faded from view until it was invisible to the eye. Michael knew the spell would only last a few days, and would not stop someone from feeling the object the mystical powder covered, but he felt assured that he would back before either happened. Michael hefted his backpack onto his shoulders and walked into the thick woods.

After a few hours of hiking, Michael found a creek flowing swiftly from the higher elevation where he decided to rest a bit. The late summer warmth and the exertion had left him quite sweaty. He decided to refresh himself in the chilly waters. He stripped and waded into the creek which, despite only being about 15 feet wide from bank to bank, was surprisingly deep. It rose to his chest and he had to dig his feet into the sediment to keep the current from taking him away from where he was.

Granted, he had no idea where he was, where he was going, or even why he seemed to be drawn the way he was going. He just knew that some great mystical force was guiding him and he was enjoying the experience. In fact, he realized he was enjoying himself more than he had in a long time. Since he had left Alpha Flight, the government sponsored super-team in order to service the Sarcee tribe as both their medical physician and shaman. It’s not that he didn’t respect his duties to his people, but after travelling to alien dimensions and saving the world, well…it just didn’t compare.

A branch, which had been flowing downstream, bumped into his chest, almost knocking him off his feet and pulling him out of his reverie. He waded back to shore, where he collected his belongings and, holding them over his head, crossed to the other side of the creek. He dried himself off, dressed, and continued on.

After a short while, Michael felt the wind shift slightly in direction. He peered up through the canopy of firs above, and saw dark clouds gathering. A storm was brewing, he felt and surely enough, a few moments later he heard the first distant rumblings of thunder. Nothing unusual for this time of the year, and Michael had brought raingear. He quickly readied his rain coat and continued walking.

When the storm arrived an hour later, it arrived with a vengeance. One minute the land had been dry, then with a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder to rival any he had ever seen or heard before, the sky opened and a deluge began. The steadily inclining ground almost immediately became a slippery mess of mud. A gust of wind at least 50 mph knocked Michael off his feet and he went rolling down the hill he had been climbing. Halfway down, his backpack ripped and many of its contents were sent flying in every direction by the wind and wheeling motion of Michael’s rolling. He was finally able to grab some roots and stopped his slide, but could barely see a foot around him from the volume of rain falling. He pulled himself behind a nearby tree to try to protect him from the brunt of the wind and rain, huddled himself close, and waited.

Though it had felt like forever (but had probably been less than an hour), the storm subsided and Michael arose. He was soaked to the bone and shivering greatly as the storm had caused the temperature to drop greatly. He explored the remains of his backpack to see what hadn’t been washed away. Not much, he discovered. Some spare clothes that were sopping wet even though they had been in a plastic bag, a flintstone, and a knife.

Common sense told him it would be best to hike back to his vehicle, but his uncommon sense told him that he was being tested, and he needed to continue on. Besides, he still had his mystical pouch, and if anything became too harrowing, he could use it for protection or, if need be, to transport him to safety.

Right now he needed to find shelter for the night since his tent was gone. He climbed back up the hill he had slipped off of, which was still extremely muddy and slippery. Looking around, he saw a sharp incline to the land about a half-mile away. There might be a cave or alcove for him to set up camp in. He’d have to hurry since he only had a couple hours of daylight left, and the temperature would drop drastically and quickly after the sun went down.

As he trudged on, he began to get accosted by mosquitoes. He wrapped the exposed parts of his body with the clothes he had salvaged. This helped some, but soon the exertion of climbing through the muddy morass caused him to heat up immensely.

Miserably, Michael continued on until he came upon an outcrop of rock on a steep slope that would provide some protection from the night. First he checked it for any signs of habitation. Finding none, he took off most of his mud-laden, heavy clothes and hung them on nearby branches. The mosquitoes seemed to have had their fill of him, so had mostly departed. The sunlight had begun to dim, and the temperature started to fall. Michael looked around for loose timber to build a fire with. Building a small fire pit just outside his shelter, he filled it with soaking wet wood.

He then grabbed his mystical pouch and reached inside. Feeling nothing, a quizzical look passed in front of his dark features. Never in all his years as the Sarcee’s shaman had he never been able to instantly grasp what he had reached in for. He passed his hand back and forth in the Void of the pouch, then reached in further. His arm disappeared into the leather pouch almost up to his shoulder before he found what he was looking for. Pulling his arm back out, he threw what looked like a small bunch of herbs upon the wet wood.. Though hardly perceptible to the naked eye, the herbs drew the moisture out of the wet wood, leaving it ready to be lit by his flint. Within minutes, he had a small, warm fire popping and crackling.

Next up, he decided, was food. If he didn’t catch something or find something edible soon, it would be too dark and he would have to wait until morning. A couple hundred yards from his camp, he found a blackberry bramble. “Not the most filling of meals,” he thought. “But it will get me through until morning.”

As he picked berries and placed them into a pouch he had fashioned out of his shirt, a rustle from nearby caused him to turn. He saw a doe emerge and approach him, seemingly unafraid, and followed by a young fawn. Michael slowly bent down and held out the berries. The doe quickly came up and ate several of the berries out of Michael’s hand. Michael knew he could draw his knife and slit the throat of the doe before it could react, but he would not betray this mother’s trust of him. He would be happy to share his meal with this creature. He smiled.

Suddenly, the doe became rigidly alert, its head jerking momentarily toward the bramble. Mother bounded off quickly in the opposite direction, followed closely by the fawn. Michael immediately arose and began to draw his knife when a large, white-furred clawed hand reached through the thorny bramble and grabbed him about his waist with a steely grip.

As Michael was lifted off the ground, he followed the arm to the creature it belonged to, now emerging from the bramble. Its white fur covered it from head to toe, slightly longer in some places. It was humanoid, had a tail, and was easily twice the height of Michael. The creature’s blazing red eyes were focused on Twoyoungmen, and as it opened its mouth, the Sarcee medicine chief recognized it as the dreaded magical beast known as…

“WEN-DI-GO!!!” the creature screamed in Shaman’s face, the force of its breath blowing back Shaman’s shoulder length black hair and its breath smelling of rotting meat.

Knowing he only had moments to act before Wendigo devoured him, Michael, still gripping his hunting knife, buried it deep into the back of the hand of the creature holding him. Wendigo howled, as much in surprise as in pain, and released Shaman. The medicine man fell to the muddy ground with a wet ‘plop’. As fast as he could, Shaman clambered to his feet and ran, trying to get as much distance as possible between him and Wendigo as possible. He knew the knife would barely slow the creature down, and that there was nothing that he could pull from his medicine pouch that could down the mystical beast. Shaman knew the only thing he could do at this point was to escape.

As Shaman struggled to keep his feet from slipping out under the muddy, uneven terrain, he reached into the pouch at his side in order to draw out a mystic dust that would transport him to safety. He could hear the crashing through the forest close behind. Shaman reached deep into the pouch, knowing he had only moments before Wendigo caught up to him. Just as his fingers scraped the soft, worn leather at the bottom of the bag, the land beneath his feet dipped sharply down, and he fell. He slid down the hill, almost burying himself completely in the mud when he reached the bottom.

Able to see to the top of the hill, yet dazed from his latest tumble, Shaman saw the large silhouette of the Wendigo crest the hill, then stop. A look of confusion crossed the creature’s scowling face. It turned its head left then right, its nostrils flaring as it smelled the cooling mountain air for any scent of Shaman.

Luckily for the mystical medicine man, being almost completely buried in the mud had masked him, both by scent and visually. He quickly realized that as long as he remained still, the Wendigo would probably not sense him. Several times, as the creature scanned the forest, he looked directly in Shaman’s direction, and he was certain each time that the beast would see him, but the Wendigo would just scan his gaze over him and continue looking. After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was probably only a few moments, the Wendigo seemed to lose interest, turned, and vanished into the gathering gloom and underbrush.

Shaman did not move until long after the dark of night had completely descended upon the forest. He stretched his various senses, both natural and mystical as far as he could, trying to sense if the Wendigo was anywhere near, perhaps preparing an ambush. When he was as assured as he could possibly be in this situation that the beast was gone, Shaman rose quietly and slowly from the mud. After being motionless for so long, his muscles were sore and protested as he stretched.

Knowing his senses would alert him if anything approached, but would not be able to lead him out of the pitch-black forest, he decided his best option would be to climb high into a tree where he would hopefully be safe until the morning’s light.

Feeling around like a blind man, he eventually found a tree large enough and with branches low enough that he could climb. Finding a nest of branches he felt was high enough and strong enough to support him, he settled into his ad hoc bed. Shaman then pulled his mystic pouch from his hip. It was caked with drying mud (as was he), and he wiped as much as possible off of it. He flipped the leather flap off the opening, paused a moment, then reached inside hesitantly.

Hoping he had been mistaken earlier when he reached inside, Michael’s heart sank when his fingers once again only touched the bottom of the bag. The Sarcee medicine pouch contained, for those who believed, an infinite Void from which could be pulled an almost limitless number of mystical items (as long as they could fit through the opening). Since he had become his people’s shaman, the only time he had not been able to access the pouch’s power was years ago, when a crisis of conscience had caused him to doubt himself.* His faith in his abilities was as great as it ever was now, and he could not fathom why he was not able to access the Void within the pouch. Until he figured out the reason why, he would have to rely on his own natural, yet limited, mystic abilities as well as his all-too-human physical prowess.

(* Circa Marvel’s Alpha Flight Vol. 1 #29. ~Jason)

Marshalling his concentration against the cold to keep him from shivering, Shaman kept vigil for the rest of the night.

This Morning

As soon as it was light enough, Michael climbed down cautiously. While he did not sense the Wendigo anywhere close by, Michael knew that the creature would still be not too far off, as it had his scent and was the preferred meal of the beast. The Wendigo was, in fact, a human transformed when the person ate human flesh in the Canadian North Woods. Shaman had faced one years ago alongside his Alpha Flight teammates Guardian (then known as Vindicator), Snowbird and X-Men members Nightcrawler and Wolverine*. The five barely survived the encounter, and Shaman was able to cure the creature and return it to human form. He also cured another Wendigo months later after The Incredible Hulk and another of Shaman’s teammates, Sasquatch, defeated it**.

(* Marvel’s Uncanny X-Men #’s 139-140 and **Incredible Hulk #272, respectively. ~Jason)

Shaman knew his only chance at this point was to get back to his jeep or find an occupied campsite and contact Department H to send help. He knew the general direction to get back to his jeep, but it would be a long walk and most of the evidence of his trail into the woods would most likely have been washed away by yesterday’s deluge. What’s more, his senses told him that there would be another storm today.

Still, he knew he had no other options, so after a few seconds to get his bearings, he headed back the way he had come the day before.

This Afternoon

Once the sun had risen, the temperature quickly began to rise as well. Though he was still hungry and tired, at least Michael was no longer freezing. The ground was drying, and he was moving quickly, yet still cautious for any sign of the Wendigo. Michael knew he was leaving an easy trail for the creature to follow. He only hoped that he could get far enough ahead before the beast came across it, as it would travel much faster than Michael could. It was also possible that if the coming storm hit before the Wendigo discovered it, that the rain would wash away his scent, giving Michael a much better chance of reaching safety.

Michael felt a sense of hope when he came across the deep stream he had waded across about 24 hours prior. In fact he thought he probably wasn’t more than a half-mile off from the exact spot where he had crossed before.

He bent down and washed his hands and forearms of the caked mud and sweat that covered them. He then cupped his hands and scooped some water up with them. As Michael drew his hands to his lips to quench his thirst, a crashing sound from where he had come caused him to snap his head around. He caught a glimpse of white through the woods heading his way, and knew the Wendigo had not only caught his scent, but it knew Michael was close.

Without hesitation, Shaman dove under the surface of the small river and, holding his breath, began to swim with the current down river. He knew if he surfaced too soon the keen eyes of Wendigo would spot him. The river widened around him as he swam but he did not surface until the edges of his consciousness began to grey. He surfaced and as he inhaled deeply, he looked back upriver. He had traveled quite a distance in the couple minutes he had been underwater, as he didn’t see the creature nor did he recognize the terrain. The current was much faster and stronger, and small rapids were beginning to form. Michael decided to use the speed of the river to get some further distance from Wendigo and continued to drift down the speeding river.

The rapids quickly became stronger, and rocks were jutting up out of the water. Shaman decided it was becoming too dangerous to stay in the river, and began to paddle toward shore. The current was extremely strong now, and that along with the rising and falling of the rapids made it extremely difficult to make much headway.

Ahead of him he began to hear a roar, low at first but swiftly becoming louder. Shaman knew almost immediately he was headed for a waterfall. After a few moments more of frantically trying to reach shore without success, Shaman stopped, closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate. One of his innate mystical powers was the ability to levitate. However, the rapids bouncing him around and dunking him under the water was making him unable to concentrate enough to lift himself out of the water.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the water rushing over the edge, followed by Shaman himself. He felt himself falling for a few moments, then everything went black as he collided with the bottom.

Shaman began to feel rain falling on his body, and opened his eyes. Every muscle and bone in his body screamed in pain and protest as he slowly sat up, and he looked around. He was on the bank of the river, a few hundred meters from the waterfall that he had plummeted from. Even though nearly unconscious, he must have instinctively made his way to shore. How long he had lain unconscious was unknown, but judging by the lowering daylight and the arrival of the storm he had sensed coming all day, it must have been hours.

Assessing himself, Michael determined that aside from some gashes and bruises, he was deVoid of any serious injuries. Nonetheless, he was quite unsteady as he slowly rose to his feet. He wasn’t sure if the Wendigo was still tracking him, but Michael knew that any lead he had by using the river had surely greatly diminished in the time he had been unconscious. He climbed the bank and once again headed into the forest in the direction of his jeep as a bolt of lightning shot across the sky above him.

Before long, the thick tree canopy and diminishing daylight made it very difficult for Michael to see. Also, the beating rain, his injuries and exhaustion caused him to move much slower than earlier in the day. Though he knew it was risky, Michael decided to once again find a high tree to climb and rest until morning again. He quickly located a suitably tall pine and worked his way up several dozen feet above the ground. The rain made the climb slippery, and the branches caused more scratches on his already battered body.

He finally found a set of branches that were strong enough and nestled close enough together than he could rest relatively comfortably with his back against the tree trunk. Once the light of morning came, he would make a last dash for his vehicle. Shaman tried again to access the magic of his pouch, but was once again disappointed when it once again proved to be empty. He sighed and leaned back.

Before long, it was again pitch black. The rain continued to fall through the treetops. Michael tried to meditate past the dismal conditions, when suddenly the singing of the crickets around him fell silent. Shaman came to attention, and tried to pierce the darkness below him.

Though he still couldn’t see, a moment later he heard the crash of heavy footsteps just before the tree he was in shuddered so much it knocked Shaman from his perch. He fell, crashing through branches, hitting one stout limb and hearing his right rib cage crack. He hit the wet ground with a sickening splat, which led to…

Now

Michael Twoyoungmen, the Sarcee medicine man and Alpha Flight member known as Shaman, rose from the mud. The pouring rain did little to wash the muck that smeared his nearly naked body and was caked in his long dark hair. He clenched his fists at his sides, but did not raise them. He face was stonelike with resolve, as, in the dark of the night, an even darker shape loomed ever closer. So close now that he could smell its fetid, warm breath on his face. He did not run, or more accurately was through running, even when lightning lit up the creature and it screamed with ear-piercing intensity…

“WEN-DI-GO!!”

Ignoring the shifting ribs digging into his side, Shaman let out a primal scream of his own back at Wendigo. If he was going to die now, Michael Twoyoungmen was going to make his ancestors proud. This abomination of nature might devour him, but it was going to remember the fight Shaman put up for a long, long time.

Shaman leapt at Wendigo, but, completely unexpectedly, the creature held its hand up in a halting gesture, and spoke!

“Halt, medicine man. The test is over.” It spoke in an echoing, ethereal voice, rich and unlike the animalistic scream it normally produced. A light begsn to emanate from the creature, casting a soft glow in the forest around it and the rain was unable to penetrate the light. Shaman stumbled back, stupefied by this turn of events. He tripped and fell onto his backside, and stared wide-eyed at Wendigo.

“W-what?” stammered Shaman. “Test? Wait…your aura…I have seen its like before…”

Wendigo nodded. “Yes, man of the Sarcee. You midwifed at the birth of my granddaughter, Narya*. I am the All-Father of those you would call The Northern Gods. I am…Hodiak!”

(*As revealed in Marvel’s Alpha Fight Vol. 1 #’s 7 and 8’s backup stories. ~Backup Jason)

Shaman rose, wincing at the agony in his side. “And you are in control of the Wendigo?”

“Yes. I created the curse that causes the Wendigo, and I may exert my control over the creature to communicate with you though I am still trapped in another dimension due to the Great Beast Tundra*. I also am the one that drew you here, Michael Twoyoungmen, in order to test you.”

(*Revealed in the above mentioned Alpha Flight #’s 7-8, as well as other places. ~Jason)

“That is the second time you have mentioned testing,” Shaman said. “What is this test and why have I been tested?”

The Wendigo moved closer and reached out a clawed finger toward Shaman. Though wary, Shaman did not move. The finger touched Shaman’s ribs and instantly the pain vanished in his side, and his various injuries seemed to vanish He was also clean of the past day’s ordeal and no longer hungry.

“There is a great trial about to be undertaken by our land, and it shall need defenders of great resolve to overcome the evil that is to come. I drew you here and sent the Wendigo upon you in order to test your courage under great odds. You have shown great skill, Michael Twoyoungmen, and you will be needed to gather the warriors needed in the task ahead.” The hand that had touched Shaman’s ribs slid down and plucked his mystical pouch from his hip. Shaman’s eyes followed as Wendigo/Hodiak studied the pouch.

“Are you the one who is blocking the pouch’s powers?” Shaman asked.

“The pouch has no power, oh Shaman. But yes, I did block your access to the Void,” Hodiak responded.

Shaman looked puzzled. “What do you mean the pouch has no power. It has been used for millennia to draw spells from the Void.”

Hodiak shook his head. “No, a variety of pouches or containers have been used over the many years, but this pouch has existed for but an inkling of time. The power to access the Void has always been within the Shaman, not the pouch. The Void is able to be accessed within any darkness, like the shadows created by the light of my godly presence.”

The Wendigo pointed to Shaman’s shadow, flickering from the glow emanated by Hodiak. Shaman looked at his own hand for a moment, then bent and reached for, and into, his shadow. He retracted his hand, pulling an intricately carved staff from the darkness. He stamped the staff upon the ground once, and in an instant, Shaman’s traditional green and tan costume seemed to grow onto his body.

“Now go, son of the northlands. Gather your army and lead them to victory…”

The glow from the Wendigo faded as the ethereal voice trailed off. Shaman grabbed some dust from the dark, and tossed it into the air. It ignited like a flare and relit the forest. Where the Wendigo had been, a naked man now stood, looking extremely confused. Shaman’s pouch lay on the ground next to the man, which was again being pelted by the rain.

The transformed Wendigo clutched himself in the cold. He began to stammer as Shaman approached and picked up his pouch.

“W-we were lost in the mountains when the snow came. There was no more food and…and…he had already died! I was so hungry…so hungry…”

Shaman plucked a cloak from the dark interior of his pouch, and drew it across the man.

“I know, my friend,” Shaman said reassuredly. “Everything will be fine now. Let us get you safely to a hospital. Then I have a task to perform.”

Shaman again reached into his pouch and threw a powdery substance into the air. It formed a sparkling ring around the two figures, and as it settled around them, the duo disappeared. The rain continued its patter upon the forest, and the crickets again began to chirp.

(Next: We switch our focus to the Hudsons, Mac and Heather (also known as Guardian and Vindicator), in a tale of loss and tragedy. Join us for “Just Another Year In Our Lives…”)