PROLOGUE
Lunar Lake, Thirteen Colonies, October 1672.
"Land ho!"
The captain's words rang out through the ship Jonah, causing quite a wave of excitement amongst the new immigrants boarded on the vessel. It had been a long journey, one full of disease, unfortunate deaths, and struggles, but at long last they had reached the beauty that was the Colonies—soon to be America over a century later. Many of the ship's passengers flocked to the deck to see the land that was to be their new residence for the remainder of their lives.
Amongst these passengers was young Richard Graves, a young man no older than sixteen. He dashed to the edge of the deck and leaned over the rail, the salty sea air ruffling his brown locks, and playing across his pale skin. He inhaled a deep breath of the sea atmosphere and sighed contently.
He had come over on the journey by himself, in order to discover the new world as he had read about in so many books in his homeland. He had done all he could do in his homeland, and now was set for new goals, new achievements—and he hoped that he could accomplish these in this New World of theirs. He grinned widely, although he refused to show the inside of his mouth—not in front of the passengers. Instead he leapt down from the deck and approached the captain.
"How long until we hit land, Sir?" he asked courteously, adjusting one of the buttons on his white shirt.
The captain turned to look at him, then looked back at the ever-growing horizon. "Fifteen minutes at the most, young Sir," he replied, smiling. "Think you can wait that long? You've been acting pretty odd ever since you boarded the ship."
Richard froze, then laughed it off. "Yes…I guess I was just so excited about exploring a new land," he replied, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I'm hoping to prosper there, and I want to explore my new territory—I mean, country as soon as possible." He smiled again innocently.
The captain merely smiled and nodded, as if understanding what the young man meant. Richard leapt down the stairs and ran toward the deck again, turning his head toward the horizon. His heartbeat increased anxiously with each passing moment, and as the land grew larger and larger in front of the ship, his hands began to grind on the wooden railing, causing several splinters to form in his palms. When the dock finally was in view and the captain barked the order to lower the plank, he leapt upward and rushed down to the docks, grinning wildly, not caring about shoving past the other people in his way.
He rushed up to the woods, lowering himself onto his hands and toes like a wild animal, kicking his boots off as he ran. He spotted a man in the woods, walking alone, completely unarmed—hermit, probably native to these woods. His lips drew back, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth, and he ran a thin, flat tongue over his lips, almost tasting the blood that this old man offered. Leaning back, still on all fours, he leapt into pursuit.
This was his land now. His new territory.
And he couldn't wait to get started.