I wrote this a while back, but I decided to post it anyway. Hope you enjoy it. This part isn't too great, it's one of my least favourites, but I needed it to start somehow. ComfyHobo

Disclaimer: I do not own Darren Shan, or the Saga.

Harkat and I fell out again. I don't know how much longer I can keep him here, because I know that he's probably right: Maybe we should be out looking for Steve. I mean, we're not exactly getting anywhere here. But then again, maybe we're meant to wait for him to find us. We'd also received bad news about the Vampaneze, news that pushed us to get this over with quickly. They were readying a new type weapon: Weapons that could destroy vampires in seconds.

I wasn't sure what way I'd gone when I'd stormed away from the Cirque Du Freak; but that didn't matter. I knew this place well.

It was still the place I thought of as my home town, even though I hadn't visited in a fair few years.

The first bit of scenery I took any notice of was a tree. Thinking back now, I must've been crazy. But something about that tree… infuriated me. Something about the way the other trees leant away from it; the way the roots twisted and dominated more space than was necessary. Then the anger – towards a tree – took hold of me. I grabbed the first branch I saw and tore it away from the trunk. I violently attacked the centre of my aggravation. A few leaves fell when the stolen branch contacted the old, knotted bark.

Then something heavier descended. Much larger too, but with a strangely feline like soft landing.

My mind flashed back to when the Black Panther lunged at me in the possible – I would not say inevitable. Destiny was not sealed in stone – future.

Only this figure was much more human. Before I could even raise my arms in defense, the flash back had given my attacker enough time to act.

The feline figure had me pinned to the floor in a speed no human should've been able to attain. Or perhaps the element of surprise was more the culprit than speed.

That was when I got my first look at the attacker.

She – yes, she – had skin so white I thought she was albino. Her red eyes were also solid evidence towards that theory, but her hair was a black so deep I settled for anaemic. Her blood red eyes were neatly framed with black eyeliner. Her hair was dead straight and fell to a point midway between her shoulder and elbow. The tips of her locks fell to mere inches above my face from her current, powerful position.

I analyzed her size, trying to assess whether I could take her without hurting her too much. She was thin. Dangerously thin. From her anaemic skin, the black coat hugged tightly around her slender figure, prominent cheek bones and emotionless facial expression, she looked more like a corpse than most of the bodies I'd seen during the Battle of the Scars.

I tried to roll her off of me and gain control, but she was better positioned that I thought. Her bony knees pressed my hands to the ground while she sat firmly on my thighs. Her thin, dead looking hands held my shoulders down, too. So I saw no means of escape. I would have to wait for her to let her guard down.

She cocked her head to the left and studied me. I stared up into her eyes. The red irises seemed more ominous against the starry black sky. The moonlight cast a faint glow around her, making her figure seem majestic and unearthly.

I opened my mouth to ask her purpose, but before I could generate any sound, she swung a fist at my head and the darkness surrounded me, pulling me deeper and deeper into the blank pit that was unconsciousness.

The light of day shone through my eyelids, creating a red blur in front of my closed eyes.

"Harkat," I laughed. "You won't believe the dream I-"

I cut my sentence short when I opened my eyes.

Instead of seeing the roof of the tent I was expecting, a sun shone brightly in the middle of a powder blue sky.

I scrambled to my feet. The twisted tree was near by. It did not anger me today, just made me slightly uneasy, so I began to think maybe I was dreaming, but walked out here in my sleep. I was not entirely convinced.

"Darren! Darren, where the hell are you?"

The voice was mildly familiar.

Jekkus Flang jogged through the trees, searching for me.

"I'm over here, Jekkus." I called to him. Jekkus was part of the crew of the Cirque Du Freak. He worked behind the scenes. Recently he had been on stage a few times. His act consisted of him throwing knifes with amazing precision, then a staged 'member of the audience' said his act was rubbish and went on to the stage with him. Jekkus 'lost his temper' and cut the 'audience members' arms off at the elbows. The real audience would be shocked, and then the faked member would re-grow his arms. Cormac Limbs could re-grow any part of his body. Well, he hadn't tried cutting his head off, and he didn't plan to!

Jekkus' worried expression became mocking.

"What are you doing out here, you nutter?" he joked.

"Sleep walking, apparently." I replied roughly, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

"Harkat's worried, mate. You went all huffy and pegged it. He said you'd had a bit of a fall out."

So that much was real.

Jekkus let out a hearty laugh.

"What happened to your head?"

I reached to the side of my head and traced the swollen lump on the side of my forehead. For the first time I began to feel blood pulsing beneath the bruise.

"That wasn't a dream either." I stated to myself, in a volume inaudible to Jekkus.

Of course it wasn't a dream. The memory was far too vivid, and dreams don't kick start stories. Not this story, anyway.