I'm not even going to bother apologizing for the lateness of this chapter. Blame it on Desert Thief – she has gone and abandoned me to go traveling halfway around the world and without her constant nagging to get things done, I am completely useless (DT comes flying back to Oz with murder in her eyes) Ok, ok, I have no one to blame but myself I know. However, as you might have noticed, I have made a few alterations to my chapter titles, which means I finally have some hard-set direction with this story. So no more insanely late updates, ok?

This chapter is rather short and strange, but I promise it will all come together in the end. Trust me. It is dedicated to Ookami Calvin and missycatrulz, newcomers to (Harry Potter Fans should check out missy's new story – she updates faster than me

Late Easter Eggs go out to all my reviewers!

Disclaimer: I own Gobanob and a few nameless sailors. You can't sue me for that (although Thorn might sue me for stealing Murtagh . . . I'd better get a good lawyer . . .)

Prologue Part 4

It was raining in Teirm. Water fell thick and fast from the merciless skies onto those unfortunate enough to be caught outside in the unexpected storm. The herbalist's shop, which was abnormally dark even on the sunniest days due to the thick greenery-adorned windows, was even less visible in the gloom.

Angela sighed as she lit another candle, the small flame creating a pool of light in her palm before she set it down on the main bench next to several others. Business was as poor as could be expected on such a day, with no one quite game enough to brave the elements. She had been expecting a large group of sailors to come in to collect a batch of pre-ordered love potions today (maybe they did work after all, for they kept coming back – either that or it was all in their imaginations) but supposed that their plans had been altered in light of the recent weather.

Still, no matter. The herbalist had kept herself relatively busy, having used the extra time to do all the little tedious tasks she had been putting off for some time; putting labels on potion and medicine bottles, sorting through some old scrolls, trying to locate several missing instruments, and other such things had taken up most of her morning. Now at about midday, the woman was just starting to feel slightly weary.

"I must be getting old," she mused out loud. Of course, she knew that she was actually quite a bit older than her appearance let on, but sometimes it was hard even for her to remember the exact age over the years of anti-ageing herbs. Grimacing at the thought of every woman's worst fear, Angela sat down at her desk in a brief moment of respite, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. For a little while she just sat there, listening idly to the roaring rain outside and not thinking about anything in particular.

A loud croak interrupted her musings and she looked over at the glass container on the end of her workbench. It was littered with a carpet of leaves and twigs, a few dead bugs, a small container of water, and one large frog.

"Good afternoon Master Gobanob," Angela said with a smile, bowing her head cordially. "I trust that your day has been mildly more interesting than mine?"

Gobanob stared at her with baleful eyes but did not reply. He was a very big frog, with thick, stubby legs, covered in a dry, bumpy brown hide and didn't look much like a frog at all. But Angela knew that he was and would one day prove it to everyone who insisted on calling him a toad.

Sighing, the herbalist drained the rest of her tea and stood up and, with one more resentful look at the rain-drenched windows, decided that it was probably time that she found that wand she'd recently misplaced. It had happened once before, and the poor boy who had come into the shop with his mother had gotten a nasty shock after coming across it by accident. Angela hadn't seen that woman since, so decided that it might be a good idea not to repeat the experience.

However, the second she stood up, an icy jolt suddenly shot through her, causing the woman to cry out in shock. The teacup fell to the ground and shattered as Angela gripped the bench, her eyes squeezed tightly shut at what felt like thousands of icicles ripped through her body.

While the pain continued to ravage her consciousness, she was suddenly bombarded by what seemed like thousands of images that flew past her mind's eye one after the other with such a speed that it was hard to make sense of them. However, a couple of scenes jumped out at her with painful clarity; a forest-covered mountain range, stormy skies that matched the one outside, three figures in a clearing. One of the figures looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't focus her mind long enough to remember. It was all too much, she was going to pass out any second . . .

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the icy pain vanished, leaving Angela slumped weakly against her bench, gasping for breath. For a few moments she didn't move, but tried to patch together her scrambled thoughts and half-scared that it – whatever it was - would come back.

It won't.

In her preoccupied state, Angela nearly jumped out of her skin as the voice cut suddenly through the silence of her mind. Turning her head abruptly to look for the source of it, the herbalist instead found a scruffy cat sitting on the bench beside Gobanob, fixing her with a gleaming red gaze.

Solembum, she breathed, passing a shaking hand over her forehead. What was that?

The werecat blinked at her. That, he said, was a sign of disruption. An imbalance has been created in the natural order of the world.

The frowned at him, then collapsed back into her chair. And what does that mean?

Solembum gave her a somewhat disdainful look. Think, woman! He snapped. An imbalance – it means that time has been tampered with! Events that aren't supposed to happen have come about. The outcome of this could be disastrous!

She stared at him, her mind only able to take in one thing at a time. Time? Is that even possible?

Well obviously. The werecat started to wash himself. It just happened, didn't it?

Angela could feel a migraine start to creep into her skull. Pity her headache medicine was on the list of have-to-find things. Heaving a great sigh, she looked up at Solembum. Can we do anything about this?

No. Not without causing further damage.

So we just sit here and wait for things to play out? She couldn't keep the skepticism out of her mind-voice.

Pretty much. For the record. He stopped licking his paw to look at her. I don't think it will be happening again. With that, he jumped off the table and trotted towards the preparation room, where he often slept when staying with her.

Angela watched him leave, then put her head in her hands. Why must everything that damn creature say be so cryptic? Would it really hurt to give her a straight answer for once?

Her thoughts then turned to the icy pain she had felt in her head. She shivered. Time was a subject that she had only come across once or twice, in some of her older scrolls that had come into her possession over the years. Although it had seemed rather fantastic to her at the time, she knew better than to doubt Solembum's judgment. Who would be arrogant – not to mention stupid – enough to tamper with something as immense as time? she thought to herself.

Suddenly, an image came to her. She recognized it as one of the figures that had been part of the visions she had somehow been bombarded with. Her eyes widened as the face came back to her. Of course - who else could it have been?

"Vralkin," she growled out loud.

Gobanon croaked loudly at the anger in the normally placid herbalist's voice.