Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The quotes in italics are from the first few pages of Alanna: The First Adventure, her book. The inspiration stems from a book by K.A. Applegate called Back to Before. The plot is mine, and shall stay mine.

There was a vast pounding in Alanna's head, and she bit back a groan as she sat up, clutching her head. Her hair had come loose and now hung in waves to her shoulders. She was in a narrow room of gray stone, filled with one cot and a bedside table. She couldn't remember what had happened...

"Are you all right?" a voice rumbled.

Alanna went stiff, and turned warily to look at the speaker. Coppery hair, muscled body... memory came back to her. She had tried to kill this man. There was no telling what he would do to her. And he was asking her if she was all right? What was wrong with him?

"You fainted," he told her. "I didn't hit you that hard. Even if you are a girl. I gauge the strength of my attack."

She snarled under her breath. One of those people, the ones who even helped their enemies if they were small enough and weak enough. But she wasn't an ordinary enemy. She wasn't going to lick his boots because he'd spared her.

He came over, walking with the lithe grace of a cat. She cursed herself for not seeing it before she attacked him. Kneeling before her, he looked into her face. Blue-grey eyes with a tint of green...

The world seemed to turn around her, and she swayed.

He reached out a hand to steady her. "Don't faint again!"

She shrank back from his hand. He was only a boy, she could see now, maybe twenty or twenty-five. That might have been the scars over his face, though. Her violet eyes were hard and watchful as they flickered from his hands to his face.

He sighed. "Don't do that. I won't hurt you."

No, but I might hurt you.

"I'm a Shang. My name's--"

"Liam," she told him without thinking. Then her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at the floor unseeingly. Why did I say that?

He stared at her. "How do you know that?"

She brought a hand to her head, shaking it in confusion. "I don't know. I don't know how or why or... I don't know anything. I just..." Her voice trailed off.

"What's going on here?" he asked, his eyes hardening, changing to a crystal color.

"Your eyes," she said, staring at them, mesmerized. "Your eyes change colors."

"So?"

"I don't know." She lowered her head between her knees, fighting the nausea that was rising. "There's something wrong."

She could sense his tense body relax and his face soften. "You're queasy from your head bashing into the wall." He paused. "You're very fast, though. Who taught you?"

She raised her head, violet eyes cold. "No one."

He looked puzzled. "Where did you learn, then?"

"On the streets," she told him, refusing to give any more information than what he asked for.

He sighed. "Fine. Who's your parents? Who takes care of you? You can't roam the streets alone."

She lifted her chin. "I do. For all intents and purposes, I have no parents, no guardians."

"You're joking," he said, his face incredulous. "You're just a girl. You couldn't survive on the streets alone."

You biased pig."I kill people, Shang Dragon," she spat at him. "I kill people for money and clothes. I kill them or knock them out, ambush drunk men and people too foolish to heed the warnings of their elders about the dangers of dark alleys."

"You're a murderer?" he asked, his eyes now wide and blue-gray. Then he stopped, and a strange expression came onto his face. "What did you say?"

"I said I kill people," she snarled at him.

"No, what did you call me?"

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"You called me Shang Dragon," he said slowly. "How could you possibly know who I am?"

She swallowed, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over her. "I..."

He stood and began to pace, his eyes a dark blue, fixed on her. "You attack me in a dark alley, and then you faint, but only when you see my eyes. When you recover, that's all you can think about: my eyes. Then you tell me my name, and who I am." He stopped, and looked down at her. "I think an explanation is due."

"How can I give you an explanation if I don't understand myself?" she yelled at him, frustruated, trying to calm the pounding of her head. "I don't know! Can't you just accept that?"

His eyes were suddenly icy green. "You have the Gift, don't you? You're looking into my mind and leeching out my thoughts."

"No," she protested, but he interrupted her.

"You're using your dirty magic to steal things from my mind. You're probing around with your grubby fingers in my thoughts!" He was shouting now, his face very pale.

Her lips curled in a snarl. Grubby fingers? Suddenly, she launched from her position on the floor, her hands contorted, and leaped on him, reaching for his neck. He tried to dislodge her, cursing, but she clung like a leech, her slender arms trying to strangle him. His hands came up and grabbed her wrists, but she bit him with her sharp white teeth, and he yelled, trying to curl his leg up to kick her off him. "Grubby fingers!" she shrieked. "Go back to the sewer from where you came!"

"Street brat!" he yelled at her. "Dirty magic-user! You steal men's souls with your Gift!"

"Lecherous brute!" she screamed at him. "Monster!"

He flung her off him and she slammed into the wall, crumpling to the floor, where she lay, breathing heavily. He was panting, too, his broad chest rising and falling. They stared at each other.

It isn't like me to use control. Alanna pulled herself up, favoring the side where he had thrown her into the wall. You're made of ice. Nothing can hurt you. She drew herself up regally, her head high, eyes defiant. "I have the Gift. But I haven't used it in over two years."

"Who are you?" he whispered, peering at her. "You live on the streets and dress in the castoffs of people you killed, but you move and speak like a noble. Who are you?"

Memories whispered to her, and her eyes darted around the room, suddenly unsure.

Who am I? Who was I? She tried to catch hold of the images that were slipping away, but they were gone, vanishing like mist. It doesn't matter. She drew herself up again. "I'm the person who tried to kill you," she told him, her voice harsh. "That's all that matters. I'm in this room with you, and I have no weapons. If you wish to kill me, stop dawdling and fulfill the task."

He took a deep breath. "I can't kill you."

Her lip curled. "Why not? Weak-willed?"

"I could have killed you in the alley," he said quietly. "I won't kill you now, either. If you weren't too old, I'd consider teaching you the Shang arts."

The Shang arts? Her eyes gleamed. "If you let me loose, I'll be gone," she informed him. "I'm no fool. But if you keep me with you, I'll be nothing but a burden. If you teach me some of your craft-" She held up a hand. "Not all. If you teach me some, I'll be forced to stay with you."

His eyes were wary. "I don't know..." he began.

"Afraid?" she asked with a mocking smile. "Will I be too good for you?"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not good enough to teach anyone. I'm only twenty-one."

"I'm old enough to murder people, Shang Dragon, and I'm twelve. If I can do that, I can learn almost anything."

"You won't be able to become Shang," he warned her.

"I don't want to be Shang. I want to be able to fight. Teach me basic skills, and I'll be in debt to you." Her eyes bored into his. "I always repay my debts."

He ran a hand through coppery hair. "Very well," he assented. "But it isn't going to be easy."

Relief flashed through her eyes. "I don't care."

"Good," he said. "We begin today. We're leaving the inn a few hours from now, just after the sun rises. We'll reach Jesslaw by midday. Along the way we'll talk."