Challenger jumped up and turned around to find himself face to face with.... "Finn?"

"Don't act so surprised," the woman admonished him. "You are here to find me, right?"

The professor stared in amazement. She was Finn, yet not Finn; at least not the Finn he remembered. This woman was at least twenty years older. "I'm sorry, Finn," he explained, "I had no control over coming here. The time distortions....." He broke off as a theory occurred to him. His face lit as it always did when he embarked on one of his dissertations, "The distortions seem to flow, like the current in a river. Now, perhaps those currents carry us to certain moments in time; moments that impact our lives. Just suppose..."

"That's really interesting, Challenger," the older Finn interrupted sending a nervous look overhead, "but we need to take this inside. There is a lot you need to know."

She led the way while an astonished Professor Challenger followed.

********

The cone of golden light vanished as quickly as it had begun. Veronica lowered the trion. She smiled when she saw that it once again appeared to be no more than an insignificant piece of jewellery. Her fingers closed around it. "I did it!" she exclaimed clutching the pendant to her chest. Running to the balcony, she sighed, "I really did it."

The verdant green jungle had returned to its prior state. But there was as yet no sign of the others. She couldn't just wait here, but where to look?

Challenger had been heading to the windmill. That seemed as good a starting place as any.

********

The raptor screeched as it lunged at Malone. The blonde reporter crouched low keeping a firm grip on his spear. When the dinosaur loomed over him, he thrust the sturdy weapon deep into the raptor's belly. It gave one more loud bellow, then fell silent.

Malone gave a sigh of relief which was short lived. Two more raptors appeared. "Why do these guys always bring their friends?" he muttered, exasperated.

Several Vikings burst through the brush.

Malone was on his knees between the two factions. He vainly tried to pull his spear from the dead raptor, but to no avail. It was lodged too tightly.

Throwing himself to the side, he realised that the Norsemen were no longer focused on him. There were now at least eight raptors attacking the fur- covered men. The animals must have been attracted by the first raptor's death cry.

The reporter stayed close to the ground and headed away from the screams -- both human and creature. He didn't care at the moment where he went as long as it was far from the wholesale slaughter taking place behind him.

********

Anger and overwhelming loss blurred Roxton's vision and destroyed all control. He continued his wordless scream as he emptied the pistol into the druids who still stood. He continued shooting until his fevered brain finally registered the fact that he was clicking on empty chambers.

He dropped the useless weapon and launched himself at the one druid still standing: the leader, their priest, the beast who had murdered Marguerite.

The robed man backed away, cowering from the enraged man bearing down on him. A horde of demons could not have frightened him more. The knife gleamed as he slashed wildly. The blade bit into Roxton's arm. The druid allowed himself a gratified smile at the sight of bright red blood running along his dagger's edge; but the knife clattered to the ground forgotten as he threw his arms over his face in fear of the animate wrath which had possession of the hunter.

The cut didn't slow Roxton, he hardly noticed it. Taking hold of the man's cowl, he threw him against the cave wall. His right fist connected with the priest's jaw followed immediately by his left. He continued to pummel the man, one fist after the other, unable to stop. He landed the blows as fast and hard as he could.

Gradually, sanity returned. He found himself sitting atop the unconscious druid. The priest's face was unrecognisable.

Roxton looked down with horror upon his bruised and bloodied hands. He pushed himself up and staggered away from the moaning body. He continued stumbling backward until he felt the stone altar against his back. The altar where Marguerite's body lay.

He'd failed her, and in so doing had lost himself. Without Marguerite, nothing mattered. He slid to the ground, covered his face with his hands, and wept.

********