Buried in the trees on the hills north of San Rufo a small child sat on a stump outside of a small cabin. His hair was flat and black, his eyes an emerald green, he seemed to be talking to himself and he was quite deep in his conversation when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see his mother, her black hair dangling to her chest, her bangs resting softly just above her eyes. Her smile was soft and she spoke with a voice reminiscent of a beautiful melody. "Oliver," It almost sounded like she was singing, but there was no joy in her voice, there hadn't been for a while ever since they left home. "Come get something to eat, your meal will get cold if you wait too long."

"Mama, Michael says it's dangerous here, someone is coming." Oliver stated quietly

Olivia stared into her sons eyes and thought of the name he mentioned, Michael. Oliver had been gabbing at something invisible since he was able to talk. Originally, she believed it was nothing, just an imaginary friend, but it seemed to know things, things a child wouldn't, and Oliver advanced intellectually faster than any child she'd ever heard of. Even now as her five year old stared up at her, his eyes looked like they hid the knowledge of a man more advanced in age than herself, a deep emerald divided by a strange cat-like pupil seemed to stare through her, almost demanding she listen to him.

"Ollie," Olivia's voice was sterner now, although not entirely on purpose, "No one is coming, no one knows where we are. We will be safe here." She took him by the hand and guided him into the cabin. The building was old, older than her grandfather, who told her that her great grandfather built it together with his father when they were young. The Clarke family hunting cabin, built strong and completely disconnected from the outside world, maintained by Clarke men come and gone. She was the only child of her father before he passed, it was her turn and she would pass it on to Oliver one day. Dinner was a venison stew, not to separated from what they usually had, but Olivia's abilities in the kitchen, even one so primitive, kept complaints to a minimum. Oliver sat over his stew eating quietly, and Olivia watched him. He was worried, she could see it on his face. They had been in the cabin for coming up on a month, even though Olivia didn't want Oliver's first experience here to be so stressful, it was unavoidable. Olivia wanted to return to Dover, but she feared what she might face when she got there. Oliver's father was let go from his job and drove their family into financial hardship via a newly acquired drinking habit. He was a violent drunk, and he always drank until he had lost all sense of himself. It came to a head the night he turned his fists on Olivia, she had no idea what she'd done, but he came down on her harder than ever dreamed he would, it didn't last very long. He stood over her beating her, demanding she scream, but she didn't make a peep her eyes closed tight as she kicked her, she hadn't cried since Oliver was born, and before that since her father died, she was determined not to give him the satisfaction. A warm wet substance ran down her face, and the beating stopped. She opened her eyes to see a hole in her husbands chest, she touched her face and looked at her hand, blood, his blood. He crumpled to the floor in front of her and when she looked over him, the only other person in the room was Oliver.

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"Are you ok mama?" Oliver's words reached her both in memory and from across the table.

"Mama?"

Olivia snapped out of her memory and found herself staring through Oliver. She smiled

"I'm fine dear."

"Your stew is getting cold."

Olivia looked down, Oliver's bowl was empty, hers was barely touched, the steam was gone.

She tried to laugh off her worry, but Oliver's eyes didn't change, he looked on with pain in his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment in silence, suddenly his his changed colors, Olivia watched in awe. Oliver's now white pupils seemed to look into her very soul. He finally spoke,

"Why are you sad mama?"

"I'm..."

"Is it because of what I did to papa?"

Olivia felt tears well up in her eyes "No." She thought, her mind beginning to race, "How could you blame yourself? No. It's my fault, I wasn't strong enough, I should have acted before it got to that point." She choked up, she couldn't speak and she fought a silent battle to hold back tears.

"It's..."

Oliver's gaze became aggressive and he glared at the door. Olivia tried to speak again but was cut off by a soft thud. She turned toward the door and heard it again, a little louder this time. It came a third time loud and clear, shave and a haircut...

Oliver walked over and stood between her and the door, his body seemed to glow, and he whispered in a voice not entirely his own.

"He's here."