The Hoods

Chapter 1

"WOULD YOU QUIT hovering over my shoulder?" Doctor snaps. Companion takes a startled step back and goes examine a shelf of science fiction novels that the Doctor keeps around for fun reads. One caught his attention; "The book of Mage," though he thought nothing of it to be more than just a fantasy.

"Master, what would it be you are examining?" He asks quietly. Somewhat expecting a harsh look and scold.

"The girl. Very young. Much too young to deal with now," he points downward and Companion eagerly reached for the scope to see. His excitement shattered when he saw he was looking at a small girl. Her hair was ink black but her eyes were as bright as the Pacific coast. It looked unnatural. Her skin glowing olive colored, and lips were pale and full. She was short, though she couldn't be more than six or seven. But Companion couldn't decide whether she was strange or just plain beautiful. When Companion looked away and turned to Doctor, he smiled, clearly receiving the reaction he had expected.

"She's just a little girl," he said, "what could be so important of a girl of her stature?"

"Yes while she is just a child, she seems so radiant with a glow, am not correct?" Doctor asks him.

"Yes sir," Compainon agreed, "while she is seeming so beautiful, what will that need to us?"

"Very much, see she has been gifted by the Mage. She has been given the gift of courage and wisdom," Doctor explains deeply "will be useful in time I assure you,". Companion stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"So what is it that you called me here for sir?" He asked quietly.

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

The train was almost an hour late, and half of the waiting passengers had fallen asleep on benches. As boring as it was, I had to stay awake. I haven't been on a Oxford train in years, let alone been to England to stay for a while.

Lots of people wanted to visit the university's in the area, so the platform was packed full. I stood on the platform holding onto a pole with my head tilted to the side lazily. My eyelids were drooping, messing with the little light that I could see. A man adjusted his position behind me and shot me forward a bit, almost giving me a face full of train tracks. Undoubtedly he noticed and helped me stand straight again. I thanked him kindly and turned back to staring at the ground. Not that there was anything interesting.

Finally a speaker sputtered to life and a woman with such a bland voice begins to speak

"The Oxford train is running late. If anyone wishes, they can come to the front and return their tickets. In addition, a food cart has been placed out for those who feel the need to eat. The train will be here in approximately twenty seven minutes," the static spits a bit and the microphone dies. At the thought of food i suddenly get very hungry. I stuff my hand into my pocket and feel for money. A few coins and that's about it. I moan quietly and lay my back onto the pole. I brush my long black hair out of my face and put my gloves on, the temperature suddenly began to drop. A few others tie their hats on and put on 're-breathers. When temperature drops, it normally means the air has just been heavily polluted and is hard to breath. I open my pack and take mine out, strapping it behind my ears. I hold onto the front for a moment, waiting for it to start working. Finally, when thin air enters I sink to the ground with my back still on the pole.

I saw a little girl and her family deciding who to give the last 're-breather to. Her brother is chosen, I suppose because he's younger. She coughs into her sleeve and wraps her jacket around her mouth and nose. My heart tugged on me. I sigh and UN-strap my breather. I walk over to her and kneel to her height. She notices me and I hand it to her. She takes it and I help strap it on. She smiles under the plastic. I can see by the raise of her cheeks. I walk back to my pole and cup my nose and mouth into my hands. I just had to tough it out for the next thirty minutes prior to the train arriving. A few people gave up and returned their tickets, and a few more came out to the platform holding a cup of spitfire, or caffeine with a bun or crescent. My stomach growled, and I almost asked for someone to spare a mug.