Richie Ryan was walking towards the entrance of the building that housed Duncan MacLeod’s dojo as well as his apartment when he suddenly felt the familiar tingling in his mind that could only mean the presence of another immortal.

      He pulled up short, senses immediately razor sharp and alert, and gave a quick glance around at the nearby surroundings, prepared for anything or anyone that might unexpectedly pounced out at him.

      Except for a rather forlorn looking mutt that was sniffling through some garbage cans off an alleyway, the street was completely deserted at this time of night. A slight drizzle was falling, making the night air even more chilly and unfriendly.

      A few minutes had passed and when no sword-wielding and enraged, psychotic immortal came charging out at him, lusting for his head, Richie relaxed a little, not much, but at least the adrenaline in his body had stopped surging inside of him. But the buzz was still ringing insistently in his head, almost like a mild electric current running through his brain. And that could only mean that another immortal was near by and if the unknown person had hostile intentions towards Richie, then why hasn’t he shown himself yet?

      Abruptly, the slim, good-looking youth smacked his forehead with the flat of his palm. "Stupid!" he berated himself. Of course! It must be Mac that he was picking up on. That meant the Highlander was home despite him telling Richie previously that he had a dinner date with Anne tonight. But maybe Anne couldn’t make it and cancelled on Duncan or it was the other way around or something.

      Richie gave a slight shrug and stopped guessing. It wasn’t really any of  his business what Anne and Mac do. They were both grown adults, although one had been an adult for the last 400 years. Anne was okay, he guess but, well, she was not Tessa. After all, he couldn’t expect Duncan to mournforever. But still...he didn’t finished the thought and instead stuck his hands into  the pockets of his leather jacket and entered the building, head hunched low into the collar against the cold of the night, and his mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse.

      It was still sometimes hard to believe that Tessa had been dead for so long now. Dead and lying in the cold, hard, unyielding embrace of the earth and grave.

      And I should be lying next to her, he thought. But he wasn’t and Richie felt, despite Mac telling him otherwise, that it was his fault somehow. Waking up in the middle of the night sometimes, no, a lot of the time, truth be told. Shaking and sweating and feeling  incredibly and agonizingly guilty
simply because he was alive and immortal while Tessa was dead and rotting.

      "Tessa, I’m so sorry." Richie whispered to himself but it didn’t help  and the guilt, like some monstrous harpy with its’ sharp claws imbedded deeply in his mind, stayed and wouldn’t go away.

      As he walked towards the dojo which Duncan had opened after Tessa’s death and of which, Richie was the manager, he was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the small figure standing in front of the entrance  of the dojo, blocking the door, until he bumped into it.

      "Wha...?" he stumbled and nearly fell but managed to recover his footing in time.

      He was starting on an apology, thinking it was one of the students enrolled in the classes organized by the dojo, when the buzz in his head intensified to an almost unbearable pitch.

      Startled, he unconsciously moved back a few steps and stared at the person before him.

      This was the immortal he had felt while outside and it was not Mac.

      Fingers tensed as he prepared to draw his sword from out of his jacket. But there seemed to be something wrong...something...and then Richie realized bemusedly what it was.

      The immortal was the wrong size. He was, there was only one word to describe it, short.

      Likewise, when Richie had bumped into him, the unknown immortal whose back had been facing him, stumbled a little and now whipped around to face him.  And Richie felt his jaw descending to somewhere around his ankles.

      It was a child and it wasn’t even a he’ but a her’. A little  girl to be exact, about 11 or 12 years of age.

      Richie blinked once, twice and opened his mouth but nothing came out. After a few abortive tries, "You’re an immortal?" came out in disbelieving tones while, oh God, not another Kenny, ran through his mind.

      The little girl didn’t answer. She stood there, stiller than a stone  statue, her eyes steadily regarding Richie’s face.

      Although, the immortal standing in front of him seemed to be a kid, Richie was still tensed. After all, the memory of Kenny was still, unfortunately, fresh in his mind. Just because she’s a kid, doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous, he reasoned. Kenny, by pretending that he had been a mere helpless child, had attacked Anne and almost killed MacLeod. He had fooled Duncan with his act of little boy lost when in actual fact, Kenny was 814 years old. So it was understandable that Richie was more then a little wary of the diminutive immortal standing there before him.

      And so the two of them stood, staring at each other for the next few minutes, both not saying anything or making a move. And during this Mexican stand off, Richie took the chance to take a really good look at the child immortal in front of him. She was a tiny thing, just barely reaching tohis waist and dressed as if in deepest mourning. A black long sleeved dress that reached to her knees and over it, was another black coloured wool overcoat that reached down even longer to her ankles. Flaxen coloured hair that hung down her back in long, straight, heavy waves, framed a heart-shaped face in which the features were as finely drawn as a cameo brooch. Her face was very pale, almost bloodless and all the black that she was wearing didn’t help her appearance one bit. And there were dark circles under her eyes, eyes that were in brilliant contrast to the rest of her pale colouring. Eyes a deep, disturbing green in shade. Eyes that were unsettling in the unwavering way they had of stonily regarding the young man standing before her.

      Richie was so spooked by them that he almost broke the silence by telling her to quit staring at him like that! But before he did, the child at last spoke up and the clipped way she had of speaking, she pronounced every word clearly and correctly, told him that whatever she was, at least she wasn’t American.

      "I wish to see MacLeod." she said, so softly in her accented voice, that he almost didn’t catch it.

      "Huh? MacLeod? You know Mac?" If Mac did know her, he had never told Richie about it but then the Highlander had a habit of only relating information when he felt it was necessary and also only when Richie badgered him until he did.

      The kid’s forehead creased in a furrow briefly before smoothing out and  her small face regained that immobile expression that was starting to give Richie the creeps. It was so...inhuman somehow in its absolute stillness.

      "I wish to see MacLeod," Then she paused and slowly added. "Of the clan MacLeod."

      Well, she seems harmless enough, Richie thought and then a part of his brain suddenly took up a life of it’s own and spoke up. Strangely enough it sounded awfully like his last parole officer, a tall thin man with a nervous habit of twitching his fingers when he spoke. It used to drive Richie bonkers when he did that.

      Yeah, well, so was Kenny at first and look at all the shit that followed after.’ the voice was nagging at him.

      Richie retorted silently back at the voice in his brain thinking,  But  she’s just a little girl, a kid!’

      That doesn’t mean anything! She’s an immortal, like you, like Mac and  that means she could be older than your grandmother’s grandmother for all we  know!’

      Even if she turns out to be another Kenny, so? Mac and I will be prepared this time so chill out, willya!’

      Can you be so sure? And where’s Kenny now? Hah! Escaped! That’s  right, the kid slipped through your fingers slicker than butter!’ The voice had  taken on a taunting aspect that Richie definitely didn’t care for.

      Why don’t you just shut the hell up and let me handle this!!’ he  snarled back silently and thankfully, the disembodied voice gave an offended huff but remained quiet. Richie offered a weak smile towards the child who was still staring at him throughout his entire silent conversation although the youth thought he now detected a hint of bemusement in her eyes.

      "Mac’s not home at the moment." It was dark inside the dojo so Richie concluded that the date wasn’t over yet. "You wanna go in and wait for  him?" He took a step towards the door. But the minute he started moving, the girl immediately took two steps back until she was pressed tightlyagainst the  door.

      And Richie realized with a start that the kid was afraid, and it would seemed, of him.  "Hey, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you." he said, startled. But the girl only watched him silently, carefully and didn’t budged.

      "I won’t hurt you. Cross my heart and hope to die. Umm...that was a joke." Richie added, trying to smile reassuringly at her. "We can stand out here all night if you want but it’s cold and frankly my butt’s freezing off--so..."

      At last, full of distrust, the girl moved a few inches to the side and Richie, moving slowly, dug around his pocket for the key and unlocked the door to the dojo.

      Almost immediately after he flipped the switch against the wall and brilliant lights flooded the entire room, the girl quickly brushed past a surprised Richie and walked rapidly to the other end of the dojo, away from him, and stood with her back against the wall, facing him.

      Just like the previous scenario outside, when Richie started walking towards her, she backed up against the wall and her entire body tensed up until she was as taut as a tight bowstring.

      "Okay, okay. I get it. You stay at your corner and I stay at mine, right?Anyone ever tell you that paranoia, contrary to popular beliefs, is not a good thing?"

      She didn’t bother to answer. Just kept up her steady, uncanny stare at himfrom her corner.

      Richie shook his head and sighed...
 
 

Chapter 2

       Duncan MacLeod was in a good mood as he walked towards the dojo. He had just bought Anne home after a candle-light dinner in a quaint old-fashioned French restaurant he had discovered, tucked away cozily in a corner, a few weeks ago. The food was delicious, the wine excellent and furthermore, stimulating conversation with a beautiful, intelligent woman. What more could a Highlander want? Duncan smiled to himself as he walked, whistling softly as he did. He and Anne had made plans to go to a classical concert two nights later and he was looking forward to it. And goodness knows, he hadn’t much to look forward to since ...since Tessa died.

       Unbidden, a soft sigh passed through his lips when he thought of the woman he had loved. And I still love you, Tessa and I always will but I have to get on with my life, he thought silently, please understand.
And somehow, Duncan knew she would.

       But Richie...Richie was another matter entirely. Although he had never mentioned or spoken to MacLeod about it, it was clear to the Highlander that the boy was not comfortable with the idea of him dating Anne. Duncan could sometimes see a flash of resentment and hostility, quickly hidden but nevertheless there whenever he mentioned the doctor’s name or when she dropped by. He hadn’t been the only one who had loved Tessa. Richie too, had adored her. Tessa who always had a way with the sometimes difficult boy whom Duncan had picked up from the streets after he had witnessed something he shouldn’t have, a Quickening.
Duncan knew he had to have a talk with Richie soon. He understood only too well what Richie must be feeling right now but Anne was a good person and didn’t deserve his animosity.

       As the dojo appeared before him, Duncan noticed the lights were on. That meant Richie was around and when the familiar buzz sounded inside his head, he knew he was right. But force of habit made him reached inside his coat and grasped his fingers around the hilt of his katana. After all, one doesn’t live to 400 years without taking some precautions.

       As he went in, the sound of Richie’s voice greeted him with "Hey, Mac! You’re back!" and he started to relax and was about to greet the boy back when something caused him to stop short in his tracks.
"Who is this, Richie?" he asked in a calm tone but already his senses had told him the truth. The girl child standing there at the corner of the room was an immortal.

       An uneasy look appeared on Richie’s face as he explained in a few short sentences the situation. "And she’s been standing there, just looking at me for the last 2 hours! Won’t let me come near her at all. It’s enough for anyone to get the heebie jeebies!" he finished in a soft undertone to Duncan.

       He turned back to the girl and said to her loudly "It’s okay, chill out. This is Mac. I mean MacLeod."
The child now turned her gaze upon Duncan who stared gravely back at her.

       "I want to see MacLeod." she repeated again.

       "Yeah, here he is." Richie jerked a thumb at the Highlander’s direction.

       She shook her head, a slight but nevertheless emphatic motion. "This man is not MacLeod. I wish to see MacLeod." she insisted.

      "What do you mean, he’s not MacLeod?! You wanted to speak to Mac so here he is!" A note of impatience and annoyance now entered the boy’s voice. First this crazy immortal kid wants to see Mac and then she stares at him in that creepy way of hers for nearly 2 hours, making him feel like a bug under a microscope, and when Mac did finally came home, she says he’s not MacLeod? What’s with her anyhow?
A crack now at last appeared on the child’s still and watchful facade and fear, pure and undiluted, shone through those cracks. Her voice had taken on a sudden, desperate quality when she spoke.

       "Do not lie to me! This man is not MacLeod. You said to wait for him here but this man is not him. You tricked me!" she accused Richie, her eyes darting between the two men frantically.

       "I think there have been a misunderstanding." Duncan who had remained quiet so far, accessing the situation, now said. "I am MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Richie has not lied to you." He did not know why the girl had insisted on meeting him, only to say that he was not who he was, but he did know that she was very frightened and also from the way her body trembled visibly when she spoke, exhausted and on the brink of collapse.

       "Liar! You are not Conner MacLeod!" This last was spat out vehemently and the girl looked as if she was poised to flee at any second.

       Conner? She knows Conner? Duncan, astonished, took an unconscious step nearer to her.

       "Do not come near me!" she cried out warningly and he stopped.

       "Christ, kid. You shoulda told me that it was Conner MacLeod you wanted, not Mac here!" Richie said in exasperation as he walked towards the girl with his hand forward as the reason for her weird behavior was finally revealed. "It’s just a simple mistake. Come on, you must be dead tired after standing there for so  long.”

       "Richie, no!" Duncan wanted to warn Richie, the girl was clearly in a highly agitated state, but it was too late. There was a bright flash as something appeared in the her hand and she gave a downward slash with that shiny glint towards Richie’s outstretched and well meaning hand.

       "OW, damnit!" The youth swore as he quickly snatched his hand back, staring at it in shock at the long, bloody gash that now adorned the fleshy part of his palm but even as he looked, the deep cut was already starting to knit back together, healing itself. One of the perks of being an immortal, he thought and winced in pain.

       "Hey, put that thing away before you cut yourself, kid!" There was more aggrieved annoyance than anger in Richie’s voice. "We’re only trying to help!" he sucked at his injured hand and said.

       The girl brandished the small but wickedly sharp looking dagger that had suddenly appeared in her right hand, as if by magic, in front of her and her eyes darted to the entrance of the dojo as if measuring the distance between her and it.

       "Be still, Richie." Duncan ordered the other immortal and began to move slowly forward towards the girl. "You have nothing to fear. We will not hurt you. Conner is my kinsman."

       "And I am supposed to believe that? On your word alone?" she threw back defiantly but the shadow of a doubt crossed her face and the tip of her dagger wavered and lowered fractionally. She hesitated. It was all the distraction that MacLeod needed. In a flash, he darted forward and grasped the girl’s hand in a firm grip and exerted pressure on it, not enough to hurt but enough so that she gave a gasp and dropped her tiny weapon.

       The dagger clattered loudly onto the floor. But the child recovered from her momentary surprise in a blink of an eye and gave a swift, hard kick against Duncan’s shin, causing him to yelp in pain and to release her. She then moved around him, quick and fleet as a cat, and ran towards the exit door, bypassing Richie at the same time who had the moment was trying to stifle his laughter at the sight of the Highlander hopping
around clutching his injured foot.

       "Richie, catch her! Don’t let her go!”

       Richie snapped out of his amusement at the sound of his mentor’s voice and made a momentous grab at the running girl. He nearly missed her but managed to catch her, just barely, by grabbing a hold on the back of her coat and jerking her back none too gently. He enfolded the kicking child into a tight embrace against his chest. "Shit, kid, stop that!" Richie cried out when a wildly waving hand nearly gouged his eye out. He adjusted his grip and using both his hands, succeeded in pining her arms to her sides but that didn’t stop her feet from kicking and kicked they did.

       "Let ME go!"

       "Mac, you wanna give me a hand...OUCH!" Richie yelled when a foot finally connected with his knee. It was Duncan’s turn to grin now as he viewed his protege who had his arms full but the smile faded as he bend over slightly towards the girl, held in a vise-like grip by Richie, till he was gazing straight into her face. As he did that, she stopped struggling and became still but there was a burning look of anger and hostility in her sea-green eyes.

       "I’m going to tell Richie to put you down but on the condition that you promise not to run, okay?" She refused to answer but after a second or two, inclined her head down slowly. "Good." MacLeod straightened and nodded to Richie to release her.

       "You sure bout this, Mac? I mean the kid is worse than Kenny!"

       "Yes, I’m sure. Just do as I say, please."

       "It’s your funeral." Richie shrugged and plopped the now quiet girl upon the floor, certain that she will make a run for it. But she didn’t run and her face had regained that statue-like immobility as she stared impassively at the two men.

       "Now, let’s start with a simple question. What’s your name?" Duncan asked gently.

       "Does it matter? You’re going to kill me so what would my name mean to you?"

       "No, I’m not going to kill you. Whatever you might think, decapitating children is not what I enjoy doing best.”

       The girl looked up into Duncan’s eyes and perhaps she did sensed the sincerity in his voice for she replied grudgingly, "They call me Lark."

       "Lark, that’s a pretty name." MacLeod smiled.

       "It is a name, like any others." was the cold reply. He was just about to ask her another question about how she knew Conner when she suddenly broke in. "Enough! Either you let me go or you kill me here now. I have no wish to continue this cat and mouse game any further." she said bitterly.

       In spite of having a child’s body and face, Lark’s speech was totally adult and that made Duncan suspected that she was indeed, older than she appeared. Lark then raised her head proudly, baring her neck in the process. It was an unmistakable sign. The only way to kill an immortal was to behead him or her.

       "Trust me. I only want to help you. You came here to see Conner for a reason, didn’t you? He’s not here but I promise that no harm will come to you as long as you are under my protection. I swear this to you, on my honour as a MacLeod. Trust me." he repeated again. There was something about this child who was not quite a child that stirred up a need to protect her inside him. Much like how he felt about Kenny before the other child immortal had shown his true colours. But this girl was different somehow. She just seemed so small and helpless in her pathetic dignity that he couldn’t help himself and Richie caught the look on his face and  groaned silently.

       Here Mac goes again, he thought to himself in despair. There was a brief moment of silence after he finished talking and Lark was staring up uncomprehendingly into his face as if doubting his assurances, when all of a sudden, bright unshed tears appeared glinting in her eyes.

       "I cannot," she whispered almost to herself in terrible anguish. "I cannot trust you. It has been so long and I do not know how to and I am so tired!" And the tears came then as she fell to her knees and hugged them against her chest, curling up within herself.

       Duncan knelt down beside her and, trusting his instincts, caught her up in his arms. She didn’t respond but neither did she pushed away. She continued to weep and her weeping was utterly silent, no wails or howls of despair, and that made it all the more heart wrenching in it’s sadness. She was so tiny and fragile in his arms, like a small sad doll that someone had cruelly abandoned, and so grief-stricken that Duncan felt compassion swelling up inside him for her.

       After a time, he noticed that she was saying something over and over so softly that he had to crane his ears to hear. It seemed to be a person’s name she was whispering and it sounded like "Bedivere". Duncan didn’t ask her who it was and it was doubtful whether she would have heard even if he did, so lost in her own pain she was. So Duncan let her grief, knowing from his own bitter experience, that it was the best thing, the only thing she could do now.

       From the corner of his eyes, Duncan saw Richie opening his mouth as if to speak but fell silent when he shook his head slightly but emphatically.

       And the child-immortal called Lark, continued to weep.