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Prologue December ‘1994                                                                                                                                         Greenwich, England It was time. He galloped through the dense thicket of pine trees, scenting the soft, fragrant scent of ripening wild berries. The forest was dark, illuminated only by the pale moonlight that crept in from between branches and berry-laden boughs.  There was a distinct, unusual silence in the woods. Even the habitual chirping of the crickets and hooting of the owls was absent. He was weary-it had been years, perhaps decades since he had undertaken such a long journey, but he knew he had to. He stopped for rest at a moss-covered tree stump when he heard some ruffling in the bushes. There was a faint squeak and he stealthily ran one hand over his bow and arrow, surreptitiously advancing towards the bush. A small raccoon emerged from the bush, and stared at him innocently, before hurrying back into the woods.   He felt uneasy, and stopped and glanced around nervously, at intervals. But it wasn’t the odd silence, or the darkness that made him shudder, but something far more terrible.  I need to warn him before it is too late. He thought, and stared at the blanket of black that canopied him. He continued into the forest, tossing his mane, as it glinted in the faint moonlight. He soon reached the Great Oak Tree- the place where they were to rendezvous, but the man still wasn’t to be seen. He momentarily looked onto the sky above him; the pitch-black now seemed to blend into other hues. He swallowed hard, and looked around. “True it is, your lot really doesn’t age!” a man exclaimed as he came towards him from behind the tree. The man wore a black single-breasted suit, and had wavy brown hair. “Winchester! Do you really think I have come here for jokes!” he cried. “Have you forgotten the mess that you have just created?” Winchester looked away from him and remorsefully stared at the gleam of light that fell on the nearest trunks. “The Great Prophecy is not unknown to me, I am well aware of the peril it poses to us.” He shook his head, and cried, “Peril? It could be the end for all of us! You have broken Concordia’s Concord; you have consciously disrupted the cycle of nature and have put our lives at stake, Winchester!” “I know, I know! But don’t you think that I parting with my sons was enough punishment?” Winchester retorted. “Winchester, I know this is painful for you. But I care about your sons, I fear they will have to reap what you sow,” He replied, staring at Winston with his dark, chestnut eyes. “Alas, we can only hope for the best.” Winchester cried, and stared at the indistinct trunks of the trees in front of him.  “I have read the skies, and have warned you. Farewell, Winchester.” The centaur replied and hurried into the sinister woods in the distance, and Winchester was left to stare at the dark sky above him, illuminated by gentian streaks of light.