Logan ran through the woods as the snow fell about him, but he trudged on anyway, anger in his veins and his thoughts filled with vengeance.

It had been many months since he had left the tribe. The path he had walked had taken him north-west. The air was colder here, and the landscape covered with tress, and Logan knew that it was here that he needed to be - that it was this place that called to him. He felt at home here, living in the wild. He hunted for food and drank the fresh mountain spring water and whatever illnesses beset him quickly vanished, and soon he had hardened against the elements so that the cold did not bother him.

He did bits of work where he could, helping to chop down trees or do other manual tasks, which was more to keep in good condition than to earn money, though that was useful for certain provisions. He sometimes reflected on the way he'd used to live, with a family, with friends. Now he had neither, and he was just as content.

Until he came, and killed the people he worked with, lived among and had friends among. His name was Jaqueson Creed, from the French district of Canada. He had worked with the loggers for several weeks, living in a small hotel with his daughter, whom he beat quite badly. However, as it was a small town with less than twenty inhabitants, it was ignored as it was an internal thing and didn't really need to be discussed, and nobody bothered about it until he started beating her in the street and the local sheriff tried to stop him. Creed's attention turned to the new target, a possible challenge and though the sheriff wanted to avoid a fight, it was too late.

Creed was vicious and he had a large knife with which he gutted the lawman, but during the melee, his daughter had fled. He claimed the sheriff's gun and bullets, then Jaqueson scoured the town searching and killing anyone who got in his way - until he got to the young man from the East, who had arrived in town to barter for some new clothes.

"You don't want to do this," Logan had said, standing in his way before the man could beat on the barmaid.

"An' you'll do what, bub?" spat the Frenchman. "I got de gun, Indian. You got nut'in'."

Logan leapt at the man, using his senses to anticipate when the man was going to make a move and made his own before his foe could. He slammed his head in to the man's face, knocking Creed back, then pounced on him and started pummelling him fist after fist after fist after fist after fist, but Creed hadn't let go of the gun and managed to fire. The bullet struck Logan in the chest and he felt the intense pain before he went limp.

"Injun scum," said Creed, and booted Logan's inert form in the head before going back to the terrified young woman. Logan could hear the woman's screams as the bullet within him was moved around his body very slowly. He'd healed damage before, but this was of a kind he had not known before. His body sensed there was a foreign object that it had never come across before and it tired to expel it at the same time as it healed the damage, but there was a lot of it. Logan was losing blood, so he simply let go of his higher brain functions and let himself heal without any distractions, hoping that the screams he could hear in his mind wouldn't plague him while he slept.

When he awoke, Creed was gone and the town was silent. Somehow, someway, Creed had worked his way through the town, and killed off everyone in it, or left them incapable of following. Logan wept at what he had failed to prevent and his knowledge that he had survived causing intense guilt within him and then the wind shifted. As if he were hunting deer, he could smell Creed and the scent engaged something in his brain. Anger filled him, a desire for vengeance. He would show Creed that he was a warrior, trained by a people that had been known for their savagery in combat and he would not be taken by surprise again. Jaqueson revelled in death, so Logan would show him it on a personal basis. Any other thoughts were driven out of his head, other than the desire to hunt down the murderer and cut out his heart. He walked in to a local shop and crushed some red beans in some water, making a red paste, which he then used to draw on his face. When he was done he bore the markings of a family he thought he had left behind.

He was a warrior of the Cayuga and he would show them what that meant. He gave a loud cry when he entered the street and some distance away, Jaqueson and his daughter turned to see where the sound was coming from. It was animalesque in the ferality of it, yet it was no animal he had ever heard of.

"Perhaps the animals will feed on the dead," he said to the young woman, before slapping her hard. "Damned whore, now look at what you did."

"But father, I never..."

"I saw you lookin' at those young men, I know you were leadin' em on. They all thought they were better than me, that you were some piece of meat..." He hit her again, and blood trickled from her nose. "I swear your mother would turn in her grave to see the whorin' piece o' trash you've become." He grabbed her by the hair and began to dragging the crying and screaming young girl. "Now we 'ave to start again. I'll beat the devil from you yet."

However there was a rushing between the trees, a figure leaping over rocks and logs and debris in the path. He had no weapons other than his bare hands, and he knew he wouldn't need anything else. One word burned in his mind - Creed. He would kill Creed. He could hear the cries of a young girl and the louder it got the closer he knew he was getting. In moments he could see them and with a ferocious roar leapt from the trees, but Creed seemed to know he was there and a knife met him as he came forward, jamming in his chest and he fell to the floor, by which time, Creed had another knife and was holding it to the girl's throat.

"What kind o' devil are you?" he cursed at Logan. "You should be dead."

"You ain't never seen someone like me," said Logan, standing, and pulling the knife from his chest. It had pierced his lung and he was having difficulty breathing now until his healing powers got to work and fixed him up. He wasn't sure of how this would play out. He wanted to simply charge in and attack, but the sight of the girl in danger tempered him. Besides, he wasn't as sure of himself as he had been earlier, as his rage at surviving subsided. He was still going to kill the bastard, he knew that, but he was going to save the girl as well. He promised that. "So why don't you try again?"

"Heh," said Creed, the blade scratching the throat of the young girl, who slowly whimpered. "You wanna save de girl? Gonna have to make a move. You took me by surprise before, bub." Logan bristled at the last word, knowing it was being used an insult, rather than the compliment it was generally used as. "Come at em an' she'll be dead before you get yer Injun hands on me."

Logan watched, looking at the girl's eyes in the same way he would look at an injured animal. It was the same look in her eyes, that it was in the eyes of an animal, and he could tell that she knew he meant her no harm. It made things easier, and he ground his teeth in frustration at this stand-off. He thought he was fast enough to take him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. In a few years, when he had a bit more experience behind then maybe, but not right now.

Perhaps that was what gave the young woman the idea, for she suddenly bit her father, who cried out and Logan took the opportunity to tackle the man, but he knew what was coming and he turned to meet the man. And they grappled with each other, Logan taking a bit more damage because the man still had his knife and Logan was still healing. They wrestled with each other, rolling around on the floor and trying to get the upper hand on each other and Creed dropped the knife and Logan smiled, thinking he had the advantage. However it was a foolish assumption because Creed had not simply dropped the knife, but it had fallen on the ground so that Logan rolled over it and it stuck in his back, dangerously close to his spine.

"Nice try, bub," said Creed as he saw the look of pain in Logan's eye. "Guess you ain't as good as you thought, eh?" He grabbed another knife from inside his coat and was about to plunge in to Logan's throat and finish him when Logan pushed at his lower jaw, his hand spread-eagled across his throat because there was little else to do. Creed laughed at this last desperate act, especially as there wasn't much strength in the grip and bore down on him. Knowing he was out of options, Logan closed his eyes and then pain shot through Logan and he screamed, then realised he was crying out. Which meant his throat wasn't damage and he opened his eyes to see Creed lying on the ground next to him and three long spikes extending from the back of his hand, coated in blood. His hand had traces of blood on it, but not much, and it was dripping from the bones as if they were claws from a strange and savage animal.

"Monsieur," said the young girl. "qu'est ce que une bete?"

"No, I ain't a beast," said Logan, looking at the claws unable to take his eyes of them. "An' talk English. My French ain't that good." He clenched his fist and the muscles in his arm twitched and the claws retracted back in to his hand. "What the hell am I?" he asked. He tensed his arm again and the claws came out making a noise of tearing flesh. It hurt like hell, but only for a moment and then he did the same thing with his other hand. Then he retracted them both, to notice the girl was knelt next to her father. "He was the beast, darlin'," he said. "He won't touch you ever again Or anyone else." He noticed a packet of cigars in the dead man's pocket, and he got them out before the blood from the hole in the man's head got to them. He'd always liked the smell, but they were a luxury he'd never been able to afford, and these were going spare.

A thin layer of snow was already over the man's body and Logan looked to the skies. It was going to get worse and quickly. He knew that they had to find shelter.

"Darlin'," he said to the girl who was still at her father's side. She was shivering from the cold and the shock at what had gone down in the last hours. "Darlin'," he said again, a little louder.

"Laura," she said. "My name is Laura."

"Laura," said Logan, kneeling next to her. "The weather's turnin' and we got to find shelter. I know these woods and there's a cave about ten minutes from here. We have to go."

"But my father..."

"Is dead and there's bear's in the wood who'll find a better use for him than we could have sticking him in the ground." The young woman started to cry and Logan decided that he'd better do something. "Okay," he said and looked in the man's pocket where he found some matches. "Say somethin'," he said. "I ain't a believer in your God." She stared to speak in French and Logan set the body on fire and it began to burn. The clothes he wore were damp and so there was some smoke, but other than that it burned well.

"Okay?" he said after she stopped speaking and she nodded. "Come on," he said. "It's this way."

They got to the cave, and Logan reassured her it was deserted. The animals had been long gone from the scents in the cave and that was good enough for him. Logan looked about and got the small amounts of wood and other pieces of foliage that was in the cave and made a fire, but it wouldn't take and he cursed.

"I thought you were an Indian," said Laura though chattering teeth.

"Only half," said Logan. "An I'm usually better at it," he muttered and she gave a small smile. He could tell she was frozen and to be honest he was feeling it a bit himself. He was tired, he thought and that was why he was feeling it a bit more than normal. "Hey," he said, going a little red at the idea of what he was about to suggest. "If you want to, we can huddle together. Beats freezing to death." She too flushed, but said nothing but crawled over to him, and he put her arms around her, and held her close to him, so they could share body heat.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for saving me."

"I'm sorry," he answered. "I wanted to kill him, but it doesn't mean I had to. There should have been another way."

"Non," she said, looking at him. "He was a cruel man and it was the only way he would have been stopped. He'd killed people before, but never like he did today."

"So what will you do now?" asked Logan.

"I have family in California, across the border. I'll go and live with one of my aunts down there."

"I can take you, if you like," said Logan. "It ain't safe to wander these woods alone."

"Like you do?"

Logan had no reply to that.

"Thank you, monsieur" she said, accepting his offer and he nodded.

"Logan," he said. "My name is Logan." There were a few moments of silence as they settled in each other's arms.

"Logan," she said after a moment. "Have you..." she tailed off her comment and looked away.

"What?" he asked.

"I was wondering if you have ever been with a woman?" Her voice was tight and quiet and she didn't look at him even now. Logan hesitated, unsure of how to answer. He'd been close with women and had shared kisses with some, but he had never made love. Did he lie and say yes, or should he be honest about it? Would she know? He was unsure.

"No, I haven't", he spoke the words, hoping he had made the right choice.

"I... I've never been with a man," she answered. "I've wondered, I've dreamed, but never..."

"Hey," he said. "I understand. We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I do though," she said. "My father was right."

"Yer father was an idiot. You're only human, Laura." He held her jaw and turned her face towards him so that he looked at her and she at him. "I'd be honoured." Then he gently pressed his lips against hers and they relaxed in to each other, as the snow fell softly outside.

It took them several weeks to reach California, and the home of Laura's aunt. During those weeks, they had made love several more times, and had grown quite fond of each other, but they knew they were not in love with each other, nor where they ever likely to, with the spectre of her father hanging over her. It had been some time since he had been in civilisation. 1894 was the year now and Logan gave her a smile as he left her on the porch.

"Goodbye, Laura," he said, knowing he'd always think of her fondly.

"Goodbye, Logan," she said and kissed him on the cheek. He turned from her and walked off, wondering where he'd go next. As he walked through the town centre, he marvelled at the wonders of things. In the town square there was a crowd gathered to watch tow warriors fence with swords the like of which Logan had never seen before. The moves were effortless, yet powerful, easily gliding and parrying with the powers of an expert.

Logan suddenly knew how he would be able to train himself, how he would be able to curb the anger within him in the heat of battle. He needed discipline. He knew he had the power, the skill and the strength, all he needed to learn was how. He watched as they ended their demonstration and applauded with the rest of them and approached one of them as the crowd dispersed.

"Hey," he said. "I liked what I saw."

"Thank you," said the warrior as he removed his helmet. His skin was of a colour Logan had never come across before and he could not place the accent either.

"I was wondering if you train people, to fight like that?"

"No," said the man. "I am not a Master, just one of the disciples. One day, though, one day..."

"Oh," said Logan, disappointment resounding in his voice. "Thanks anyway."

"Well," said the man. "My friend Kyoto over there is heading back to the temple in the next few days. If you are serious, then you are more than welcome to join him."

"The temple?"

"Yes. It is a long journey to undertake, though. It will be long and arduous."

"I'm Canadian, bub," said Logan with a smile. "We're used to long and arduous."

"You have a fine sense of humour," said the man. "I am Takasi."

"Logan." The two men shook hands, each impressed with the other So where is the temple?"

"A land called Japan."

Logan nodded and he knew that was where his destiny lay.