Disclaimer: Let's see... Billion dollars? Nope. Worldwide fame? Nope. Rights to absolutely amazing Harry Potter franchise? *depressed sniffle* Nope. Not J.K. Rowling, folks. I own absolutely zilch... but I am blonde-ish so there's that similarity to go with!

-The Chaos Effect-

12:37 pm, 250 MYA, in what is now Russia

Harry gasped, tripped over his own feet, and landed face first in the mud.

Not the best entrance to wherever he was now. He hoped no one had seen that, whether he was anonymous or not.

Spitting, he slowly got to his feet and wiped mud off his nose. It was black and thick - it sort of reminded him of tar. He could picture Aunt Petunia's face if it ever got anywhere near her perfect furniture. She'd probably screech like a banshee. Maybe he should take some of it back just to see if the hag would keel over.

Right now, though, it was all over him and he wanted it off.

He reached down to grab his wand from his sleeve to scourgify off all the gunk. It wasn't there.

Great.

Now he had to find a stick, in a bunch of other sticks, in the mud. Harry ran a muddy hand through his hair before he realized what he was doing and groaned. Why did everything happen to him? As much as he would have rather not have fallen through a time-portal-thingy, the cruise ship was better than a mud hole.

He glanced around, looking for someone to ask for directions or something, but all he could see was grass. It was a huge savannah. There were some strange looking trees sticking up in the distance, but other than that the world seemed to be comprised of brownish-green stalks.

Maybe he was in Africa somewhere?

Dropping to his knees, Harry dug his hands into the mud. He needed to find his wand.

For the first few minutes, Harry didn't find anything at all. After a while, though, he must have hit some kind of fallen tree or something because he kept pulling up sticks. It was annoying. He kept thinking each one was his length of holly and letting out a sigh of relief before he realized it was just another stick.

Harry yanked one more stick out of the mud and prepared to throw it, but it moved.

He let out a yelp and jumped back, landing in the mud on his back with a splash and a crack. He must have landed on one of the sticks that he'd thrown behind him.

The stick that was obviously not a stick slithered off into the grass using strange little feet on each of its sides. It looked like a lizard but not. Harry had never seen anything like it. He wondered if perhaps it was magical when it hissed at him and sparks shot out - not normal. The little thing didn't attack though, which was good since Harry still hadn't found his wand.

Rolling over, he prepared to continue his search when he spotted a familiar reddish handle. Harry dove into the muck with complete disregard for the rest of his mud free clothing. It wouldn't matter once he had his wand back.

He yanked it out, but there was only half the handle. The rest had been broken off - probably still in the mud somewhere. Harry stared at the split shaft, half coated in black. His wand, the thing he'd had since he was eleven, his only advantage in this unreal situation was… Gone?

But… Weren't wands supposed to be unbreakable or something? They were magic for Merlin's sake!

Harry flopped back in the mud, which he was now going to have to wash off without magic.

He didn't get it. Why did everything happen to him? Quirrel, the basilisk, the Dursleys, the Triwizard tournament… Voldemort. It all came back to Voldemort, Harry supposed. Voldemort was the reason he had no parents. Voldemort was the reason he always got into some life or death situation at the end of each school year. Voldemort was probably the reason that Harry was covered in muck, had no idea where he was, and was holding the remains of his most prized possession. It was all too much at the moment. Harry just wanted to lay back and cry.

-The Chaos Effect-

After twenty minutes of mourning his murdered wand (that he had accidentally been the perpetrator made it worse) Harry stumbled out of the mud pit to hopefully find some sort of civilization. He didn't even know what time it was - some time in the afternoon - because his watch was all messed up. The date didn't even show, and the time said it was 99:99, which was impossible.

He hadn't felt this hopeless in ages. At least when he was facing Quirrel or a Basilisk he was terrified and high on adrenaline. This just felt like he had lost a family member.

Not that I really know what that feels like, Harry thought.

He missed his parents, sure, but he didn't really remember them. And his relatives were not his favourite people.

The grass around him was strange - certainly not any type he'd seen before. It was thick and not very bendy and sharp like a razor. He already had a couple cuts on his hands and he hadn't even gone ten feet! On the positive side, though, it looked like this type only grew around the mud pit.

Harry took another step forward, suddenly very aware he had no idea where the lizard-thing had gotten off to.

He took another careful step forward into the grass, which sliced small cuts into his jeans. Suddenly glad he was wearing socks that were higher than the ankle, Harry carefully parted the razor-grass with both hands. A leaf of it nicked his thumb and a trickle of crimson dribbled down his arm to his elbow. Harry stuck his thumb in his mouth.

There was a rustle nearby. Something brushed up against his leg.

Letting out a (very manly) scream, Harry pushed through the razor-grass with no regard to the potential for cutting himself into strips. One piece sliced into his palm and another nicked his knee through the hole in Dudley's old jeans, letting blood trickle down his leg and into his muddy shoes.

He tromped over the remainder of the weird razor-grass, still scrambling to get away from the thing in the mud pit. His foot caught on a rock hidden by the underbrush and he went down, slamming his bloody palms into the dirt. Still attempting to get away, he ignored the pain in his palms and pushed himself to his feet.

From the razor-grass there was another rustle. Harry backed farther away.

The lizard-thing pushed its head through the stalks and coughed sparks. Harry to another step back. The lizard tilted its head to the side like a curious puppy. It suddenly looked a lot less ferocious.

Harry ran an embarrassed hand through his hair before realizing the state of his palms. Now he had blood all over his forehead and his hands stung.

He sighed.

He wiped his palms on his muddy jeans and plopped down in the grass, still keeping an eye on the lizard-thing half covered by grass. It didn't look dangerous, but you never knew with magical creatures.

First things first. Harry needed to know where he was.

He glanced around, looking for some sign of something he could use to guess at his location. It didn't look familiar, but Harry had never even been out of Little Whinging besides going to Hogwarts in his life. There weren't any trees - just grass as far as the eye could see and the occasional tuft of razor-grass. Harry had never seen anything like the razor grass before, but the only place he could think of with endless savannah was Africa. Which didn't really help, because if he remembered primary school correctly there were still large unsettled areas of Africa.

In Harry's time, at least. He could be back when there were no phones or even telegraph! If that was true he was most likely screwed, because he couldn't speak anything other than english.

Harry suddenly flashed back to Sofia. And apparently, he could speak Spanish. Neither of which were spoken in Africa as far as he knew.

He might as well find a road or something he could use find civilization. Feeling like he might as well be immature if no one could see him, Harry closed his eyes and spun in circle to pick a direction.

He ended up pointing at the mud pit. Well.

How about not toward the mud pit. Nodding decisively for any imaginary grass people, Harry set off directly away from the mud hole.

-The Chaos Effect-

He walked for hours.

There was nothing but grass for miles and miles. Harry was convinced that it would never end. He made it worse by fiddling with the broken shards of his wand, constantly reminding himself that he had no way to defend himself and no way to get home.

He had worked himself into a depression by the time night fell.

Naturally, Harry was too busy moping to pay any real attention to his surroundings. Rocks had started to break up the grass, jutting up a few feet in the dark to make strange shapes. Clusters of trees were scattered here and there, and there was a constant buzz of small lifeforms in the background - bugs, Harry supposed. He didn't really pay much attention to the constant noise until it came to an abrupt halt.

Harry stopped walking. The savannah had gone eerily quiet. The chirping noises he had been hearing for hours were now mysteriously missing. The hair on the back of Harry's neck rose in warning. His eyes flitted across the sea of darkness, looking for something out of place.

Nothing. Not even a breeze to disturb the grass. Silent, still, and absolutely and unbearably quiet.

Harry's heart increased in tempo. He crouched down in the grass, gripping the wand shards tightly, waiting for something to move or come out of the brush to attack him. The stalks brushed against his legs and face, making him want to swat them away, but a strange fear kept him paralyzed.

For the longest time nothing moved. Then, slowly, the creatures of the savannah began to make noise again, filling the night with chirps and buzzes. Harry let out a slow breath. Mentally shaking himself for being afraid of quiet, he stood up.

Something still wasn't right, though. It was like there were eyes on the back of his neck. It was the same feeling he got when someone was watching him in the hallways at Hogwarts.

He kept walking, significantly slower than before, in the direction of a distant group of trees. Every few seconds, he glanced around, searching for the mysterious feeling that still hadn't gone away.

Eventually it faded into the background, and Harry ignored it, resuming his previous pace. He still didn't know what he was going to do for the night. The plan to find civilization had been completely scuppered and now he had to focus on where he was going to sleep. Maybe even what he was going to eat, if it ended up he was stuck here that long. Harry certainly hoped not. He liked not starving, thank you very much!

There was a rustle in the bushes to his left, and Harry stopped dead.

Too late, he realized he could no longer hear the chirping and buzzing. Wide eyed, he stumbled backward, away from the movement and deeper into the grass. His breath whooshed out in panicked gasps, the irrational fear from earlier coming back with vengeance.

He didn't have his wand - he was utterly defenceless - he could die, be eaten and no one would ever be able to tell - just gone, vanished from the face of the earth-!

There was another rustle as whatever it was moved farther away. Harry kept quiet, too terrified to move. Whatever that was, it wasn't natural. Harry hadn't seen the creature, but some intrinsic part of him screamed that it was wrong.

It felt like it was still there watching him like a perverse guardian angel.

That thing, whatever it was, was not normal. It was like a dementor - but it fed on fear instead of sadness. To someone whose worst fear was fear - a dementor, as a matter of fact, it was a boggart on steroids.

Harry's hands were shaking. He had never felt this afraid in his life - not even when facing the basilisk or Quirrel or even Voldemort in the graveyard. He needed to get out of there, away from that thing…

Jumping to his feet, Harry abandoned any pretense of stealth and scrambled off into the underbrush. He hoped the thing couldn't climb - if he made it to the trees and hid in one...

Something in the grass tripped him up, he went down fast, palms slamming into the dirt. Something pricked his left hand. It felt deep enough to draw blood, but Harry paid it no mind, scrabbling to gain purchase so he could resume his mad dash. He thought he heard a rustle behind him…

His foot caught and he surged forward, away from whatever it was. He ran as fast as he could, arms moving up and down like pistons and legs moving as fast as he was able at a flat sprint.

The trees came closer. Harry grabbed a branch and swung himself up, careless towards the scratches he might have in the morning. All that mattered was getting to where the creature couldn't reach him. The branches were nearly indistinguishable from the leaves in the dark and Harry had to wave his arms around to find them.

His left hand connected with a branch and Harry heaved himself up higher, panting. He kept up like this until he could climb no higher - there were no more branches. Swaths of stars peeked through the foliage above. There were far more than Harry had ever seen. Usually light pollution from London or Hogwarts herself blocked them out.

Harry leaned back against what remained of the original truck and took a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline, just faint white outlines in the dark. He clasped them together and breathed out slowly.

It hadn't followed him here, as far as he could tell. The only sounds around him were the good kind - just steady background buzzing. Harry took another breath, staring at the stars and telling himself to calm down. He had lost it back in the brush, and the fear was irrational anyway. Still, it was awhile before he stopped shaking and was able to think rationally.

- The Chaos Effect -

The sun peeked up above the horizon in a blaze of orange and lit up the tree he was sitting on. It looked a lot stranger in the light than the dark. He hadn't noticed it yesterday when it was still light out, but the trees in the grove were all the same type. They had strange ridges in an interlocking pattern for bark. They were eerily straight, too - Harry thought it looked like some kindergartener had taken a ruler and run their green pencil down it for the tree trunks and branches. The leaves themselves looked more like needles in a pine tree that had been flattened into leafy plates. Harry had never seen anything like it, in a textbook or otherwise.

There were no signs of life in the Harry's tree. Nothing rustled the branches or chirped. It was strange - one of those things you didn't notice until it was gone.

Where were all the birds?

Carefully, Harry began to descend from his tree. There was a deep scrape on his right arm from the night before, running from his wrist to about halfway to his elbow. Some of the bark from the tree had gotten in it, and it was getting puffy and red. He also had a pin prick on his left palm, which was painful but not actually that deep. He'd have to clean both once he found some water or supplies.

Harry slipped off the last branch and landed smoothly on the ground in a crouch. His fingers brushed a smooth divot in the ground. Harry looked down and froze.

In the dirt was a print. It was the size of Harry's head, easily spanning the distance between his hands. The print was vaguely cat shaped, with one palm and four toes tipped with wicked claws that dug deeply into the dirt.

Tracks wound around the tree Harry had jumped down from, mixed together and muddied by the amount of times the creature had circled. Long gashes marred the otherwise unblemished trunk of the tree, deep enough to show fresh green wood.

Harry swallowed. Whatever had been stalking him was big. Very big.

Whatever it was, the thing was toying with him.

Harry rubbed the gash in his arm and looked around nervously. Everything appeared normal - no glowing eyes or sense of foreboding doom… Yet. Harry was sure his infamous Potter luck would kick in eventually.

A grumbling from his stomach alerted him to something else: he was hungry. Somehow, he was still wearing Sophia's multicolored backpack monstrosity, even if it did have quite a few splotches of mud decorating it and a missing zipper tie. The only good thing was that the neon green shoes in the outer pocket were now a tamer forest-y green from all the dirt. Harry's own sneakers were just brown blobs somehow attached to his feet. The rest of him wasn't much better - some of the mud had dried and flaked off, but the rest was tenaciously hanging on to Harry's hair and clothes.

Harry slung off the backpack and unzipped it to see if Sophia had included any food.

He found a flashlight, water bottle, a change of clothes, and a little book that refused to open, but no food.

Harry glanced around. Nothing in sight was recognizable, let alone edible. Maybe he'd go hunting? Harry knew next to nothing about hunting, and the only creatures he had met so far had either tried to eat him or were too… electric for his tastes.

There was nothing for it. He'd just have to walk around until he figured it out of found something.

Harry picked a random direction and set off.

For the first twenty minutes he was fine. By thirty he was annoyed. Forty had him stopping and scratching at his arms like a madman.

The mud itched! It felt like there were ants under his skin making a conga line! The cuts were even worse. It felt like something was clawing him, trying to get out with every step he took. The cuts were inflamed, oozing an orange pus, and hot to the touch.

Harry stopped and grabbed his right arm, squeezing on either side of the cut. There was a sharp, cutting pain he felt all the way to his shoulder, and then orange goo dribbled out long his wrist and off his arm. It fizzled when it hit the ground.

Harry winced and tried not to whimper.

Orange pus was not normal. Something was seriously wrong with him.

Harry placed both hands over the cut on his arm are willed the pain to just go away. There was a tingling sensation in his fingertips. His arm twinged. Harry stumbled, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him.

He wavered to the left and fell down on to the grass. It was a battle just to keep his eyes open. Black crept along the edges of his vision, and he used his left hand in a feeble attempt to keep himself upright.

Harry had just enough time to rise his right arm to his eyes before he lost consciousness. His forearm was caked in dried dirt, blood, and other unpleasant things, but one was absent.

The gash was gone.

-The Chaos Effect-

12:32 pm, July 5th, 1878, Northern Siberia, Armado Dig Site

Richard Pratt lit up a new cigar. When his professor, Harold Marcus, had asked if he wanted to if he wanted to accompany him to a dig site in Russia, he'd thought it would be a great idea.

Richard had forgotten that it was cold in Siberia, even in July, and that he wasn't qualified to actually do anything. Sure, he was working on his degree - almost finished, actually - but he didn't have any sort of diploma, and was thus kept out of the action. The other archeologists were finding fascinating creatures and evidence of more hidden in the rocks, and he was in here helping with the paperwork.

How frustrating.

They had found evidence of a large volcanic eruption happening sometime in the past, and claws and a leg bone in some of the earlier layers. At least he had been allowed to come see the finds, if he hadn't participated in the cleaning and handling.

Richard moved another sheet dedicated to the dwindling funding aside. It was too bad that the general public and parliament weren't too interested in fossils and old bones.

Just another day… Maybe something would finally come and relieve him from the monotony.

One of the archeologists burst through the door. The man was only a couple years older than Richard, and had barely finished his own degree. Right now he was delegated to grunt work. Richard couldn't care less.

He jumped from his seat. "What? What is it?"

The archeologist's hair was mussed and he looked excited and confused. "Mr. Marcus don't know. Figured that you might want to see, though."

Richard was out the door with his coat and boots on in the time it took for the man to finish speaking.

He quickly walked along the trail to the dig site, pulling up short when he saw the crowd surrounding a clean patch of earth.

Richard overcame his surprise at seeing so many people in just this one part of the sit and elbowed his way through to stand by Henry. Henry crouched down next to the brushed patch of earth and pointed at something off to the side.

"What do you think of that, Rich?"

Richard bent down next to his mentor, eyes firmly fixed on the ground before him. "What in God's name…?"

-The Chaos Effect-

2:15 pm, 250 MYA, in what is now Russia

Harry groaned. Sunlight blasted through his barely open eyelids, making his head pound. Had Dudley attacked him again? It certainly felt like he'd taken one of his cousin's right hooks to the prefrontal cortex. Harry shifted, feeling grass scratch him through the back of his shirt.

Oh, that was right. Creepy savannah of doom. Wonderful.

Harry let out another groan and tried to sit up. He put in too much effort and ended up nearly tipping over. Body cooperating more than expected. That was good.

Harry looked down to give himself a once over and gasped. He was clean! All the mud was gone. Even his backpack, which had fallen off when he fell over, was spotless. The shoes were back to headache-inspiring green. Not only that, but his cuts were gone. Vanished, along with the blood.

Harry inspected his arms, turning his hands over and back. There was nothing. Not even a scar to show that they had been there.

Something had happened.

It reminded Harry of when he was a little boy in the cupboard. Harry Hunting always produced bruises on Harry's part, but they were always gone by morning. When Harry had gone to Hogwarts, he had brushed it off as accidental magic. But this wasn't accidental. He'd been thinking about being dirty, thinking about how much his arm hurt… and now he was fine.

Magic…

Dumbledore had always been said to be able to use small bit of wandless magic. Maybe Harry could too?

Turning his gaze to his surroundings, Harry focused on a small pebble lying a few feet away. Mcgonagall had told them on the very first day that focus and visualization were the keys to magic. In his head, Harry imagined the pebble rising into the air, slowly floating toward him.

Nothing happened.

Magic rarely worked on the first try. Harry knew from countless hours of frustrated experience. Refocusing on the pebble, Harry tried again. At first nothing happened, but then the pebble twitched. It bounced a bit, like the earth beneath it was shaking, before tentatively rising part way into the air.

There was a strange high pitched vibration, which Harry felt deep in his chest, and then the pebble exploded.

Shards flew in every direction, one piece hitting a startled Harry in the face.

Clearly this would take practice.

Hunger forgotten, Harry found a new pebble and tried again.

-The Chaos Effect-

A pebble floated a foot off the ground, slowly making its way across a clearing in the grass. It stopped for a moment, hovering in the air and vibrating, before continuing its slow journey.

Harry kept his eyes furious, fixed -

The pebble gave another shudder and dropped to the ground. Harry sighed. He'd been at it for hours. And the best he had gotten was a few feet and maybe, maybe, if he was lucky, no explosions. The first three rocks he had tried had similar ends to the first, but Harry was clever enough to shield his face when the ominous vibrations started. The backpack was a little worse for wear, but Harry had no new bruises or cuts.

He was missing something, he could feel it. He was so close! Why wouldn't it work?

Granted, it was wandless magic, and he had no teacher, but he'd done things like this all the time as a kid. Why couldn't he do it now?

He was hungry, too. He hadn't eaten hardly anything since the day before yesterday.

He needed food. Climbing to his feet, Harry swung on his backpack and set off.

He wondered how Ron and Hermione were doing. Summer had barely started, so they were probably catching up with their respective families. Hermione was probably telling her parents about everything that they had learned that year, and Ron… Well, Ron was probably talking about all the quidditch matches even though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already knew about them from his letters. He wondered if they noticed that he was missing.

Were they frantic, trying to find him? Or did they have no idea? It had only been a few days, after all.

But Harry was back in time. A few days to him might be a year to them or even no time at all! Hermione and Ron could be old and gray by the time Harry got back, and he had no way of knowing.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry slowed to a stop. The sun was starting to set, casting brilliant orange rays across the sky. Harry had wandered a long way from his tree, and he had no idea which direction the mud pit he had arrived in was. There was another one ahead of him. It was much larger than the last, stretching for quite a while in either direction. Harry was going to have to walk through it or take a massive detour if he wanted to keep going in the same direction. Not that it really mattered. He had no idea where he was going anyway.

Letting out a sigh, Harry started to step forward, but froze. The ever-present buzzing that he had gotten used to had vanished. Harry stared at the setting sun with new panic. He had forgotten about the beast!

And judging by the silence, it was close.

Harry turned around slowly to look behind him. For a moment he relaxed, seeing nothing.

Then a large brown blur hurtled toward him from the left.

Harry threw himself sideways, crashing through the grass and nearly falling into the mud. The edges of the pit were soft enough to leave prints, but not soft enough to sink into.

The beast landed on all fours in front of him, fixing him with lamp-like green eyes. It was large, the size of a bear, with wicked claws and tawny fur. It looked like a lion, almost, except it was much to stocky and and had a streak of black fur down its back that stood up like spikes. Green eyes stared intelligently back at him, like the beast knew exactly what Harry was thinking and was laughing at him. It bared its teeth, revealing four inch long canines tinged slightly purple.

Was this thing venomous?

The beast took two slow steps forward, a rumbling growl building in its throat.

Harry instinctively scrambled back, hands sinking deeply into the mud. The beast lunged for Harry's neck with a deep roar. Harry lurched sideways, into the pit-

The beast missed, flying past him and impacting the mud with a loud squelch. It tore its claws from the earth and made a swipe at Harry.

Harry backed up, casting a frantic glance over his shoulder as claws whistled by his ear.

The thing was growling, tossing its head with a crazed look in its eyes. Purple venom flew every which way from its maw. Something about Harry seemed to drive it mad - there was no doubt in Harry's mind that if given half a chance the thing would kill him. The intelligence of earlier seemed to be absent; there was only Harry.

The beast lunged again, this time clipping Harry's side with razor sharp claws. Harry let out a gasp - more in surprise than pain. The beast whirled around for another strike, but Harry moved, tearing through the grass to the deeper part of the mud pit.

The beast let out a horrible screech, which reverberated through the ground and caused Harry to stumble and clap both hands over his ears. Harry regained his senses and continued to run, terror pounding through his veins. He heard the rumble of paws on the ground behind him, getting closer and closer.

Harry had a plan - albeit a very bad plan, but it was the best his terror filled mind could come up with. He turned right, desperately hoping that he was going the right way. The creature landed to his left, having caught up with him and missed him due to his turn.

Harry thought that his heart would jump out of his chest; he sprinted faster than he was sure it was possible to go…

It growled behind him and Harry skidded to a halt, trapped between the deeper mud pit and the creature. It bounded forward, claws extended straight for his throat. Harry dove left and the mass of teeth and claws flew above him, landing in the mud pit.

It let out a yowl, clawing desperately at the mud around it. It was sinking - the pit was deeper than Harry had thought. Claws tore deep canyons into the mud, but they were quickly filled by gravity. The beast tilted its head back, shoulders sinking under the surface, and let out a keening scream. For a moment Harry stepped forward, tempted to help it, but then it snarled again, and he stopped. Green eyes locked with Harry's own as the beast was swallowed by the mud and vanished.

The mud gave a wet plop and was still.

Harry stood there, hands on his knees and wondering why he felt like crying. He was alive. It was just another one of those things that always happened to him. He was used to it.

But this one felt different. Like it was important, somehow. He'd changed something.

He told himself it didn't matter.

Harry sat down by the mud, belatedly realizing that he still had his backpack. His hands were covered in mud, but the rest of him was somehow alright. He lifted his shirt to inspect his side. The claw marks weren't deep, but they had somehow turned purple. They ran diagonally from the back of his right shoulder to right hip in three parallel lines. Harry poked them experimentally.

Nothing happened. The marks didn't even twinge.

Desperately hoping that he wasn't poisoned, Harry let go of his shirt and sighed. Why did these things always happen to him? Granted, at least he wasn't in Madame Pomfrey's care, but it was the nature of the thing. None of his friends seemed to have his kind of problems. He wondered if his parents had these kinds of problems. It seemed like they might, given all the escapades Sirius had said they got up to in school. Absentmindedly, Harry started to write his troublemaker father's name in the mud by his feet.

He got out a J and A and part of an M before he was startled by the rushing return of bright blue light.

-The Chaos Effect-

1:52 pm, January 14, 2006, Museum of the Unexplained, Glasgow, England

"Mummy! Mummy, look!"

A young red haired girl tugged on her mother's hand. The mother smiled indulgently and allowed herself to be pulled over to a large fossil display. The section of rock was held vertically in a glass case, florescent lights throwing each indent into sharp relief.

Most of the rock was completely normal, but the left hand side held a single handprint, fingers splayed apart, and two shoe prints, one clearer than the other but still easily identifiable. Carved into the rock next to the handprint were the letters J A Y. The Y was messily drawn, the two top lines almost blurring together. A plaque next to the rock identified it as Jay in Siberia.

The little girl pointed to the plaque. "Read it mummy! Read it!"

The mother frowned at the little girl. "You said that the mammoth would be the last one. Why don't you try reading it, Amelia. You need to practice for school."

The little girl pouted. "Please?"

The mother sighed. "Alright. But you read the next one, okay?"

Amelia hurriedly nodded, red hair flying across her face.

The mother bent down to the plaque.

"The above stone was found in Siberia in 1878 by an english archaeologist group looking for paleoproterozoic fossils. It was found amongst other stones showing claw marks and large cat prints."

The mother and daughter ganced at each other, the mother giving Amelia a mischievous look. Amelia laughed.

"However, no known cat matches the specific prints, and carbon dating has shown the stone to be from the paleoproterozoic era. The mystery surrounding the hand prints on the stone and clear shoe print has led to many conspiracy theories about time travel. The word Jay, inscribed into the stone has also sparked much debate, as many cultures across the world include old tales with men carrying similar names. One of the men who discovered the piece, Richard Pratt, quit his archaeological career and dedicated his life discovering hidden traces of similar unexplained occurrences throughout history, such as…"

And done! Yay! I managed to update! And plan. Like, I actually have a complete plan for this story! Typed and everything! Lots of prepared excitement over here. (: Hope you liked it! If not, go eat a fruit salad. It'll make you feel better. Happy November!