The prologue/first chapter of The Taste of Revenge, the sequel to the Smell of Spices, hope you enjoy!

It's quire short, but it is only a prologue. If it confuses you, it's meant to so don't worry about it, if you haven't read my story The Smell of Spices, this story will confuse you even more! Anyway, hope you like, reviews much appreciated (:

Chapter 1

Darkness settles all around, like a terrible, thick layer of dust. In hangs in the air, reaching every corner. The forest seems to fall strangely silent, as if it is waiting for the night to pass. It is so silent, no one would think there was another living creature around, but there was one.

Samar didn't mind how he was surrounded by complete darkness of the night, he liked it, he felt most comfortable when he was lurking in the shadows. The darkness even matched the colour of his eyes and his hair. If anyone saw the spark dancing in his eyes through the darkness, they had a right to be afraid. Samar smiled at the thought, he liked plunging people into living nightmares, and sometimes he let them live just so he could laugh at them when they ran screaming. Samar didn't mind being alone either, he liked being a solitary creature hiding away, sitting in the darkness alone suited his personality. Samar smiled darkly as his dark thoughts.

But some things just weren't the same any more; Samar missed the times where he could do whatever he wanted. He was ancient now, even though he only looked as if he was in his early thirties, but most of the change he had seen had only happened in the past twenty years. Suddenly he should be the one who felt afraid; suddenly he was the potential victim. Suddenly Samar no longer felt immortal and suddenly it was not a choice to travel around, it was a necessity. This Samar did not like. He felt like he was under someone's control, and this he hated.

Lingering beneath the trees of the forest with nowhere to go, it was a terrible way to spend the night when he could be running through the trees, the wind in his face, using his magic, or causing some other sort of trouble. But instead Samar found himself doing nothing, just sitting in the darkness, waiting for a hunter to cross his path and mistake him for a deer, or see him for what he really was, and try to shoot. But the forests around Camelot were silent this night; Samar assumed that there was probably another curfew on. The forests on the outskirts of Camelot was about as far as Samar dared to go when it came to Camelot, because the people there did not fear his kind, they hated it.

With a deep sigh that sounded more like a frustrated grunt, Samar rubbed his face with his hands, as if he was trying to keep himself awake. He looked down at his hands; he could just see them through the darkness, and gazed at the two missing fingers on his right hand. That was another thing that had changed over the twenty years, and it was the first time he had ever been injured because of something he tried to do, it was the first time he had failed. The very memory made Samar feel furious.

Samar ran his hands through his sleek black hair, something he always did when he was trying to control his anger. He gazed turned to the distant flickering lights of Camelot, and suddenly Samar felt himself smiling.

Samar was not a Seer, but his father was distantly related to one, and sometimes he felt a small amount of this power bubbling beneath his skin. He was feeling it now. Change was coming, and this time it was going to be for his benefit, like the good old days. Samar grinned, showing the world his pearl-white teeth, how long had he been waiting for the taste of revenge? And it seemed the time had finally come. But he had to be patient, he was not needed yet.

With another horrible smile, Samar turned his attention to Camelot.