Beautiful morning, thought Zarak, and stretched. That had been another busy night. He watched the mourners enter the small temple. Much good may that do them, he sniffed, there are no gods and no superbeing can resurrect the dead. No-one would attribute the murders to him; he had struck, swiftly and silently, cutting father and son down and had slipped away before anyone noticed the bodies. He did not ask why they had to die. He sold his ability to kill and asked no questions. But for now, he told himself, it is time for breakfast and turned towards the small tavern from which came a tempting smell of stewed beef and vegetables. Once seated,the tavernkeeper, a buxom redhead named Alessandra set food and ale before him; he planned his day. First he would collect his fee for the assassinations, and then set off for the town, where a couple of unsuspecting victims were lodged. He was content with this life. When he left the small village school to look for work, the master had advised him to choose a career that he could enjoy. And the simple truth was that however much love Zarak might bestow upon the animals of village and forest, he had little time for his fellow humans. And he enjoyed killing; he was good at killing people; and it paid well. By the time he had finished breakfast the mourners had arrived in the tavern for refreshment. Zarak left and went to hire a horse.