I remember it vividly as if it were yesterday: the cold rain fell like daggers as we ran into the barn which offered little shield from the elements. At least the rain didn’t fall as hard in there. Papa looked in my eyes and told me with sincerity “We are going to be fine. Just lay here and don’t make a noise,” as he gently shut the door over my head and covered it with straw.

Those were the last words he ever spoke to me.

The rain of tonight brought back my memories of that night. At long last, I close in on my quarry as they lay unsuspecting in the camp ahead.

Fires burn among the tents as the thieves round up their spoils and talk of their heroics, unaware of my presence as I steal into the camp like a leopard sneaking up on its prey. The faces of some are familiar to me, burned into my mind on that night now many tears past as i I watched them must my father and burn out property over the sum of twenty sheep.

Were it not for my training over the years, I might have lacked the courage to pass up the opportunity to strike even though I could have done so easily many times as I penetrated into their camp. I must wait until I reached His tent. His would be the first life I take.

I reach the center of the camp and enter the largest tent I see. Inside, I find the sleeping form of the man who mustered my father.

I put my hand over his mouth. “Remember me, you bastard?”

He shook his head frantically. I suspected he might not. I drive my knife into the soft spot under his chin and into his brain. It made little noise, but I am not satisfied yet. I withdraw the blade and plunge it into his heart before I set fire to the tent fabric and bedding. When I exit the tent, my naked sword is in my hand, reflecting the firelight. My left hand grasped a lit torch.

As I walked back through the camp lighting tents on fire, I cried a fierce battle cry “For death! For honor!” Half of the outlaws cut their losses and ran, while the other half took up arms against me. The dull thunk of steel meeting steel filled the air as I began to parry blows and counter strikes aimed at me.

For a long time, I seemed untouchable in the flickering light of burning tents, parrying with my torch and dealing deadly cuts with my sword. At long last, a blade fell across my forearm, causing me to drop my blade. I faced my attacker.

Now armed with only a torch, I fended off his strikes and countered, burning him with every chance I got. A parry showered his face with sparks and gave me the opening to attack that I needed. I disarmed him and quickly skewered him on his own blade.

Looking around at last, I saw the ground littered with the remains of those I had vanquished along with some who remained alive, not yet succumbed to their wounds. The inferno that was the camp grew as the wind picked up and forced me to shield my face from the heat. I made my exit of the camp, now without motivation.

What shall I do now that my life’s goal is achieved?