The crisp night air feels good against Thalif’s skin as he darts through the dark forest.  And all is quiet in the woods save for the air rushing past Thalif’s ears and the blood coursing madly through his veins.  Not a single beast stirs from its slumber as the barbarian charges silently through their homes, carnage, bloodshed, and revenge weighing heavily on his mind.

He is adrift in a sea of vengeful thoughts, so much so that the nearby rumble of a snoring watchman nearly escapes the attention of the young warrior.  With cat-like reflexes, Thalif immediately crouches low and shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet before diving behind the thick brush to his right.  There he remains crouched, poised, his ears straining to find the source of the raucous disturbance.  He squints hard and peers through the darkness, scanning the area for the guard’s location.  It is the warm red glow of a dying torch’s light that reveals the prone body of the sleeping watchman, his bearded chin resting on his burly, leather-clad chest.

Keeping his body low to the ground, ready to strike at a moment’s notice, Thalif stalks his prey.  He creeps silently over the blanket of dead leaves, his hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger.  As he gets closer, he is able to detect the pungent scent of stale grog.  Naught but the wrath of the gods could wake this sentry from his drunken stupor.

In one swift motion, Thalif grabs the sentry’s long hair, yanks it back, and plunges his dagger into the man’s throat.  The guard suddenly wakes, his eyes frantic as he tries to scream for help—to raise the alarm—as blood pours down his neck.  Thalif twists the blade, opening the wound even wider, and the guard dies with little more than a soft gurgle.  He withdraws the blade and wipes the blood on the guard’s sleeve before returning it to its sheathe.  In the back of his mind, he can still hear the words of his grandfather:  “To kill a wolf, you need to think like a wolf, to fight like a wolf.  Have no mercy for none will be given.  When you strike, kill on the first strike or starve.  The forest has no room for your pity.”