I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. The digital display by my bedside told me that it was three thirty in the morning but my own body clock had already informed me that is was still hours until dawn. Something had woken me up. I felt alert and clearheaded despite the fact that I had no idea what had brought on this wakefulness. I sleep soundly and was healthily tired. The past few days I had spent working on the land and around the house, familiarising myself with my property and carrying out minor repairs.

It had been a healing time after my months away. I was beginning to appreciate my solitude at last. I knew that it would not be long before I was sent elsewhere on a new assignment and was already looking forward to it. I was making the adjustment to my life style that I needed; my lack of encumbrances was beginning to feel like a blessing not a curse.

I lay back and wondered if I should call her. It would be day already and she often rose early. Perhaps it would be good to talk about this and that- not something that I usually thought of doing. I smiled and stretched, feeling the stiffness in my hamstrings from riding and the ache in my back from the bending and lifting I had been doing. It felt good to have honest aches and pains again.

I threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed; sleep would not come again this night. Standing up, I walked to the window and looked out, aware that everything I could see was mine. Land. The only real possession that can never be taken away. You can lose it but it is still there- of how many things in life can that be said? Well, maybe there are a few others that are lost but never gone- but they do not have the immutability of the earth.

Deep thoughts. Night thoughts. The edge of melancholy. I saw my reflection in the window pane, lit by the low shadow from the bedside lamp. I see a man no longer young but not yet old - I try to see myself as others see me, but my own face is not as familiar to me as one might think. It feels like a stranger. Inside my head, I think I am someone else-the boy I once was? The man I became? The husband? The father? The soldier? Who am I? I chip away at a lick of paint that had smeared the edge of the glass; the gloss is fresh and I remember those who took the time and the trouble to ready my home for me when I was away. The friends. Do they see me as a friend? I wonder.

Something uneasy lies about me tonight. I do not know what it is but a strange instinct tells me that all is not right somewhere. I make a mental check. Ann - we have not seen each other since the festive season but we have spoken and will get together soon. We have an understanding- there seems to be no problem there. I have spent some happy hours with my brothers at the Temple and Isobel herself and I have reforged our bonds recently- for which I am more than grateful. Uma? Well, Uma is away on the other side of the world and has no need for me now. Perhaps.

Karolina. Her name enters my mind and I feel myself groan internally. I have done what I can for her and her son. Why must I still turn that one over in my mind? A sound cuts shrilly into my reverie and I automatically turn to grab my cell phone, lying on the dresser.

"Maximus."

"We have the boy. We know the hospital where his mother is recovering. They are both of little concern to me. You give yourself to me or they die. Lose your nerve and I will still come after you- but they will be gone and you will have that on your conscience as well. Somehow, I think you are the kind of man who takes responsibility for your own mistakes. Or am I wrong?"

The voice was heavily accented but with the now- familiar Croatian burr. I imagine it was Tuta. The whole surreal moment made a strange kind of sense. The reckoning that I had expected was here. What I had always feared. My connection with her had brought her into danger.

"Where?"

"You make Dubrovnik and we shall find you."

"How do I know the woman and boy will be safe if I do as you ask?"

"You don't. But they sure as fuck won't be if you stay in America. You have three - four days at the most. You mention this to your company buddies and I shall bring that deadline forward. It is you I want. This is between me and you. No one else. Understand?"

He hung up. I sat on a chair and rested my hands on my thighs, staring at the floor. It was not time for emotion; it was time for action. A few days stood between me and an event that I would not allow. That woman and her child would not be pawns in a game of chance with me.

I was on a plane to Paris by mid morning with a lot of thinking to do. This was a trap- no, it was much more than a trap. This was an execution. I was handing myself over to the block - and I had no hopes of saving either Karolina or her child by showing up. They were dead already, or as good as.

I trawled through my memory for some way of assessing this against the dangers I had faced in the past. There had been many. Some people used to joke that I had a charmed life, often surviving sorties that had wiped out entire cohorts but Maximus, he always found a way home.

Still alive, Maximus?

The gods must have a sense of humour.

I smiled at the memory of those words. They certainly did - they even saved me for the biggest comeuppance of all. Pride comes before a fall, Maxime. The higher you fly to the sun, Icarus, the more you chance melting your wings. A death in battle would have been good luck in comparison.

Once, many years ago, before the days when I was 'the famous man', I was sent out on a mission into dangerous territory to foment rebellion amongst a tribe whose leader was a constant thorn in our side. It meant living rough for many days and meeting the disaffected members of his tribe in remote and inhospitable places. But I achieved my goal and Roman silver bought a few more traitors. One of them was the chieftain's brother. He was a cruel and bitter man whose sole reason for treachery was his abiding resentment of his elder brother's nobility and courage. I felt dirty even dealing with such a man and struggled against a sense that the man I was trying to destroy was in effect a man with whom I would have been proud to meet- a far finer warrior than the recipient of my largesse.

The traitor was a shifty character who was unpleasant and not given to trusting others, believing them always as himself. He didn't trust me- I didn't trust him- but his suspicion took a different form. When I reached the fort, ready to collect and deliver the price of his betrayal, I found a message waiting for me. A woman whom I visited in the village had been carried off and her child, too. Common talk suggested that the child was mine- perhaps he was, who knows?- but there had been other men in her bed as well as me. It was, however, a warning that my co-conspirator expected not only the money but also Roman support to back up his attempt at insurrection- and the woman and her child were to be hostages to fortune.

I rode into his camp one night with only my short sword, a knife and a dagger, after watching the encampment for several days. It took me only a few moments to snatch the woman and the child in the confusion that I caused by setting fire to several wooden structures and slitting the throat of my former partner. Another leader would arise in his place to serve Rome's purpose. He was not the man to do business with.

Was there any lesson for me in this reminiscence that could help me now? I would never let myself be a victim. Attack - and never take a defensive position unless you have no other choice. Surprise your enemy. Turn their advantage into disadvantage. The last place they expect you to be is within their midst. Hide in plain sight. Never pay the ransom. These were lessons that I had once believed in. Would my K and R colleagues also agree with them?

There is only one way to deal with adversity. Your own way. And so I made my plans.

I took a sleeper from Paris overnight to Trieste and there lay low for a day, using the time to gather details that might help me to carry out my plans. First Tuta. Who is he really and why has he targeted me more than any others? Am I merely the face that was most visible or is there some reason that I do not see? It was easy to find the answer; I read it in The Independent Online that morning.

The Croatian crime boss Mladen Naletilic, better known as Tuta, came out of his usual seclusion recently for the funeral of his eldest son. Davor Naletilic was alleged to have been killed in a shoot out with the authorities on the island of Dugi Otok but details are scarce. Aged 21 and an Economics graduate from the Sorbonne, Davor was widely expected to be the successor to his father in his legitimate enterprises and was not known to have had any involvement in the criminal activities connected to Tuta and his Black Hand organisation. The loss of his only son has hit the ex-guerilla leader hard....

I had killed his son. I wiped a hand across my brow. Why had he sent out a boy to kill Granosovic? Or had the boy decided to prove his mettle to his father in more than just the safe world of financial management? But I understood something of the hatred Tuta had for me. What had I been willing to do to kill the murderer of my son? I wondered how they knew that it was me that had been responsible.

Who are you? I want to know your name!

Maximus.

Perhaps the boy had not been dead then, merely sinking into unconsciousness. Before he finally died he could have passed on my name. Tuta would have no difficulty tracing my background through TOL- this electronic age seems to make espionage even easier than in my own. I thought much about the danger a career such as mine might bring to an operative's family and loved ones- no wonder many choose to remain unattached. For a second, I appreciated Dino and Terry's concerns so much better. If Tuta could trace Karolina, what was to stop him tracing Ann...or Uma...Isobel...the thought made my guts churn. I was a fool. An arrogant fool. I saw the world through my own blinkered lens and ignored the advice of those who knew better.

Quintus had warned me not to be a fool. So had Terry. Look where I was now.

Too late for recriminations. Now is the time for positive action. Tuta. I wanted him. Karolina and her son would only be safe if he was dead. But Tuta was no fool. Those holding them would have instructions to kill them if he was eliminated. So my task was clear. All I had to do was find and seize Tuta, then hold him as ransom for their lives.

ALL. I. HAD. TO. DO.

I was bound and riding through the woods. It was deep winter, miles from human habitation, across the Rhine in the high forests. My captors were Praetorians, the finest bodyguard, hard and unforgiving men. Another force was riding south to my estate in Northern Spain, intent on destroying my family and burning my lands. All I had to do was eliminate these riders, race across half of Europe, kill an entire troop of praetorian and save my wife and son.

ALL. I. HAD. TO. DO.

Lay it down, Maximus. Lay it down. Each step at a time. 

Step One. Find Tuta.

I am not adept at using modern technology on the whole but I have at least mastered a search engine and TOL give me access codes to sites where secret information is held by western powers, available to very few. I used them and hit lucky. Tuta's emergence from his hiding had generated a close scrutiny by various agencies and his whereabouts were currently known. He was living on a property just outside Zagreb, a large wine estate at Gornje owned by a Croatian businessman whose own fortune had a similar dubious origin. Security was high ,but thanks to satellite pictures, I gained maps and other information- even a fairly definitive location for Tuta's private apartment in the main house.

He expected me to arrive in Dubrovnik by the following day. I had made arrangements for assuring that Tuta received information that I had boarded such a flight. Max North would indeed fly out of JFK tonight to Dubrovnik on an Alitalia Flight via Rome. Unfortunately he would indulge too freely in the duty free liquor and be arrested on landing in Rome where, very visibly, he would be taken to a local cell, dried out and fined the next day to be returned to his point of origin- New York. By the time that this had all taken place, I would have had long enough to retrieve Tuta and make my rescue.

Confused? How could I be in two places at the same time? Simple. I would turn my disadvantage into an advantage- didn't Hannibal teach us that long ago? I have Brothers who look like me. I have a few forged passports, courtesy of TOL. I have one supporter who would back me in anything. And he can grow a beard in a few days.

Hando. Who better to convince the staff of an airliner that he is too out of control to continue his onward journey? But who else would be clever enough not to go too far to incur a prison sentence or too much publicity? He was the first person who came into my mind and a few words were all it took for him to understand the rightness of my plan. He never uttered a single objection. It was merely, "What can I do, mate?"

'I am at your command, sire.'

Step Two. Take Tuta.

That night I drove overland through Slovenia and crossed the border at daybreak on a dark snowy morning at a sleepy outpost near Samboro. My US passport was barely glanced at and I was waved on by a bored and cold guard. It was an easy road from there to Zagreb. There I met with a man whose identity I shall conceal but who supplied me with the weapons that I had ordered. My target was but a short drive away.

By nightfall, I was established on the roof of a ruined cottage on the perimeter of the estate with night sights trained on the security cordon. I observed it for a few hours and found no change from the pattern that my information gave me. I knew when my chosen crossing point would be safe- guards elsewhere on their tour, cameras at an inconvenient angle, watchtower lasers facing another direction. It was a small window of opportunity- perhaps a minute and a half- but it was all I needed.

The slow creep across the no man's land, belly flattened against the ice hard ground, wet already from the snow. Counting, every second matters, I reached the outer ditch and squatted in six inches of melt water and ice. Time. Limbs already cold and resisting. Will drives one on. Don climbing gloves- their rough and adhesive surface enabling a grip against the smooth stone. Up. Crouch. Cut wire. Drop. Roll.

Catch breath. No sound of any detection. Wait. The unexpected will happen. A guard crosses the ground before me, eases himself inches from where I am crouched; his urine steams and trickles under my knees. It is warmer than the melt water. He lopes off, lights a cigarette; I follow the red tip and see him run up the incline back to his viewing tower. He laughs with his friend.

Time to move. Bent in a half squat, I run across the open ground until I reach the shelter of the trees that flank the driveway. Several cars are parked in the wide forecourt, lights from the house suggest some gathering is taking place, voices drift across. I count the guards at the front. A few talk to the drivers who are pacing about and blowing on their hands. Two flank the main door. I watch as two groups of two take opposite paths around the building itself. No one is looking my direction. No one expects a lone fool to walk right in. I make my way from tree to tree until I am parallel with the side of the house. All is quiet. On the first floor, a curtain blows mournfully from an open window. Seconds later, I make my entry.

Sometimes luck does go your way. Tuta was not with the party downstairs but in his study reading. The room was in near darkness, only a reading lamp shedding a narrow beam onto an armchair where my target was sitting, a glass of red wine at his side. His back was to the door and I was momentarily surprised that a man of his experience would chance an assassin's approach. It made me hesitate and then I saw the slight gleam of the mirror on the side table next to the wine.

"Who are you?"  The heavily accented voice muttered from the chair.

"Maximus."

"You will be dead before you reach me. I have a gun and my men are close."

"You will be dead before I am. I have a gun pointed at your back. If you move, I fire."

"What of the woman and child?"

"They are dead anyway."

"You are a hard man- perhaps. Why did you come back if not for them, then?"

"For you. No man threatens me and lives."

"Brave talk from a man who will soon be dead himself."

I advanced slowly, aware that he might not be alone, my instincts on high alert. When I reached the high back of his chair, I rested the gun at my side and pulled out the knife from my belt. His throat stretched as I pressed the blade against it. He had a hand gun on his lap, his fingers primed on the trigger. "Throw it down out of reach." He complied.

"Kill me then. Let's see if you can sacrifice the Bosnian and her child. You took my son- you might as well have me."

I laughed, a humourless sound. "You will not have them. You will lead me to them and I will free them."

He chuckled- I could not accuse him of cowardice. "You expect me to walk out of here with you, without alerting the guards and simply hand them over? You are more of a fool than I imagined."

"For sure you will. For if a hair on their heads is harmed by you, then I will ensure that every surviving member of your family dies. Your wife, Marta. Your daughters, Sofia and Belinda. Your mother Katya. Your brothers Zjelko and Branko and their families. One by one. Is it worth it?"

He swallowed hard. "Who are you? What kind of man are you?"

"My name is Maximus. I am your worst nightmare." I spun his chair round and grabbed his face. "Look at me. Do you know my face? Think hard. Where have you seen it before?"

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition, but he could not work it out. I reached into my inside pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. "Open it."

He looked from me to the sheet and took it, unfolding slowly and staring at the still shot before him. I had printed it off the 'net that morning. It was from my film. In the arena. Facing Commodus. His mouth dropped. "It is impossible. You are a celluloid character. Some actor created you- you cannot be real..."

"Oh, but I am, sir. Does this hand across your throat not feel real? I am not a creature of your imagination- I am Maximus restored, and I am still in search of vengeance. Do you doubt my strength? My prowess in arms? My brutal nature? I could snap your spine in half with my bare hands. You know that. Be afraid of me, Tuta. I am your Nemesis made flesh. Do as I say or you will know no rest in this world or the next."

I had planned to bedevil him, confuse him, but did not expect quite the outcome. He fell to his knees and begged me to spare his family. I dragged him to his feet and towards the door. "Is there a back staircase?"

He nodded.

"And where is your secret getaway car?

"How did you know?" he gasped.

I laughed. "Because even if I hate you and the evil you have carried out, I also know you are a warrior such as I. You would not leave yourself without an escape route. Keys!"

He indicated the desk drawer, pressed a compartment and retrieved the car keys.  I motioned him forward, the hand gun in his ribs and the thin blade of the knife caressing the back of his neck. "Go before me and say nothing. Just walk briskly and make your way down. I swear you will not even feel the blade if you try to give an alarm."

He had assessed his chances and knew that this was not the place to argue. I also presumed he was thinking ahead for the best time to tackle me- but I was also just as far beyond myself as he was. The servants' stairs were quiet and led to a small back door that gave on to an outhouse. Beyond were a yard and then a gate. He indicated and we made for it.

Thrusting him onto the ground and grinding my boot into his throat, I turned the rusty handle and pushed back the wooden gate to reveal a dirt track through the vineyards. A Range Rover was standing idle, covered by a grey tarpaulin. Hauling Tuta to his feet, I told him to pull off the cover, unlock both doors, hand me the keys and get in through the passenger door. I made him shunt across to the driver's seat, jumped in and threw across the keys. "Now drive. Through the vines."

Step Three. Rescue.

We gained the road and then I ordered Tuta to make for the spot I had previously chosen. There was no way I was going to trust to his transport for any more than the required journey to effect our escape. At a given spot on the hills above the terraced valleys of vines, I ordered him to stop and get out. He obeyed.

Parked under a nearby tree was the vehicle I had hidden. I opened the trunk and pulled out a bag.

"Strip. Naked."

"What? It is below freezing."

"Strip. Everything off." I waved the gun in his direction menacingly. He shrugged and pulled off his clothes to stand brazenly naked before me. I indicated that he should kick his clothes away from him. He did so and I picked up the items one by one checking them for any concealed weapons or tracking devices. There was one hidden in the sole of his boot.

Walking over to him, I kicked his legs from under him and leant him against the hood of the car. I searched his naked body, aware that devices could be planted in the most intimate of places - but found nothing. By then he was shivering in spite himself. I threw a sports bag over with a change of clothes and he gratefully donned them. Gathering his clothes and tossing them into the open trunk, I lit a match to the clothes, slammed the lid shut, raised the handbrake and pushed the vehicle over the incline, watching it fall, ignite and explode among the bushes and scrub of the valley below. Tuta watched impassively but I sensed his respect. With a rough shove, I steered him to the concealed vehicle and opened its trunk.

"Where is the boy?"

He said nothing. 

"What do I have to do to convince you that you have no choice but to tell me? Let me see. Your mother lives in Skopje across the border in Macedonia. One call on my cell phone and the man waiting outside her apartment on Makarios Street will blow her brains out. You have thirty seconds to decide..."

He remained impassive for at least half of that time, watching my eyes and then: "Zagreb. Kolodvioska 15."

"Call. Tell them there has been a change of plan. You need the boy delivered to the border. Samboro. You will have a man waiting in a black vehicle registration number..." I described the car that I was in. "I speak your language. One word out of order and she dies."

He took the cell phone, dialed and spoke briefly and simply to the man on the other end. I closed the phone and made another call to my Zagreb contact.

"This address. Moving shortly. Follow them discreetly and keep them in your sites. If they move in any other direction but Samboro- chance a hi-jack. Otherwise keep in sights until I have arrived. I will be in touch."

Tuta's face registered nothing but that said everything. He was beaten down and he knew it. Now I called the shots. "Into the trunk. Now!" I pushed him roughly and closed the lid.

It was a tense drive to Zagreb. I parked my vehicle on the city limits in the grounds of a factory and retrieved my captive from the dark coffin of the rear. He was pale and looked strained; claustrophobia was obviously one of his conditions. I watched him climb out and stand glumly by the car, his whole demeanour now one of hopelessness.

Taking out my phone, I called my contact. He gave me the news I wanted to hear. The boy had been moved and they were taking the road to the border.

"The boy is being moved. I have little time to deal with you. My presence is needed elsewhere. Kneel."

I thrust him to his feet. "You will not kill me. You are not that kind of man. You cannot kill in cold blood. I see compassion in your eyes...."

"Yes. I have compassion. More than is good for me. But that does not extend to a man who has ordered the massacres of entire villages of women , children and old people- shot pregnant women and babes in arms, watched while your own animals systematically raped hundreds of females of all ages- some as young as ten- tortured and killed at whim..." I did not mention the other nightmare. If I allowed this man to live, even if I handed him to the authorities, the tentacles of his influence would creep over my life. He would learn of Ann, Uma, my Sisters and Brothers, the temple, my own home, the Mother Tree and Isobel. It would never be finished...

I pulled the trigger.

A short while later, I dumped his lifeless body on the steps of the Law Courts with a sign hung around his neck:

Mladen Naletilic . Killer of his people. Threat to the freedom of all Balkan citizens. Justice has been served. Sentence passed. Punishment carried out.

I was at the border an hour later. I retrieved the boy with no loss of life. A child should never see such things.

Step Four. Reunion.

He was a small dark child with eyes like dark brown chocolate. I had read that he was seven but he looked younger. The heart condition that he suffered from had clearly affected his growth. I compared him to my own Marcus and realized that he had been about that size the last time that I had seen him...no. Not the last time that I saw him. I tried to blot that hideous image of his tender young body from my eyes.

I wondered what was going on in his little head. The men who handed him over simply thrust him at me and drove off. I settled him in the rear seat but he shrank into a corner, pale faced and frightened.

"I am not one of them. Your mother sent me." His eyes flickered but he was still unsure. "Your mother Karolina. My name is Maximus. Did she ever..."

"Max?" he repeated the word as if it was familiar to him. "You helped me get my medicine?"

I nodded. I saw him visibly relax but still maintain a cautious distance. "Do you require medication?"

He pulled out a small case from his jacket. "I always have it with me."

"Good boy," I replied with a smile. "Now, let's find your Mama..."

We drove through what remained of the night, the little boy mostly sleeping flat out on the back seat while we crossed through Slovenia back to Trieste. On a cold and windswept airfield, the early morning light still barely breaking through the night sky, we boarded the small twin engine jet that I had booked and flew to Milan. Here was the one risk I had had to take. Karolina was in a famous hospital, The San Raffaele, and she had security. I had to trust that Tuta would not have already breached it before I took him out of the reckoning.

I bought the boy some breakfast at an elegant café on the square opposite the hospital. We ate pastries with creamy hot chocolate for him and bitter coffee for myself; it had been many hours since last I slept. When he had finished and I had cleaned him up somewhat in the bathroom, we crossed the piazza hand in hand, like a father and son off to visit a relative perhaps? He looked up at me as we passed through flocks of mournful pigeons trying to peck an existence on the wintry cobbles. "Is that where Mama is?"

"I do not know. Perhaps." What else could I say? His mother might already be dead- I would not have him hear that from a casual source. Inside the imposing portals, I sat him down on a bench and made my way to the reception. I asked for news of his mother and gave the coded password that had been attached to her file. She was in her room and the receptionist would notify the staff that I was on my way up. I motioned to Nikola to join me and we made out way to the relevant floor in the elevator.

At the entrance to her private suite, I asked him to wait again and called over the duty sister. A quick conversation in Italian explained who we were and what we could expect. The surgery had gone extremely well and Karolina was up and about, although still bandaged. I asked if she could travel. The sister said she would call the doctor immediately for a consultation.

Returning to Nikola, I crouched down at his level; he was sitting sucking on a fruit sweet and swinging his legs. "We are going to see your mother now. She has not been well. Her face is bandaged but do not be afraid. She will soon be better..." I held out my hand and he placed his trustingly within mine. One tiny soft hand inside my own but it felt such a sweet sensation. Once I had walked thus with my own son.

Her room was shaded and, at first, I thought that she was sleeping but a movement alerted me to the fact that she was awake. I whispered, "Karolina?" and she turned to the door. There was a moment of quiet and then both mother and child responded. They called each other's names and the boy flew from my side into her arms. For a moment he stared at her bandaged face and then hugged her tightly and they both cried.  It was a moment of great pathos and its resonance ran deep in my soul. This might have been my family but it was not so- but at least no other mother and child was sacrificed because of my mistake.

I turned to leave them to their reunion in peace but her voice called me back. "Maximus?"

I looked back. 

"Thank you."

"It is not yet over, Karolina. Your son has been held hostage and there may be those who still know your name. We will have to move you as soon as we can. For now- enjoy your son. We will talk later."

She showed no fear but simply nodded her assent and returned to hold her boy. I left the room.

"Signor. North?"

Si, dottore."

"I am Roberto Brusardi- I operated on your wife..."

"She is my colleague."

"My apologies, when they mentioned you arriving with her son, I simply presumed..."

"No matter. There is a problem. She has to be moved."

"Impossible. She needs after care."

I paused and decided to be blunt. "Your patient has crossed the Croatian mafia after working on the inside in a highly dangerous capacity on behalf of her government. Her whereabouts are known to these men. If I guarantee to have her moved to another country where she can receive similar aftercare but be safer, then will you agree?"

Dr. Brusardi looked grave but nodded. "I will help in any way that I can. Where were you thinking of?"

"New York."

"I will arrange with my contacts there. She can be discharged his morning. I will have a nurse travel with her - she can fly tonight."

"My thanks. I will cover all costs incurred and my company will take over the US side of the medical expenses."

It was arranged. That afternoon, while Nikola and Karolina rested in a hotel room, I purchased some basic clothes for them and collected the passports that the Croatian embassy were holding for them - Granosovic owed me that much. When I returned I told her something of what had happened and she paled at how close they had come to annihilation.

"I owe you a great apology, Maximus. I misunderstood you," she said quietly. I smiled at her and ruffled up the boy's hair. "You owe me nothing. The error was mine. I entered into something that I could not fulfill - I was not free. But, I meant you no harm and have fond memories of the time we spent together. I wish for you to have a happy and safe life. Do this for me. Please?"

Later that evening as she was wheeled through to her flight, I watched them go, a sense of relief flooding over me. Great father, watch over them with a ready sword and bring them to a safe haven where they shall know no more fear...