• The night was cold, but very bright under the light of a full moon. The woods seemed almost alive under the mysterious light, and the path between the trees looked almost as if it was more than just a dirt road between towns. It looked to a traveler like a beautiful night to come through. But to the two figures crouched in the bushes, it was just a nuisance. Why did the moon choose tonight, the night of the young thief's coronation, to shine so bright? True, it all could have been avoided if they had thought ahead, but that wasn't the kind of work they did. No, it was far simpler to come out and rob people whenever one damn well pleased, curse the moon or whatever else mother nature decided to do to throw them off. The new thief looked less shaken than the tutor, but of course that was to be expected. He didn't know what it was like to lose a mark simply because they saw him in advance. He had only seen dark nights up to this point, and successful raids by his mentors. He saw the moon as a civilian, a beauteous emblem to mark his new job. There were few words between the two, but it was obvious there was a bit of animosity between them. The elder of the two thought the night would end badly, but the younger took this simply as a disrespect, and was determined to prove himself. So when a cart finally appeared on the edge of his view, he tensed up and got ready to pounce, even though it was obvious there was still a bit of time before anything actually had to be done. That's why when the cart finally got to where they decided to strike from, instead of bolting out in an extravagant pose, he stumbled and fell, landing square on his nose. The other thief laughed aloud, and the mark almost did as well, until he realized the men in front of him were thieves. At first he gave a grudging smile, then he attempted to bolt off, but too late. The annoyed new thief rose up and grabbed the reins swiftly from the man's hands and pulled the horse aside while the elder took up the main role.
    "Dearest apologies, good sir, bur I'm afraid you are carrying too much. This poor horse, it just can't handle the load. But fear not, as I, being a generous and kind Samaritan, will gladly lighten the load a bit. No need to thank me, it's the least I could do." The words rolled off his tongue in what used to be a silky voice, but was now a bit crackly with age. He hadn't noticed yet, though, and nobody had the heart to tell him, but his days as a thief were coming to a close. What would they seem like if they didn't maintain a feel as a band of merry men who could woo women within moments? No, they couldn't keep him on. Even as it was, it wouldn't be that simple. Most can tell instantly when a mark is going to try something, but with age his instinct had gone too. The young one was still holding the horse when it happened, and had no chance to stop it. The merchant had dreaded the possibility of being attacked by bandits, and had decided in advance to bring a weapon. He couldn't fight with a sword, and he had no prowess with a bow, but he could pull a trigger and aim, so he had brought a crossbow. He had his eldest son set the bolt for him, and he had brought more along, but he hadn't practiced loading it, so he only fired one shot, but it was enough. He pulled the weapon from the back of the cart and fired so quickly that it was almost impossible to say whether he had actually done it or not, unless of course you counted the fact that there was a bolt in the chest of the elder thief. The other thief was shocked at first, then enraged, then scared witless. He had just seen who he imagined as a master thief die. Not only that, but it was the first time he'd seen death. It was so fast, so easy, so...meaningless. Yes, he realized, he felt nothing. There was a dead man within a few yards of him, and he didn't care in the least. He was so shocked that when the merchant got out of his cart and took his horse back, he didn't even struggle. He just sat there, stunned. And when he got back to the town with his story, he was bursting to tell it, even though he didn't know what he would say. He just didn't have the words to explain how he felt. He had seen a man alive one moment, and dead the next, and it didn't matter. He cared because he didn't care. He wanted to shout it to the rafters, but didn't know how to describe it. So instead, he didn't. He lived out his days trying to describe these feelings, so he lived out his days seemingly mad, knowing he simply had a better understanding than any of those around him.