Food had been passed up to Sickear in the lookout post. It was not much—a pawful of berries, a crust of bread and some water—but he ate it gratefully, saving a little of the water to bathe his clawed shoulder.

The hot summer morning wore on, Sickear rubbing his eyes to stay awake as he kept watch, while below the lookout rock normal camp routine went on. Foraging and hunting parties came and went. Keeping away from Salamandastron, they moved south and stalked the swampland fringes for toads, frogs and birds. When these were not available there were always plants and roots.

Though everybeast feared Ferahgo, there were one or two who doubted the wisdom of his trek north. Forgrin the fox and Raptail the searat were two such creatures. They carried the breadsack, doling out stale bread to the horde.

A ferret named Bateye knocked his crust of bread against a rock, muttering complaints under his breath: “Lookit this—bread they calls it. More like stone it is!”

Forgrin rooted about in the breadsack, his voice mocking. “Oh dearie me, did yew ’ear that, Raptail? Pore ol’ Bateye’s bread ain’t fresh. ’Ang on a bit, mate, and I’ll see if there’s any cake in ’ere. Now which would yew like, Yer ’Ighness, the sort wi’ plums in or the cake wi’ cream atop of it?”

Bateye raised his paw to fling the bread at Forgrin. “Yah shaddap, yer grinnin’ idjit . . .”

There was a whirring swish as Ferahgo’s skinning knife zipped between Forgrin and Raptail to pierce the crust held in Bateye’s paw. The blood drained from the ferret’s narrow face as the Assassin strode forward and picked up the knife with the crust fixed to its blade.

“Something wrong with your bread, Bateye?”

The ferret sat, staring up into the smiling blue eyes, then shook his head in vigorous denial. “No, master, norra thing. The bread’s jus’ fine, thank yer!”

“Excellent! Then let’s see you eat it all up now!” Ferahgo smiled wickedly, holding the bread transfixed upon his knife as Bateye tried to eat it under his gaze.

Bateye was no longer young, he had teeth missing, and the rock-hard dry crust cut his gums, but he ate on doggedly, too scared to stop.

Ferahgo watched him intently and commented, “What’s that noise? Has one of your teeth broken? Oh look, it’s fallen out. Tut-tut, Bateye. You should have taken better care of those molars, and cleaned them with a soft twig every morning. Still, eating that bread will strengthen them. What do you say?”

Bateye tried to speak around the knife blade and the stale dried bread filling his mouth, but he was only able to produce a strangled noise.

“I understand, friend.” Ferahgo nodded sympathetically. “You’d like more. Forgrin, Raptail, give me more bread out of that sack. This poor ferret is still hungry.”