The purple-clad figure slid stealthily from shadow to shadow, making his way through the tall grass to the walls of the massive three point castle. His dark cloak, blending with the night, was able to conceal all but the tip of an arrow, seemingly one of many in a quiver. As the figure approached the castle entrance, that single arrow gleamed ominously in the torchlight. The light also shone onto the Genovesan's face, throwing his features into sharp focus. The man, or rather, the boy, had soft features made determined by his years of circumstance. His emerald green eyes swept the the castle wall that he was almost upon, and then fell upon the sentries, who were patrolling the large wooden gates. Then, he almost visibly shook his head. He had to focus on his job. The client had been clear: only one person would die tonight.

The assassin shed his distinct cloak, revealing an ordinary brown jerkin and cotton pants. Even with his crossbow assembled, he would look like an ordinary forester. Although he wouldn't need it for this job, he reassembled his crossbow anyhow, and slung it across his back. It never hurt to be careful.

From his vantage point atop Redmont Hill, the man could see the entire village of Wensley, and far beyond. He was about to slip back down the slope as quietly as he had arrived, but something caught his attention. Slightly to the east of the village, there was a tiny pinprick of light. Straining his eyes, the Genovesan could barely make out the outline of what seemed to be and ordinary cottage. However, he knew better. That cottage held the answer to all his problems, the solution for stopping all the nightmares he had dreamt and lived through. It took all of his willpower to turn away from it. His target was not in the castle, nor in the Ranger's cabin. No, his target was in the village, and if he wanted his compensation, he would have to do what he was told. Tearing his eyes away from the small patch of light that shone in the forest, he forced himself to walk away from his cloak, across the river, and into the village of Wensley.

Jennifer Dalby, or Jenny, as she prefered to be called, always enjoyed summer nights in Wensley. The village, with stifling hot afternoons, almost always retired to some sort of relaxing activity in the evenings, which included eating out with their family. And of course, what was good for business was good for the town. She hummed to herself as she rolled a pie crust absentmindedly, surveying the activities around her in the kitchen. Outside, Rafe was minding all the servers. Jenny smiled to herself as she remembered the years before.

When Rafe had first arrived to her, he had been as confused as a pack of mindless wargals. He had barely known knife from fork, and quite frankly, no manners. And now, look where he was! Minding part of the restaurant all to himself. As an orphan, Jenny didn't have any family, but now considered Rafe to be like her younger brother. And Gilan. She sighed and smiled. The tall ranger now made frequent meetings to her kitchen, often with a big smile and adorable gift. As the Ranger Commandant, he lived in Araluen, much closer than he used to. Will also visited almost every week with Maddie, the daughter of Horace and Cassandra. She had really grown a lot too, from a pampered princess into a careful apprentice. Putting the rolling pin aside, she spread the pie crust into a pan and began filling it with freshly prepared apples. After popping it in the oven, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, absorbing the chatter of the patrons, and the savory smells of the kitchen. Yes, nothing could go wrong tonight.

Rafe, frantically directing servers left and right, finally breathed a sigh of relief when orders began to slow down. During the beginning of every evening, the waiters began a mad rush to serve the most patrons the fastest. Anyone who tarried would face the consequence of Miss Jenny's ladle. Even thinking about it made Rafe rub his knuckles in sympathy. He looked out into the restaurant. It was late, and there were probably not going to be any new customers today, save for the odd watchman who wanted a drink after his long shift. Not bad for a hot summer evening, he thought with satisfaction, surveying the room more carefully now. There were, of course, a few patrons who always seemed to be at the bar, gleaning and giving gossip as if it were gifts on Harvest Day. A few families, with young children, also seemed to have made it to today's dinner, and the odd traveller or two.

As Rafe was about to go make his way to the kitchen, the door swung open, exposing a tired looking forester, who brought a gust of warm air with him. The candles around the room flickered, and the man's expression became even darker, but Rafe plastered a smile on his face.

"Would you like me to lead you to your table, sir?", he gestured politely to a open booth towards the corner of the room, already mentally tallying the items he would need.

The man looked around a bit warily, as was normal for travellers of these parts. Travelling from fief to fief could be exhausting work, and anyone could use a good meal.

"Yes, thank you," he replied hoarsely, and Rafe pointed him towards a seat. Just as he was about to yell for a server, the man drew a breath to ask a question.

"Another server at ta- Oh, my apologies, how can I help you?" he asked, slightly embarrassed. The man shifted in his seat and gave a low, pleasant chuckle.

"Oh, it was my fault, I was wondering if the cook here is the famous Jennifer Dalby?", the man asked inquisitively,

Rafe smiled. He was surprised, but not too much so, that Miss Jenny was referred to as famous. Her cooking was truly legendary. And to think he was her head waiter!

He nodded at the man a few times and then asked,

"What would you like to order?"

The forester ran a hand through his hair tiredly, pulled his bow off of his back, and set it next to him.

"Whatever just came out of the oven and smells like heaven."

In his mind, the Genovesan breathed a sigh of relief as the Head Waiter retreated to the kitchen to prepare the order. A boy, only a few years younger than he, set out a plate and utensils on the table. The man's eyes followed him. If he had grown up in Araluen, could that have been him? Then he shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. He fingered the tip of the slightly raised arrow in the quiver. He was here to do one thing, the one thing he did so well, and he wasn't going to be distracted by a quaint restaurant or friendly staff. A third server set a plate of apple pie in front of him. As he polished off his piece (it really did taste as good as it smelt), he watched the rest of the room. Thankfully, there was no real threat to his mission in the restaurant, and certainly none that could rival his abilities.

Although the information he had gotten suggested that some of the most dangerous rangers of Araluen sometimes dined here, there was nothing to suggest so. It seemed completely normal. As he polished off the piece of pie, he thought about what a pity it was, that one person's mistake so many years ago could hurt so many people he loved. Especially one who made such an excellent pastry. It couldn't be helped, though. The Genovesan slipped back out of the restaurant, leaving a tip on the table. He supposed he should get read for the long night. He had no choice. If he was to get his revenge, the thief had to get his. And the thief wanted to make the ranger suffer.