As Hatake recounted his tale, I watched his features retain a resolute peace despite the brutality of the narrative. I knew that he had no wish to go back to life as a hunted man, preferring to be a man of books rather than the blade, a giver of life rather than a taker, yet they’d forced his hand, and those fools did not know what they’d unleashed. I’d heard murmurs that there were some within the upper echelons of Ilaria who had warned against baiting such a beast – mostly the Methuselah, those who were the oldest of all of us – yet those with their actual hands in the dirty little mess wouldn’t listen.
Ah, the young ones – how foolish they are in their arrogant follies.
“So, what now?” I asked, closing my journal and taking the last cup of tea.
“I’ll use my contacts in Ilaria…
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5 Degrees Of Inspiration 