The tiny village was strategically positioned at the point where a small valley between two outcroppings of mountain footings, forming a tight V-shaped wall. Nestled at the deepest point of the vale was a large stone building, constructed beautifully granite obviously taken from these very same mountains. The building blended in perfectly with the background. The small shops, huts, and homes that sprawled out from the great stone fortress were all of varying color, construction, and size, creating a scrambled look. Still, it had its appeal and charm when seen from the a distance.<br/><br/>The archer headed toward none of these. Instead, he stopped as the line of trees ended, giving way to the expanse of cleared land that was a result of the felling of trees used to build homes. He followed the trees, preferring to keep to the shadows, and ended up at a hut that was hidden away in the trees, nestled against the foot of the mountain. His home was removed enough from the town that when he finally got a chance to go there, he could leave the hectic pace of his work and duty behind, and relax. This time, however, he didn't feel alone. It was a strange feeling. After peering around the empty cabin, he shrugged it off as a lingering sense of duty.<br/><br/>Utterly weary, comforted by the fact that no imminent danger threatened his people, he set to work preparing to end his day. First the bow, as always. He oiled the string, unstrung the bow, and left it wrapped in leather at the back of his wardrobe to protect it from the moisture in the air. Next, his daggers. Within a quarter bell, he had honed the edges to a razor. After peering down the length of the blade to be sure, he nodded in satisfaction and sheathed them securely, tying the leather strap across the hilt to be sure they would not fall free. When he released the buckle on his belt and pulled it from around his waste, he groaned in pleasure. That would always be his favorite part of the day. The belt was heavy, uncomfortable, and dug into his skin. It was nice to remove it, and put aside his 'fighting-man' facade. His groan of pleasure was repeated, perhaps even more pronounced, when he kicked off his boots. It was a marvelous feeling. He ate a simple meal of roasted meat given to him by one of the ladies in down, a few rolls, and an apple, while sitting beside the fire.<br/><br/>It was inevitable that he would begin to doze off, exhausted as he was, but he fought it. The itching of his eyes warned him ahead of time, so he scooted to the edge of his chair, sat upright, and rubbed at his eyes to wake himself. He didn't want to go straight to bed. For once, he wanted to enjoy a peaceful hour or two. Within only a minute of shaking himself awake, as he peacefully gazed into the fire, his eyelids had begun to droop once more. He didn't realize it at first as his thoughts and contemplations began to slow, and gradually make the shift from conscious thought to dreams. His mind began to fill with a wonderful, warm fog of slumber. His eyelids drooped even farther, only to be dragged open again. His conscious mind warred against the pull of his subconscious, each half trying to dominate and control. Immitating the drooping of his eyelids, his head began to tild and wobble on his neck.<br/><br/>It was at this time, the observer hidden in the deepest shadow of the deepest corner of his tiny cabin, finally relaxed.<br/><br/>This was, indeed, a precarious position for the archer to be in, perched on the edge of his chair as he was. He nodded, bobbed, and blinked, slower and slower each time. The whole process strangely fascinated the observer. It took him only minutes to finally fail in the effort of opening his eyes again, though that didn't stop his eyelids from trying. They continued to tense. His eyebrows even pulled upward as he tried. Quite a fighter this one. The bobbing of his head finally set off his center of balance and his entire body began to sway. Once, the tilting of his body jolted some part of his mind that remained aware of his surroundings, and he jerked upright, eyes pulling open at once.<br/><br/>At first, the observer tensed in fear that discovery was imminent, but the danger passed as the archer's eyes remained glazed with sleep. He gave a little snort as he began to wobble again, eyes rolling back in their sockets to expose the whites before the eyelids descended once more. His head rolled to the side as his neck lost the strength to continue supporting it. The wobbling became more dangerous as he descended into genuine sleep.<br/><br/>"Poor guy... absolutely exhausted, yet too proud to sleep..." whispered the observer, the words falling on deaf ears.<br/><br/>The observer crept from hiding and walked on padded feet to the archer's side. With the touch of a gentle hand, the wobbling of the archer was easily guided backward. He jerked, snorted and almost woke at the unexpected touch, but a gloved hand to the cheek provided the reassurance all human beings crave, and he subsided. With a genuine snore, this time, he settled limply back against the back of his chair.<br/><br/>"Let me help you..." whispered the observer once more, "You give everything to your people. Allow me to relieve you of your burden. You are the only one who would have detected the motions of my men. We can't have that, now can we? Enjoy your rest, oh vigilant one. You deserve it. I give you my word, though you will never hear it, that you will find your kingdom relatively in tact when you return to it."<br/><br/>In one quick motion, the observer inserted a tiny piece of wood into the slumbering archer's neck. Whatever it was that had been inserted, it was apparently hollow, because the next action produced a vial. Using a peculiar method, the liquid was slowly, methodically poured through the wooden tube, into the vein of the archer.