You turn to flee, but in your haste trip over a passersby who happens to be in your way. Falling to the ground, you attempt to scurry to your feet, but the aggressor sticks his boot on your back and pushes you to the ground. He kneels down close to your face, and, producing a dagger, cuts a small line down your cheek. He then informs you that you are lucky to have been confronted in such a public place, or else he would have settled matters more definitively. He then takes his leave, and you roll over, whipping the blood from your cheek but find some comfort in reflecting that, in truth, this was not your worse evening spent at a tavern.

THE END

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