Clive sat on a rock, sword, and whetstone in hand, sharpening the blade. It was mid-autumn, and the night was cool as the moon shined above and reflected in a large pond of water. He was surrounded by trees, the breeze blowing through the leaves softly, the sound filling the air.

His attention was turned away from the sword, hearing approaching footsteps coming towards him. His hand gripped the handle of the sword, ready to attack to defend himself if he needed to.