"No. I don't really want that."

"I'm the son of a merchant. And the blood of a monster." I laughed once more, an edge of bitterness tainting the mirth. "I want more, and more, and more."

I stood up straight, tired of introspection. "Fuck it, all in."

I pulled the pitchfork from the boy's neck, my age, really, but I felt so much older than this farmboy. And I was already older than he'd ever be anyway.

I sat in the corner and I waited. Donnie would eventually wonder here his son wandered off to, and so If he came here I could do it for him too. If either of the women came, then I already had triggers to solve that problem. Minimal risk for maximum reward.

In the end I sat in the stables for a little more than an hour before I heard the crunching of boots and the grumbling of a large man. The boots came faster and faster as anxiety reached the man and he caught sight of the blood and the motionless legs of his son.

"Thag?" He bellowed. "Thag!?"

**** wasn't the answer, that's what I thought. Perhaps I had been somewhat naïve.

**** was a tool in the merchant's ledger, when used properly it could easily be an answer.

Donnie dropped next to his son, crying out, and I put the pitchfork through the back of his neck. He gurgled and cursed, or tried, and then he died beside his son.

In my mind I could hear the clattering of coins on a counter, and I nodded; exact change, transaction complete.