This was adventure and excitement. There was the crash of the rifles, the nasty whistle of ricochets, the moving bodies, sometimes jerking ludicrously when hit. Yet, to Florin, it was just a job, as it always is in the face of danger with every man. Just a specialized job with a very high incentive. Staying alive. Florin was surprised when he realized that he had disposed of all the attackers on his side. Despite their numbers, they were no match for the trio in the lodge. Florin was an expert marksman, and Erol and Yma had done enough hunting to be quite proficient. On the other side of the ledger, the people's committee were completely new to the business, some of them never having held a gun, and certainly not used to combat in woods. When he went up front, he found that Erol had done a magnificent job despite his wound, beating back several attacks, and killing or wounding all his men. But he had received two more wounds and he was lying on the flagstone terrace in a litter of blood and cartridge cases. The firing from the bushes at the side had stopped too, and Yma came rushing up, to kneel beside her father. She screamed at Florin to get bandages, but it was too late. In the pastoral woods, men had fought and died, and now they felt tragedy. But the sky was still blue, and in a nearby dale, a bird warbled freely. * * * * * Late that night, Florin and Yma stopped at a small cabin in the mountains, finding it deserted. They had been travelling on foot since the fight, leaving the gyros as too obvious a method of travel. Yma was still upset over her father's death, and Florin had remained quiet in consideration. The mountain paths were rocky and steep, and they were both exhausted. After a cold meal, they sat in the gathering darkness in the cabin and talked. "I know it's inconsiderate of me to talk of it," Florin said, "but don't you feel resentment against the men who killed your father?" She shook her head and said, "I can't feel resentment, I know that it was just circumstances. Those men felt justified in what they did--and maybe they were." "How can you be so cold-blooded?" he said half-angrily. "Killing is never justified, and ignorance and violence against intelligent and kindly men are the supreme injustice." "Why bother discussing the right and wrong of it," she said wearily. "It is all over with, all so meaningless--and easily forgotten." "That's just it," Florin said earnestly. "You've got to think about it, decide who was right and who was wrong. You've got to decide so that you can base your future actions and attitudes on that. You can't just mark it off the books, for it will still be in your head, all jumbled emotion and no sense." He was trying desperately to bring her out of apathy. He knew that the incident and all of its contributing factors must be clinically analyzed, for both their sakes.