A lone weasel stood on a hilltop, facing the sunset. He smiled, eyes like ice chips. Dark clouds settled in the sky and the weasel smiled. Fat rain drops began splattering on the ground and the weasel ducked in among the trees. Behind him he heard branches cracking. A vermin was following him. He immediately sprang backwards with dagger drawn. A mink cushioned his fall and the weasel snarled. "What are you doing here? Death or join!" His voice was full on menace and the timid, I might say, mink burst into tears. "Oh please don't kill me! I only wanted a scrap of bread and a drop of water!" The weasel laughed out loud. "So you chose me just for that! You thought I would be soft, eh! You'll have to worked for it!" He let the mink clamber up and drove him in front of him, dagger tickling the mink's back.