The sound came from the darkness. It racked my mind, sending my thoughts into pounding convulsions. I could neither define it nor locate its source, but I could describe its taste in great detail. The sound became a topic of heated discussion during supper one evening. My entire family was present. Every person in all of existence that shares blood with me. I described the sound's taste to them, and they exulted. Napoleon Bonaparte pushed himself to his feet, sending his feeble wooden chair flying. He had a crazy look in his eye, but no one stirred aside from himself. He was not a very intimidating man, especially in the presence of men like Simo Hayha. Simo considered Napoleon with a glance, and then went back to fiddling with the inner chambers of his rifle.

"A gun is no place for the dinner table, Simo. Not to mention the weapon of cravens." It was Alexander Hamilton speaking. Simo looked at him, but could not understand what he was saying.