Tristan turned to face the Talon crowd and placed one hand on his own chest, “Our parents think that ‘compromise’ is a dirty word, a sign of weakness and neglect. They choose combat over concession every time. They fight for the sake of fighting because in their world,” and now he pointed out of the room into the distance, “every disagreement has to have a winner and a loser; life can never be a draw.

Rotten, dirty, back-slapping, wine-quaffing, haemorrhoid-hosting, goat-shagging, fart-sniffing, Crispin-loving, gold-snatching bastards!!!

It wasn’t like that at all!” argued the Sleuth, looking around for support. “It was a heroic, selfless act of spectacular bravery! I should be worshipped like a god! Immortalised in song!” He struck a dramatic pose, “One man, alone and outnumbered, sacrificed himself for the greater good…”“Immortalised in song, eh?” chuckled Mick. “How about ‘ridiculed in nursery rhymes’?

The sun was late, stuck in heavy mist. When it finally broke free there was no one to see, no one to applaud its sterling effort, because everyone in Freemantle was heading west. The burnt orange blaze of dawn made it look like they were fleeing a fire, but all knew that the real conflagration lay ahead.