This was the last thing he expected he would be doing when he joined this particular band of missionaries. He expected a little adventure, maybe even some danger, but never this ghastly mess before him. He grimaces at the putrid smell clinging to the humid air of this heathen village. The stench would be more tollerable if it were coming from dirty, half naked heathens that didn't know any better than to live in their own filth, but that wasn't the case at all. In fact this village was well kept and these villagers quite clean and civilized in their own primitive ways.  The man dips his hands in the river, scrubbing at them relentlessly, trying to get the stain of blood off his skin. It took everything in him not to vomit, the death lingering just feet away leaving his stomach sour. He looks down at his fine English attire, soiled and bloodied. Was he now more a savage than the people of this village? Could his god cleanse him of this trespass? He looks over at the life that had been snuffed out that very afternoon, now being burried under the cover of night. Her face was still dark and beautiful as if sleep had merely claimed her at dusk. He retreats from the riverside and kneels beside the corpse, her stomach a gaping empty hole still leaking of blood and fluid. A painful gush of tears spills from his eyes as he thrusts her young body into the hole he had dug a couple hours before. He never wanted any part of this, but did not want to chance dieing for this either. The entire mission would be slaughtered if her death were found out before they sailed in the morning. He wanted so much to yell at the heavens or the true savage that had brought this fate about. The man kneels beside the young woman's resting place as the moonlight is blotted out by the darkness of clouds, the heavens mourn the horrible demise of the earth's child with a torrent of rain. The man begins to push the mud and dirt over the body. He makes a silent prayer to his god, hoping the girl's body would not rise with the fresh rain, which would surely flood the river within the hour. He quickly finishes his task, covering the day's horrible deed. In the morning the mission would set sail for England, away from the only beings that will surely discover their many sins and trespasses.

By the time the man returned to his hut he was cold and soaked from head to toe. His garments were soiled beyond repair and the blood on his hands would forever be present, even if only to him. He passes through the doorway.

"Is it done then?" John asks, raising his gaze from the bundle he holds in his arms. The man silently continues to haunt the entryway, ragged and distraught. "Luke!.....Is it done then?"

Luke looks at his comrad. "It is done and we sail in the morning." He takes a step forward and looks at the beautiful baby girl cradled lovingly in John's arms. The young babe that had been torn from the frightened mother by the hand of her righteous father. What had he helped accomplish?....