The moon was rising. As was Joseph. He applied his training carefully, sneaking past Halt's door and out the door, bow, arrows, and knives in hand. The targets loomed in front of him, grey and white in the moonlight. He walked away. 25, 50, 75, 100, 200 meters. He turned round and faced them. His knives he laid down for now, and he took out his bow and nocked an arrow. He took aim and paused. 1, 2, 3 Fire! The next arrow followed it within seconds. A stream of arrows arched across the 200 meters between him and the targets, hitting the targets one after the other. He slunk across the open ground, watching the cabin as he moved. He collected the arrows. All bang on. He shifted the targets, using his back muscles to lift one up and hang it, swaying, on a branch. That was the one to be careful with. Back, fire, check, move the targets, switch. He pulled out his knives, and hurled them one after the other. Repeat.

Halt stirred, awoken by something, though he couldn't tell what. He moved to the window, and stood for a couple of seconds in shock. He could see Joseph standing firing at the 3 targets, over and over. It was obvious that he hadn't slept. Halt wrote something on the report and went back to bed.

The sun began to show its face over the horizon. He looked up and crept back to the cabin, replacing his weapons and getting back into bed. No sleep for him tonight.

Halt was not in the kitchen when Joseph got up. He wasn't with Abelard. He wasn't fine-tuning his uncanny skills with the bow or knives. He was sitting on his bed muttering darkly. Joseph caught the words law, stupid, pigs, farmer, work, trouble, and several others that he hoped he had misheard.
"Ummm, Halt?"
"Hmm?"
"What's going on?"
"A stupid ******* ******** ***** of a farmer, who lost his licence to keep pigs years ago, has decided that he would like his neighbour's pigs to be 'relocated'. They've been found in an old pigpen of his, which he had patched up. The ******* ***** law can't interfere because there's no evidence, and he claims the pig wandered in."
"I take it you don't believe him?"
"Why should I trust a man who looks after pigs for a living?"

Halt and Joseph saddled up and rode off toward the farm. It was dirty and broken down.
"Joseph, keep your hood up, and look like your are here to smash some stuff up."
"Does it need smashing up?"
"Be quiet."
The pig farmer came out and knelt down before the two riders.
"Please good sirs, I am but a humble pig farmer, spare my dear farm." He snivelled.
"A humble pig farmer who lost his licence years ago and yet still makes a living selling bacon?"
"Yes sir- wait what?"
"Where is the pig?"
"Over there, good sire."
"Oh, I'm not a good sire at all. Joseph!"
"Yes Halt?"
"Break down everything you can. Then we'll leave."
Joseph obliged, grinning.
"See, this is what happens when you look after pigs. Pigs that aren't yours. The law will find you. and next time... you won't be so lucky."
"This...is lucky?"
"Put it this way. Next time, it won't be your farm that gets smashed up."
The farmer gulped.
"Go on! Beat it! Make an honest living for once in your measly life!"
The ex farmer ran. And ran. And ran.

"Is that my pig?"
Halt whipped round.
"You'd be the owner of... Birch tree farm?"
"It's true what they say then, you are magicians! How else would you know?"
Halt levelled his eyebrows at the quivering man.
"Take your pig. And get out. I don't have time for pig farmers."
"Sir?"
Joseph was standing behind Halt.
"I've finished smashing it up sir."
"Good work Joseph."
And they left. Only later did Joseph realise, this was the first time Halt had used his name.