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Jerandor awoke to the clanking of metal, and the purring of the tiger. He grunted, then got out of the chair and stretched. "I don't see why its a good morning, we probably will get attacked by something on the way to this, "Valley of the Damned".",he said. He grabbed his mug and refilled it, drinking it in three enormous gulps. Finishing his drink, he walked outside, and surveyed the village. He thought to himself, I need a drink of a different kind. He jumped up, and caught the edge of the inn and pulled himself up. He covered himself in his cloak, so the sun didn't burn him to a crisp. He ran across the rooftops, leaping from building to building like a monkey. He knew where he was headed, a small hut on the opposite side of the village that he had noticed when he was riding up to the village. Finally reaching the house, he was barely gasping for breath. He opened the door, as quietly as a thief. He noticed that the hut belonged to only an old farmer. He knelt, and bit into his neck, the blood running down his throat. He stifled the farmers mouth as he woke up, and began to struggle. Eventually, he lay still, only a little blood running from the holes in his neck. Jerandor wiped the blood from his mouth and thought That was a good feast. But no time to enjoy it now, I've got to get back to the inn where the others are. He ran back to the inn, racing faster than any human could. He slowed down, finally reaching the inn. He walked in casually, acting like nothing had happened. He sat smiling to himself.