Slowly straightening his back, Fijiman rose wearily from his chair and shuffled across the cold wooden floor to the foggy window. While the day was still in its infancy and the walls were bathed in a tranquil grey gloom, he could see the distant amber glow of sunlight peering inquisitively between the frigid peaks of the distant munros. The nearby lake was shrouded in the befuddling early fog, but he could spy patches of its surface, perfectly calm and reflective as a mirror. He remained still as a statue by the window, impassively observing the breaking of the dawn.