The night is a thief, its shadows, hiding places and the moon its prying eye. They that walk under its boughs are in dismay, for who knows what in sleeping corners lie. All is silent as night holds its breath, waiting for weary travelers to lay down their heads on cold grass, and then to bestow upon them misfortune. In company with others night claims no hold, but when one walks from warm food and hot fire, be warned, for calamity and injustice is the way of night. Yet dawn is a guardsman, one who drives the night away. For what is darkness but lack of light?