Sarrek woke at the fourth hour because bread did not bake itself.
This was the fundamental truth of his profession — the single, immovable fact that had governed every day of his adult life. Bread required time. Time required waking before the sun. Waking before the sun required going to bed before the moon was high. The cycle was absolute, and Sarrek Ashscale had lived inside it for thirty-seven years without complaint, because a Lizardman who complains about his work is a Lizardman who has forgotten what hunger feels like.
