He stops in the middle of a clearing. The forest around him quiets, the very air stops moving. He tenses; there’s something wrong. Something moves in the edge of his field of vision. He’s not alone. In one swift manoeuver, he turns to the source – a green shrub – and deftly throws one of his knives. Thwock A somewhat recognizable sound greets him. But did he hit bone, or wood? The foliage shields his view, so he cannot see. But there is no groan, so he must have missed. The creature rises and he hears a wildcat’s roar, he definitely missed. He has no time to wonder how a wildcat got to this side of the country; he must strike while he has the time. He launches another knife, a smaller one this time, but now using his index and middle fingers only. A screech sounds through the forest, and the creature falls; his knife has reached its target.
Posted on: Fri, 23 Aug 2013 09:58:15 +0000
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