Creeping through the darkness, looking for a meal. Sneaking through the woods looking for
prey. Two predators stalk the
night. Noting and dismissing the local
wildlife. Slipping past without a
sound. Pause, catching the scent from
the east. Change direction. Hasten.
Faster. Faster. Running.
Closing with the prey.
The first hut comes into view. A small snarl breaks the predawn quiet. A bright torch-like flare suddenly lights the
clearing before the hut. Predators
finally face each other. The flames
licking up the slim, deadly blade almost pulse with the nearness of prey. The light glistens off bared teeth grown
longer than nature ever intended.
The predators charge.
Clashing and snarling. Slashing
and swiping. Falling drops of blood glow
with ruby freshness in the ever moving light of the fire. A half swallowed scream shows the hut’s
occupants are awake, witnessing the clash of two deadly forces. The eastern sky lightens to grey. The fighters are tiring. Soon.
Soon one will fall. Individual
drops of blood increase to flows. Then a
final spray, arcing gracefully away from the gruesome sight of its origin. One falls, head almost severed from
shoulders. The other takes a few steps
before following suite.
But this warrior does not fall alone. Hands are suddenly there. Helping her rise. Checking wounds. Bringing her into the shelter and healing
heart of the small village. None are
brave enough to try to touch the sword that is now quiet in the defender’s
hand. Dawn breaks. The touch of sunlight reveals the painfully
beautiful monster for a heartbeat before engulfing it in flame.
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