Return of the Bowman


Far out on the horizon the clouds had pooled into crimson reflection of the setting sun. Beneath them, the mountains crouched, dark and ominous in the on rush of another night. A chill breeze picked its way through the trees growing thick along the foothills. It rattled what was left of the leaves clinging to their skeletal branches.

Jerphta watched the death of the day from atop a small cliff. He  had set a small small fire to ease the cold that had seeped into his bones and now he stood with his back to it.  His eyes moved from study of the brooding crags to sweep the deepening shadows of the tree covered landscape below him.  

Something was wrong. He had sensed a stillness to the night despite the brush of wind over the trees surrounding him. Had he been followed?

The End

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