The Moment

Cold.

Straining his eyes to pierce the darkness unfolding around him, he peered intently at the horizon, and then down at the road below. It wouldn't be long now.

Waiting was the most difficult part of the hunt. Perched on the limb of a tree, struggling to stay warm against the biting night air, he had always hated the waiting. But in the waiting was the money. And where there was money, he found his salvation.

It was the jerky movement of the horse that caught his eye first. In the distance, a tiny black spec was growing against the skyline. Not long now.

Time slowed, the cold forgotten, as the man concentrated intently on his prey. He could make out the rider now. Swaying rhythmically to the horses canter, his body balanced precariously on its back. The rider's cloak billowed out over the horse's flanks, and his hood was drawn down masking his face.

A pang of anxiety swept through him as he realized that this might not be his prey. Hours of waiting, and now, how could he be sure. He glared at the rider through the darkness, as if by sheer will alone he would see through the cloak. Then he saw it. A pendant of gold reflecting brightly off the moonlight, hung at the rider's neck. The man sighed with relief, confident at last that the moment was at hand.

Silently and smoothly, he un-slung his crossbow and notched the first bolt. With luck the only bolt. Clenching and unclenching his hand on the stock of the bow, he peered down the shaft and through the sight of the weapon at the approaching rider. Nestled high above the road below, the man positively stirred with anticipation. This was the moment he loved. Just before a kill, when adrenaline coursed through his veins causing his heart to pound so loud that he thought he might go deaf from the sound. The moment. The rush. This was why he loved his job.

The rider was closer now, his pendant shining like a beacon in the night or a target hanging from his neck. The man smiled at the thought. Yes, a target. The man leaned into the butt of the bow, and fought to steady his breathing. His head was throbbing and he could barely keep from shaking. Almost there.

When the rider and horse were within a few yards of the man, he squeezed the trigger of the bow. The bolt seemed to burst from the weapon like a thunderclap in the sky. Although he couldn't see the shaft charging for the prey, he was witness to the results. The bolt hit its target hard and the rider was spun out of his saddle, hitting the ground below. Startled and now weightless, the terrified horse leaped into the air and raced further into the night.

Silence returned to the grove. Staring at the now still body of the rider, the man searched for any signs of life. Sensing none, he slipped the crossbow over his shoulder and slid from his perch to the hard ground below. He was paid for the kill, and that meant verifying that his victim was dead. Scanning the deserted road and seeing nothing, the man moved out of the thicket towards the rider. Although certain of what he would find, caution and experience warned him to take his time. Not knowing for sure where his bolt had struck, he could not afford to take for granted that the rider was dead. Drawing his dagger, the man stole across the clearing towards the motionless form.