Trapped

Thankful that he was in here and not on the ground, he leaned back against his pack, drawing a paper package of smokes from his shirt pocket. Lightning a smoke with a small box containing a few hot coals, he took several puffs, enjoying the brief time he would have in this tower, before he would be sent back to normal footman duties, marching across endless plains to enemies that he never heard of. This war is taking to long, he though to himself, taking a heavy drag on his cigarette.

Looking out the north window into the town square, he noticed a silhouetted figure run across the cobble stone ground, past the ornately fountain of a dragon, with the water pouring from it’s mouth, into the archway of a large wooden building. Raising the butt of his three foot rifle to his shoulder, he looked through the scope at the figure in the doorway, obviously a man by the outline of his body against the nights shadows.

Slowly the man began to wave his arms in a circular motion, and after a brief moment, a small sphere of bright white light appeared a few inches from his chest. The light of the orb cast an array of ghastly shadows dancing across the enemies square face and the front of his black robes. Silently, the mans mouth began to move, as if chanting to himself. Suddenly, the white orb burst, flooding the area with an intense white light. After a moment when he was able to see again, he noticed that the man had disappeared from sight. Quickly lowering his rifle, glanced around at the surrounding buildings trying to locate the mysterious man.

Silently he cursed to himself and leaned back against his pack and tried to ponder what just happened here. How in the seven hells did that guy do that? he wondered. Looking around the floor of his small alcove, he found his smoke on the floor, now extinguished. Picking it up to place it in his mouth, another peal of lightning flashed through the sky. This time though the was no thunder following it. Realizing what just happened, he jumped to his feet allowing his smoke and rifle clatter to the floor and drew his pistol. But it was too late. From behind him, slightly down the stairwell, a mans voice was chanting. This time the blinding light was not white, but red.

The summer sun’s ray slanted through the canopy of the forest in pools here and there. Quickly and silently, a small red fox moved through the underbrush of the forest and raced out to hide between two trees. It’s beady black eyes darted back and froth trying to relocate his prey again. After a few seconds, it found its prey to the left of it nibbling on the grass and moss growing between the roots of a large oak tree. Springing forward in a rush of energy, the fox open his small jaws to enclose around the hind legs of the large white rabbit.

Just before it’s teeth could sink into it’s prey, an arrow pierced the fox’s small skull, continued to travel through its open mouth and into the hind quarters of the rabbit. The rabbit now aware of those around it tried to spring away but the dead weight of the fox attached to it’s back leg with an arrow wouldn’t allow it to move quickly enough. From the trees in which the fox hid, a young man leapt from the lower branches with his knife drawn at the rabbit. Deftly the young man drew the knife across the throat of the rabbit, allowing it’s life blood to spill onto the roots of the oak.