Wolves

Here is a excerpt from Sureshot the Assassin, the completely unpublished sequal to The Sureshot. I hope that this whets your appitite for more.

            The men started to strip the bull and gut him, but their work was not unnoticed. There were some other hunters tracking the elk herd that day and they were interested in taking advantage of the work that had already been done. They watched patiently for a while sizing up their competition, the smell of blood filling their noses.

            It was not long before the temptation of stealing away a kill was too much to resist and the hunters encircled the friends and their meal.

Durbar sensed their movements and twice looked up and scanned the dark surroundings. Though he could see nothing, he was alert to a danger he could not identify. When he heard a soft growl however, he knew that he and his friend were in great danger.

“Rothan,” he whispered, but it was too low for his companion to hear. Again he whispered though a little louder, “Rothan.” The young prince pricked his head up and stared quizzically at the woodsman.

“What is it?” he asked lowly.

“Draw your sword slowly,” Durbar instructed, “but do not make a sudden move.” Durbar led by drawing his sword first and Rothan followed still unsure as to what was amiss. Durbar tensed and gradually stood up and his friend followed suit. Before he could stand completely upright the hunters attacked.

Half a dozen wolves rushed from the thick brush and bound toward the two men. Durbar and Rothan swung around, swords drawn, ready to meet them. The wolves did not slow their assault but continued to race towards the men. A wolf leapt at Rothan and he jumped backwards while swiping ineffectively at the snarling wolf. Another wolf reached Durbar from behind and the woodsman was forced to slash at him while leaping up to avoid a bite.

The men had survived the initial wave but the wolves encircled them and closed in with teeth barred, saliva dripping from their curled lips and a low growl rumbling from their collective throats. The men backed up until they bumped into each other facing away from one another, satisfied that their backs were covered.

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About Phil

Just a man with a lot of stories, poems and things to talk about in his mind. Thanks for reading.
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