The sound of a bow string cracked through the distant silence, held empty by the surrounding leaves of corn, a ruffian fell to the ground, crimson froth surged from his mouth. A remote sound of movement in the distance, and then nothing, the second ruffian looked about frantically, he paced the slim avenue between the crop of corn and the long grass of the wild fields, his sword only a little reassuring in his hand. A sturdy hand clasped at his throat from behind, the last thing he felt was the cold point of a blade reaching into his jugular, and then the jagged pull of a rusty serrated edge. The Watcher's footsteps trod almost silently across the disused portion of earth, back into the corn fields and into the evening light. Birds chirruped at the setting sun, the only sound, save for the distant chatting of angry voices. “Jus’ the other day, three go missin’! Then the-” another voice cut in, just loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough for words to be made out, the Watcher stepped closer. Parting the corn stalks just enough to make out three figures, they sat about a fire close to a grand old tree, swords unsheathed and leant against their legs or stuck into the ground close by. Retracing his steps, the Watcher retreated, and quietly unhooked a trap from his pack, primed it through gritted and set it down carefully, he wiped at his brow with a grubby sleeve and notched an arrow, his hands were shaking, it had been days since he'd had even a brief respite.
Back at the small fire, the three brigands sat in a heated argument, they had moved to trivial matters now, of whether the lass in town had been watching one or another, fists were clenched and their voices were creeping higher and higher, months spent in partial hiding must have been taking its toll on them, they hadn’t eaten properly for two days, surviving on what vegetables they managed to pilfer from the surrounding farms, the corn not yet ready for harvest, as they had found out the hard way. Conversation cooled to the expected banter and poking fun typical of lads about a fire, the night had grown dark now, the kind of dark that looks as if you could tread upon it, and feel it as you run your hands through it.
Something landed with a heavy thud in the tree above the brigands. Birds squawked and beat their wings in panic, the brigands followed suit. Two rotten branches had fallen into the fire and ashes were scattered everywhere. The moon shone frantically off of three blades, almost as if it were trying to be in on the action itself. The three stamped frantically at packs which had caught embers, it was blind chaos around the fire, a swift “crack!” sound came from the distance, a brigand fell face first onto the ground, his blade falling at an awkward angle. The two others looked to him, alarm on their faces upon noticing the arrow sticking from his back, they peered about, forgetting their burning baggage. A grim figure stood out from the crops nearby, it smiled before disappearing back, and like lambs to the slaughter, they gave chase, the camp soon became serene, with yells of anger and abuse fading into the fields. A sharp cry of steel rang out, followed by an anguished growl, then silence. A terrified brigand stumbled back into the fire light, scrambling desperately for belongings, a pair of quiet feet, accustomed to sneaking about followed after him, stopping just short of the orange glow of the fire, its owner baring well wrought blade. The Watcher charged, sword raised high for an almighty blow, just as he was near his target, the brigand turned, bringing up his blade, his feeble and panicked defence only to be swept aside by a hunting knife. The Watcher looked upon the brigand's features, his weathered face appearing like a worn map, only turned horrifying by the brigand’s fear and the harsh glow of the burning fire. He let the sword fall upon him, and the brigand was done. The Watcher returned to his caught prey in the fields, a bear trap clenched tightly around the brigand’s shin “You’ll be comin’ with me” said the Watcher, as he wrenched the trap open, eyeing the gore caused by the trap’s monstrous teeth.
