Benedick Starts to Write

Thud… thud… thud…  sweat  drops from the runners brow
Swisssssh… an arrow barely misses the target embedding itself on a bamboo stalk. The archer grinned thrilled by his hunt; the mere challenge of a good hunt arouses the heart of the eagle-eyed hunter from the eastern plains known to shoot with pin point accuracy a mile away.
Blood flows from the windrunner’s cheek, the arrow came from the north, but he cannot see who made the shot, though adept on using a bow himself he thought that in this dense bamboo forest he may have a chance of surviving, now he is in doubt.

[Discovering New Worlds | End of May]

Screech… the cold blunt end of the…

Crowds are running away from a lad gone berserk swinging his club wildly, maiming my brethren’s will yet nobody dared lay a hand on him, for he was our hero, he threw himself at the blood lust of the soulless to save as much as anyone can count,  and favorite son of our chieftain.

Once, was heralded greatest prefect of the city’s defenses? A genius in the art of war, the land he stood never wavers against the bloody attacks of the enemies and the likes… But alas their sheer number was far more than you can slay, our home was doomed as prophesied on that day by the old prophets. And yet you changed our destiny, for a price, your sanity.

and you were my …

Screech… the cold blunt end of the feathered arrow flies… leaving the wind at my hand.

[Traveling around the perfect world | May 26, 2008]