The Deciding Shot- Prologue
#1 of The Deciding Shot
Here is a small idea of a dream I had. I think it might make a good story, but of course--- this is a prologue and will be edited. Any comment appreciated!
The winter wind curled the gray wolf's fur as the oak branches kissed his cheeks gently. Looking out into the dark night , he faintly remembered a time when passage through here was safe-- comfortable, even. A path traveled by the great kings of the world, where bandits were nonexistent. What a shame that the only king traveling tonight would not make it to his destination...
_He reached a paw over his leather-covered shoulder and he removed a fine oak arrow. The steel tip was sharpended to it's best. It was the last of his palace arrows, and he was feeling nastalgic about letting it loose from the bow. The goose-feathered fletching was difficult to attach at best, let alone crafting the arrow itself. An arrow as fine as this would fetch a decent price. Perhaps a price good enough to find him something good to eat. In this forest, there was nothing but scrawny poultry scrounging along the barren ground. It had been ages since the scout had had a decent meal. No matter to him now. What's was done was finished. Nothing more to it. _
He adjusted himself on the oak branch, pulling from his hip the fine oak- wood bow. He felt the familar weight, rolling it and polishing the last of the silver accents on his jerkin. Feeling the supple spring of the bowstring, he loaded his last palace arrow agaisnt the arrow rest. Now there was only one thing to do...wait. He had done his research though; it wouldn't be long now until his prey came rumbling down the path, kicking up dirt whilst moonlight reflected from his fine armour. Silly, silly kings...
And right on cue came the enemy king.
It surprised the warrior that he came without a grand ensemble of knights and warriors, mounted upon war horses. Instead it was only him, dressed at first glance as a simple commoner riding a wooden chariot pulled by a gray draft horse with a white mane. But it was all too easy for the wolf to see the thin golden band of kingship beneath a frock of fur. The wolf rolled back his shoulders and drew the bowstring to his cheek, feeling the familar feel of power held in his paws. Lowering the powerful weapon, he centered it a few inches before the warhorse. The winter wind would carry the deadly arrow down. If he was correct, it would strike the king directly in the soft spot of his neck, killing him instantly. He felt his knuckles crack and held the bow steady, releasing the arrow. Whizzing through the air, it struck him silently. Before he could scream, he rolled out of the chariot and fell into the dust. The small draft horse carrying it trudged on, throwing it's head in pleasure at the lack of weight.
_The wolf lowered his bow and pushed his leather-covered paw into a foot-hold he carved into the tree. Only time would tell if the shot he had taken was the right one. _