“Valgrith what is it?” asked a young man nervously as he turned his attention to the rolling countryside all around him, and then to the concerned watchful gaze of the grizzled veteran that stood protecting him.
“One man, there just off to the….”
His eyes may have seen the solitary figure moving stealthily to the left, but the arrow that lodged deep set within his throat cutting off his words had come from the right.
Valgrith slumped to his knees, blood cascading over his fingers as he gripped tightly upon the arrow’s fragile shaft, snapping it in two.
“Run!” he gargled pushing the young man away. “Run.”
Fear coursing through his body the young lad looked on as his protector took arrow upon arrow before finding peace within death, before then falling face first upon the ground. The figure he had pointed out in the distance broke cover and ran towards him wielding a hefty looking mace in anger, shouting menacingly in a foreign tongue as he did so.
The young man ran as his guardian protector had ordered, knowing his very life depended upon it.