19 April 2012
Yes, a minor wyrm. You know, medium sized scaly reptile with an appetite for anything remotely to do with civilisation? No? You need to get out more. So the full story was that the clan's goat herders had spotted a medium large scaly beast making off in broad daylight with no less than three goats in its mouth. They were scared witless, and thus reported it to my First, the clan leader, who, after no less than 5 seconds deep and soul-searching thought delegated the job to me as a "role-building" task. Yeah, as if I needed any more of that - I had been training to take over the leadership of the clan for 16 years - from birth no less. Long story short, a three hour climb later and I'm on the aforementioned mountain ridge, freezing my... posterior off, and not a darned minor wyrm to show for it. I always knew those goat farmers were a little nuts.
Yet then I heard something. A rustling in the bushes not 100 metres down the path that traversed the narrow ridge. I slung my bow off my back, drew an arrow from my quiver and notched it against the taut string. I crept up the track, pulling the bow back as I went. This was going to be an easy close-range, arrow-shot-straight-through-the-eye-and-into-the-brain kill. I'd done it many times before. My feet knew what to do, taking me silently along the track until I was mere inches from the bush. Then just before I released the arrow - "Stop! Please! I'll do whatever you want!"
An Encounter • Opuss № I