The whistling had started again. He’d been hunting for hours after this awful bird and it was making no effort to evade him at all. It was suspicious to the point where he was almost afraid to breath. His heart hadn’t stopped racing. He was soaked with sweat. His crossbow shook almost to the point of leaving his hands but he would not risk giving up. He would not turn back now.
The whistling had stopped. Again. He froze. This was the worst part. The pause. He couldn’t take it. His vision started to darken around the edges. NO! Not after such a hunt, he would not fail!
The stalwart hustle collapsed, leaving the epic quest of three days to live on in stories. The fisherman who had been following the stream, however, never knew that he’d been followed.
Lissa Goins, currently aboard the Navy’s USS Hooper, sends us this story for Dwarven Tavern.