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The cold mountain air bit at the faces of two men as they crept silently toward a young, unsuspecting buck nibbling on some roots. Without any sound, they inched their way closer to the animal. Durbar, a young man of fifteen, watched his father, Adar, very carefully, and mimicked his movements; ever striving to be the great woodsman his father was.

The large man stopped suddenly and so did his son. He slowly reached for his giant long bow and gently pulled out an arrow from the quiver on his back. The woodsman quickly inspected the arrow to ensure there was no damage to the fletching, notched it and stood up slowly and carefully. His black cloak concealed him in the dark, dense forest. The hunter drew back the string of his mighty bow until it touched his bearded cheek. Holding absolutely steady, he loosed the arrow. The missile twisted slightly as it sailed through the still air, flying past massive trees until finding the unsuspecting buck. The arrow struck the animal’s side, piercing his heart. Stunned and now struggling to cling to life, the buck tried to stumble away, but did not get far. 

Adar leapt to his feet as the arrow struck its mark. He raced toward the animal and pulled a dagger from his belt. The powerful man jumped upon the terrified buck and dragged his dagger across its throat. The animal collapsed, kicked one last time and then was still. The woodsman rose and stood over his kill, smiling at his son who was admiring his father’s prowess from a distance.

     “Great shot, Father. You hit him right in the heart,” the young man beamed.

“Of course, Son, you don’t want to hit him just anywhere and let him run off. That only makes more work for yourself.”

“I know, Father,” smiled Durbar, having heard that lesson at least a hundred times before.

From today’s writing…

Vorfar kicked some dirt and paced to a tree then committed further acts of violence upon it. 

Maklar gritted his teeth then pulled his ax from his back. He gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white and his muscles strained under his tunic; filled with rage and frustration. 

In a moment of pure white anger, Maklar began to swing his ax as quickly as a bat flaps its wings in desperation to remain airborne. Maklar hacked at the boards that mended the hole in the wall and the dirt that filled it. In massive swooping motions the blade of his weapon struck his static foe, sending dirt and splinters flying in all directions. 

The axeman, no longer interested in stealth grunted and growled as he swung again and again blasting a growing opening where he expected to easily slip under the wall. 

Vorfar looked about for guards on the walls but none were in sight. He considered trying to reason with Maklar; to scold him for being so reckless, but as he peered into the cloud of dust and noted the beastial noise his companion was making, he knew there was no stopping him. Instead, he scouted the wall for signs of danger. 

“Just hurry!” Vorfar encouraged. 

Maklar heard the words but was lost in the fury. Again and again his ax rained down on the obstruction. Before long the wood that blocked his path surrendered and was left in splintered pieces littered about the Madman’s feet. 

After just a couple furious minutes, Maklar stepped back to observe his work. He breathed deeply, and the air filled with dirt made him cough. Sweat dripped from his brow and he held his ax loosely in one hand as it leaned against his hip; satisfied in its work. 

“Good,” he exhaled. “They were lazy. They didn’t fill the hole. Just covered it.”

Vorfar approached and inspected the hole. With just a little digging it seemed easily passable. 

“Forgive me for my doubt, friend. I was wrong to criticize you. But let us hurry into the city, lest your efforts be discovered shall we?” 

“That was the whole point, after all. After you,” Maklar smiled. 

Vorfar nodded then, after scooping some dirt and removing the bits of remaining wood, crawled on his belly under the wall and into the city. Maklar followed immediately after. 

“Easy, just like I said it would be,” snorted Maklar. 

Vorfar merely clapped him on the back, which created a poof of dirt then turned to find their destination.