Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Renard had taken up position on the watch outside the settlement's walls willingly, his exceptional abilities as a marksman meant he was an obvious selection for this duty. He sat now in the dark, a thin gray woolen blanket draped around his shoulders, providing little warmth, as he watched the lights being slowly extinguished below him. Waiting for the majority of the inhabitants in the settlement below to settle down to sleep.
Renard's next move would entail some element of risk, but thus far he had done exceedingly well. Knowing in all probability none would be any the wiser if he vacated his post, and he would have plentiful time until he would have to return, as dawn was still some hours distant.
He slipped the blanket reluctantly from his shoulders, shuddering with the accompanying chill, grabbed his Winchester and bow, scanning the horizon to be doubly sure that none would witness his defection, making his way soundlessly over the familiar terrain of his boyhood days, toward the northernmost watch post.
Remaining in the shadows to avoid being spotted, cursing the new moon and the clouds overhead that frequently broke, allowing the feeble light to spill through. Renard would normally not have chosen a night such as this for this risky endeavor, but he had to speak with his father without further delay. All he could hope was that he would not be seen by the wrong watchman.
He waited for some time in the shadows of a stunted clump of trees just beyond the northern entry point. A pair of plovers circled high above him their eerie mournful cries jarring his nerves. Still he waited, motionless, taking in the north wall, counting all the individuals manning the watch. His apprehension greatly alleviated, as he could make out only two, and as he had rightly guessed most of the men would be on the settlement's southern side defenses, awaiting Lothar's impending attack.
Renard took a deep breath and muttered a prayer, he would need some luck here and all the stealth he possessed. The clouds again lifting, the moon shining through, and he had at least one hundred feet of clearing to navigate until he made the safety of the wall. And make the wall undetected he did much to his nervous relief, for it seemed an eternity to cross the lighted clearing, so sure at any moment the sentries would spot him, or perhaps instead he might just feel the tearing shaft of a barbed arrow in his back.
From here Renard sidled along the palisade wall closing on the gate and the two men who stood there, spears in hand making conversation in low voices. The young man's eyes feverishly seeking a familiar face in spite of the gloom.
Renard's heart raced as he recognized one of the men, a friend and companion of his younger, carefree days. So hoping for the best he called his friends name from the darkness.
"Dale, It's me Renard."
At the same time stepping out from the wall's shadows very slowly, arms raised in surrender. The two men leapt into panicked action at the disembodied voice, at once leveling their sharp tipped spears at Renard's chest, both peering at him closely before they acknowledged who he was.
