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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The threat of the lone archer was something Bennett did not need adding to all his other worries for the uncertain future. The episode was not helping the morale within his small camp. Even though he had banished Aran to certain death, he found new reason to curse the man every day for bringing this trouble to their door. In all the years they had inhabited this place they had never had anyone locate them and target them in this fashion. Now everyone had been forced to maintain a diligent watch, and with so few men left even Bennett felt he must do so, setting the perks of his leadership aside.
The nights were especially bitter, and if the wind came up, even more unbearable. The watches had been broken into periods of two hours. It was all he and his men could stand. They could not allow the woman with her deadly arrows to breach their defenses again, soon she must falter and someone would get her, then they could go back to more relaxed ways.
Bennett had other ulterior motives for taking his turn at the watch. Even though he led here without question he was still squeamish about his sexual orientation, and did not flaunt it in front of his men. All knew of his predilections for men and young boys, but it was never spoken of. In a way his differences made him more fearsome to the men he led, yet created barriers as well.
All his life he had been told his desires were wrong, though powerful and feared, the stigma of what he was had stayed with him. The words of his homophobic father and the beatings he had taken as a teenager still vivid in his memory. His hard father from who he had learned his trade in fear, every bit as tough and callous as he was, had left an indelible mark on him, and probably the only man he had ever truly feared.
With the cold and the lack of privacy his hut used to offer in warmer days Wesley Bennett had to resort to sating his desires swiftly and out of view of the others. This was no easy task. Hence this evening he had taken Nathan with him on his two hour vigil, he had wanted to bring Carlos but his prize slave was still fighting the remnants of a chest infection. It would have been foolhardy to bring him out here in this cold, and there remained some pleasures Carlos would not readily satisfy.
Nathan had reveled in the attention Carlos' illness had afforded him, at last he was being noticed again and he meant to fully capitalize on his rival's misfortune. He would not be relegated to obscurity again, and the endless, mindless, hours spent on a length of chain, cold and unwanted.
Bennett sat scanning the far horizon, eyes observing no movement in the inky black. His hand resting ready on the cold, comforting, steel of the Sig .45 in its holster. The night was thankfully still and he could detect no other presence but his and Nathan's. He should be undisturbed here, and could enjoy his slave's young body in any way he desired. He knew the woman if she appeared expected someone to be on duty here. Hence he did not have the luxury of a fire, the less illumination the better. It was imperative that Bennett saw her first, it was as simple as that, get the first shot on her and remove the constant, dogged threat, once and for all.
