Ambush (Open) Jul 23, 2012 10:31:58 GMT -5
Post by Firehead on Jul 23, 2012 10:31:58 GMT -5
The arrow found Ben's back with an unforetold accuracy, knocking him foreward in the saddle and driving the breath from his lungs. He slumpped foreward on his horse's neck, his entire body limp. THen, slowly, his weight slid sideways in the saddle, and he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. For a brief moment, his foot stuck in the sturrip, then came free.
His horse stopped walking, sensing that something was wrong with his rider, but a second later, the animal's life was ended by a second shaft to the head. It sank to the ground, rolling onto its side, lifeless. The entire ambush, from beginning to end, had taken less than forty-five seconds. The buskwhackers vanished, leaving behind them a ranger, scarcely alive, and his dead horse.
Ben tried to crawl, but for some reason, he couldn't make his muscles obey him. He dragged his body to one side of the lonely trail, sheltered by some brush, and faded into unconsciousness.
The vultures found the bodies first. They followed the smell of death to the dead horse and soon had flocked about it's body, feasting on the freshly dead carcass. For now, they ignored Ben, but it would only be a matter of time.
Ben came too, to the sounds of the vultures feasting and knew that he would soon be a part of the main course. He was miles from anywhere; days from the nearest village. What was more, he was on a track that was rarely used by anyone, and it could easily be days, weeks even, before anyone found him. And he had neither.
He was growing delerious from bloodloss. He thought he heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching, a lone rider by te sounds. The rider couldn't be real, could it? A figment of his immagination--the rider would trot on past him, not bothering to stop. Ben's thoughts drifted to Heather, the woman whom he'd promised forever to. Now, it appeared as though there wouldn't even be a beginning to forever.
A startled snort, and quick shuffle of hooves, as the horse alerted to the smell of blood and spooked. A soft, low curse from its rider, as he fought the animal for a moment, regaining control. Move something, Ben. Let the man know your still alive! Ben tried, but he could barely even move his finger just the slightest inch through the dust. Who knew if the man would see it?
Through his hazey vision, Ben saw a booted foot stop in his line of sight. It was close--the man must be curious. Ben thought that he recognized the face of the man, but he couldn't be certain. No, it can't be. He's the last person that would be here. Besides, he's dead. And I'm about dead too....Maybe I'm seeing the afterlife.