Rory's Story Cubes - Story #1

On the hilltop in the distance the man saw a castle tower, or was it just another abandoned station along this forgotten border. He hadn’t eaten a full meal in days; the last bite had been at the riverside after he skirmished with those wandering archers. He had dispatched them with some trouble, and found all they carried was dried fish and nothing more. They were as desperate as he was, skinnier too. Butthat was days ago and many miles to the south. The archers were skinny, to be sure, but the had fresh look about them and their bows had not been used extensively. He took that to mean those souls were a warning line, to him and his kind, that they had best not get too close to the city again. The sun was setting over the mountains to the east; it was time for him to find shelter and safety for the night. He pitched his tent high in the canopy of trees in a valley he had been following for most of the afternoon. He wanted to keep an eye on that tower on the one hand, however the local wildlife had shown too much of an interest in his camp the night before. He shed his pack and used one of the bows to lace a line over the tops of the nearest tree. He was sure to retrieve the arrow; you never knew when dinner or lunch might cross your path. Truth be told, he was not much of archer when it mattered, but given the time he could take down a meal sized creature if he had to. In a battle, his archery skills would be more of a hindrance than help. Before he got up the tree, he set up his trip wire alarm; he was not going to be caught from below. He learned his lesson on that during his first tour of that far western island. He was a quick read when it mattered. He could see the sliver of the moons on the horizons, there would be enough light to see anything clearly, he could only hope that the local fauna had similar night vision handicaps. His tent fit right in the crook of his tree’s trunk and its neighbor’s trunk, and he had a commanding view of the valley below and the tower in the distance. He smiled as he remembered the adventures near his home from his youth. Not many trees at home, and certainly no trees like this, but the peace he felt looking over the forest was familiar and comforting. He settled in and activated the tent lock, that would keep him from falling from his perch, and began his meditation cycles. Slowly, like a tortoiseworking it’s way down the beach, he began to drift off. As always, keeping that one open to act as a warning if any attack came while he was trying to rest. He looked forward to the morning, when his hunt would begin again.