The boar wandered slowly across the dusty ground, foraging for small plants and roots with its round snout pressed to the earth. A soft breeze breathed across the valley causing the leaves to sigh as they rustled together. The boar continued on his way, nose to the ground, trying to scrounge up more food. An arrow sailed harmlessly over his back into the cactus next to him. It made a loud crack as the shaft smashed through the soft flesh of the cactus and the boar raised his head to look in that direction. Its muscles visibly tightened as it prepared to flee. The next arrow did not miss. It slammed deep into the boar's flank. The beast wheeled in anger and blindly charged at the first shape it saw.
Grindo reached into his quiver and pulled out another arrow. He fumbled with it as he tried to notch it on the string of his bow. He didn't quite have the hang of it yet and the boar charging straight at him didn't make it any easier. Steady, he thought as he drew. By now the animal was about 60 yards away. He aimed for a spot right between its eyes and let loose. He'd forgotten to adjust for the fact that the animal was moving toward him and the arrow skimmed just over the boar's head and grazed its back. The animal scarcely seemed to notice. In fact, it seemed as though it was sprinting even faster now. Less than 20 yards remained. He reached back for his quiver, but couldn't find any more arrows.
The boar slammed into him and sent him sprawling across the dirt. His bow flew from his hands and slid out of reach. The animal was on top of him again before he could roll all the way back over, viciously ripping its head from side to side, tearing at his feeble chainmail with its tusks.
So this is it, he thought, This how I die. Right after my first shot ever.
He tried to grasp the boar's tusks with his big hands and managed to get a grip on at least one of them. With all of his strength he did everything to keep the tusks from tearing at his torso, but in order to do so he had to squirm along the ground. He was nearing a small outcrop of rocks. He knew if his back were pressed against those he'd be done for. There was no give in the rock and he would no longer be able to squirm out of the way. The boar thrashed more and more ferociously. He could feel himself losing his grip on the tusk as the boar's head swung violently from side to side; in and out. The last of his fingers slipped from the tusk. Instinctively, his hands went up to guard his face. The boar seemed to realize that it was free. It reared its head back for the killing blow. Grindo clenched his fists in preparation and squeezed his eyes shut.
The blow never came, or at least, he never felt it. In fact, he couldn't even hear anything above the rustling of the leaves. Am I dead? Slowly he opened one eye and then the next. The boar lay on the ground next to his legs, its eyes wide with death. Blood dripped from its mouth slowly. Grindo scrambled to his feet.
To Be Continued....
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