Lone Wolf.
As he lays his weary head on a rolled up jacket, nothing but silence of the desert and rustling of tumbleweed for company. Tried as hard as he could, sleep just wouldn't come. Every now and again, He'd find himself staring up into inky black skies.
From a distance, he hears a hawk scream. A smile creeps onto his scarred, worn face. In that moment, he is reminded of the Red Indian Apache's war cry which resembled a scream that of a hawk.
Instantly, he is brought back to his past some twenty odd years ago.
A tattered camp-site stood before him and he looks down to find a smoothbore musket in arm. Scanning his surroundings, he notes the arrival of rival Apache clans upon the horizon. Alerting others to the imminent danger and taking cover, he lies in wait.
Battle drums blare and in less than a minute, the native Apache army was ripped asunder. All survivors were rounded up and put to the firing squad. As the commander shouted the signal, all the survivors screamed in unison the Apache war cry - "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHA!" Just as soon as it began, their screams were ended by a volley of gunshots.
The loner soon returns to the present and is greeted by the hawk taking perch on a tree stump next to him. He recognises the bird, not as a fiend nor foe, but that of a long lost friend. Smiling, he asks, "Come to take me to where you've gone have ye?"
welcome to my humble all-purpose virtual abode.
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