Beads of sweat poured down his brow and began to fill the hallows of his closed eyes. Dark hair, damp by perspiration, clung around his temples. his breathing was heavy and labored. his chest heaved, and his breath caught, causing his body to rack in a dry and painful cough. A trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.
he was lying on a bed of moss and pine needles. Secluded in a forest of green. blanketed by shadows and chill night air.
A dog bayed in the distance. it was followed by more, and shouts of men. they had found his scent. and they were coming to finish him off.
the man heaved himself up on a shaky elbow. his muddied hand touched his chest and he gasped in pain. he leaned back on a small slender tree, panting. he was scared. he knew he was going to die. sticky blood mixed with grim covered his hands, and fresh blood was still seeping from his wound. the
cavity in his chest caused from the lead bullet was buried deep inside. he coughed again. More blood from the corner of his mouth.
the sound of the baying pack of savage hounds grew closer. the voices grew louder. the crashing of underbrush. his heart pounded. fear shimmered in the light that flickered through the shadows in his eyes. he clutched his rifle. The buttons on his soldier coat gleamed. he set his jaw against the pain that stabbed his chest and the fear that chilled his veins.
the beams of a flashlight swept closer. and closer. the man could hear the dull thud of boots on the damp pine needles. the heavy breathing of his pursuers. he could feel the light rain as it fell and misted him. a chill shivered through him.
but there was something he did not hear anymore. the sound of the crazed dogs, wild with excitement over the manhunt, was gone. The slobbering chops and snorts were gone. the blood curdling bay. Was gone. the man raised his head wearily and strained his eyes. There was nothing. nothing but darkness. and silence. they had veered off his trail.
suddenly, the stealthy step of a man two feet away from his feet froze him. turning his eyes only, he made out the form of a crouching man. He tried to hold his breath. but it snagged in his throat; he was strangling for air. he choked and fell back heaving. it was too late. he was discovered. he was as good as dead.
Dead! if he had had the strength, he would have laughed. he already was dead; or, almost. He thought bitterly of the day he'd signed up for the military. he'd been a cocky nineteen year old jerk who knew for sure he would come back. he had been so confident in himself. confident he'd return a hero. well, now he wouldn't return at all. ...at least the rotten enemy had not killed the rest of his small band. he had made sure of that.
The pursuer heard his strangled sound and was at his side in a flash. he put his hands on the dying man's chest. "William? William?"
William convulsed. Blood dribbled down his chin and his eyes widened in the darkness. this was not the enemy! this was Dirk... his best friend and first lieutenant. why had he come back?! he should have fled the enemy, when he had had the chance.
"William, it is I," said the man. he touched the red stained jacket, identical to his own. more blood gurgled out. "William, it is too late, isn't it?"
William struggled to breathe. he tried to form words. "Dirk..." his life was draining out.
"William, why did you do it?" his voice was filled with emotion. tears blurred his eyes. he grasped the limp hand. "why?"
William stirred his last breath. "To save you."
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