​Kukri
 
            Two sharp curved blades worn crossed on his lower back. Deadly, accurate, well kept, each a dark ebony. Notches carved deliberately near the blade. The young bowman had received these from his older brother even before he carried a bow as a means of protection. Each notch shows clearly on the blades and he feels and carries them in his soul. The two bring death but also protect. Though incredibly light, they weigh heavily on him. He wishes he could let them go and ease his burden but that would leave him vulnerable to the malformations just beyond the walls. It had been five years since he was placed into that crowded bus and three years with these knives. They grow heavier every day.
            He moved nimbly up and across each precisely placed post on every tree that encircled the haven. Movement caught his eye and he stopped suddenly to inspect the disturbance. He readied his bow and silently drew an arrow from the quiver on his back. The bow string tightened as the arrow drew back and was aimed to meet its target. The arrow was freed, and it soared with incredible speed ripping and contorting the air until it struck the target in the side of its neck. The victim fell to the ground and whimpered as it struggled until dead.
            The next arrow was set in place for the second target which was struck at the back of the head granting the animal a winged death. The third caught on to the others and attempted to rush at him. The sentry jumped down from his post and closed in with fleet-footed speed. He hurriedly fired his arrow and sent the easy mark down to the earth. It struggled to rise, but its leg was too badly injured. He drew two sharp curved blades from his sides as he approached the fallen. It raised its head and before its eyes could meet his, he severed the life of the injured to end its suffering in one swift movement.
            The archer completed his route and let himself relax to eat his hard roll and dried beef he had brought for dinner. It was tough, tasteless, and provided just enough sustenance to keep him going. He nestled up in one of the treetops and let himself be carried to sleep. He awoke as he felt the cold sink into his muscles. The marksman had overslept, and he was in a hurry to return to the haven before the dying of the light. He ran as fast as his legs could allow but the gate was locked tight. He struck the gate and cried out for a response, but none was offered.
            The top of a tall tree offered his only refuge. The haunting howls of the wilds below carried through the whirling wind.
            “I’ve been through a lot worse than this. Only...I wasn’t alone then.”
            As the long, cold night gave way to the light, he spotted an animal that was wounded on its side. His arrow drew from the quiver, the bow tightened, and the whistling peacemaker made its connection. The hunted was put out of its misery.
            The young bowman admired the sunrise in all its glory. Filled with warmth he softly returned to the safety, monotony, and comfort of the gray walls of the safe haven.
            The prey lay motionless on the forest floor looking upward towards the orange glow of the new day as the light fleeted from its brilliant blue eyes.