Mist Kills

the beginning of a new short story

Mist clung to the cloak I wore. Gray, foreboding and unfriendly the mist never moved in the breeze. Wind blew strong, never letting down for a weary traveler. The gods seemed to favor no man for this day I was sent to exact revenge for my lord, the good King Richard. My life has been devoted to the arts of stealth, unseen strikes and quick death. I only receive orders form the King himself so no man has any power over me. Leaves blew by as rabbits stood to stare. Pulling the cloak closer to keep the cold out I had to stop for the day, another day lost to his god forsaken fog. Another day delayed in helping another life along the path to heaven and hell. The ground was soaked through so with each step I left a small indent and a puddle in the heel. The track agitated me for they could be followed and I prided myself by leaving no tracks. Huddling in the roots of a tree I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my self in the cloak. Heat radiated from my body warming the small space quickly. Closing my eyes I awaited the for the noon sun to rise and dispel this ominous fog. I never dream. For if I let myself dream I would lose my soul to the torment that awaited it in dreams. Training for many years I am now able to sleep only a half sleep recharge my body and mind but remain aware of  that was around me. Listening to sounds of the wind, the critters and the woods I relaxed and submersed my mind in the tranquility and peace of rest.