Hunter

The time when the sun was bathing 

naked in fire.

He stood like a statue his very breath

changing the direction of the wind.

His eyes roving the edge of the glade, for any movement, a prey tied to a tree bleats in a weak voice out off boredom or fear.

The hunter not stone hearted like the rest off his clan, feels for the bait and the prey. 

Never has he shot a bird in flight neither rabbit nor deer.

Skilled at many a weapon the bow and arrow his best.

Uses them sparingly only to protect animal or one off his kind.

This evening he is committed to bring down a cheetah bitten by a rabid dog.

Fear off spreading the madness to occupants of the glade.

The sun slowly slips closer to the earth casting long shadows, harbinger of the dark night ahead.

The hunter becomes more alert for if he misses the prey, the bait would die a helpless death.

Let us leave this kind and brave man with a prayer on our lips that he succeeds in his endeavor.