Hey Guardians, I kind of let my fingers go for this part of the story. It felt more like a poem while it was coming into existence. But I guess I was in an imagery mood. If you missed [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/206794875?sort=0&page=0] Part 3: The Darkness Rising[/url] you can check it out by using the link above! Thanks for reading and as always, if you like it, give it a bump and a friendly referral to your literate Guardian allies! Enjoy! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The birds gave me away. My father was a patient man. A hunter. And a good one at that. He was always quiet. Even when he was angry, he seemed to have a patience about him that seemed to control the rushing winds of childhood angst. I never really worried about much for long. He was the Eye of the Storm. I showered with baking soda that morning. And the night before. I had to be odorless. A Ghost. I carried my rifle just like he showed me. I had to be careful. Safe. My face was covered in smudges of dark, muddy green and brown paint. I had to blend in. Unseen. There had been a rain shower the day before and the ground was soft and moist. The air was filled with the smell of wet dirt and trees. Frogs croaked and dragonflies’ wings moved so quickly that they seemed to stand still and move simultaneously. Spiders drained their prey of essential fluids. The Earth gave its blessing to the Circle of Life this day. The buck had no idea that there was a small red dot just next to its heart. He couldn’t smell the 15 year old hunter so focused she could hear the dew falling from leaf to leaf in the canopy above her. He couldn’t see the empathetic coldness in her eyes; he didn’t know that a piece of her was loaded into the chamber simply waiting to be released by the index finger of a quivering right hand. He didn’t feel the bated breaths made visible by translucent condensation on this particularly chilly fall morning. But Winter was coming. Winter and the Devil. It was the first time Dad let me stalk a buck on my own. He always told me I needed to invest in my prey. He said to me, “Before you’re ready to take a life, you need to understand what that life is worth.” He was gorgeous. Everything about my being there seemed a little wrong. The scene just seemed too perfect; I didn’t notice at the time, but I had no reason too. I was focused. The buck didn’t seem to be focused on much. In the cool morning sunlight I watched a dewy spider web trail from the tip of his antler each time he bowed his head to eat. My finger caressed the trigger with the thought of squeezing it and feeling the recoil of Death’s grip. I exhaled slowly. Unseen. The time came for the anticipatory cyclone of thoughts that comes before you make an earth shattering decision to dissipate. Everything stood still. It was the moment. In every fiber of my being I knew I was ready to pull the trigger. To respect our positions within the Circle, I said the prayer Dad had taught me. “Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me. I am small and weak. I need your strength and wisdom. Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice,” I was whispering my prayer with my eyes fixed on the buck as it continued to enjoy its breakfast. “Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.” “ I seek strength, not to be superior to my brother, but to fight my greatest enemy—myself. Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes, so when life fades, as the fading sunset, my spirit will come to you without shame.” As I ended my prayer, I shifted my weight slightly because my left foot had started to fall asleep. Unbeknownst to me, I was standing on a decently thick twig that snapped under my shifting weight. The sudden crack of the branch sent a flock of birds flying into the air, startling the buck which promptly ran away. My father, stepping away from his camouflaged spot in the bushes calmly stated, “ Así es la vida. Nada es seguro. Buen trabajo.” The birds gave them away. They fled for their lives without hesitation or a regard for one another. Yet they all flew as one. The leader of the hunters continued to stand still as his minions hissed and clicked their way toward us at what seemed to be an impossible speed. We didn’t hesitate to run either. Even though we were all wearing helmets (I still wasn’t sure when that happened) I felt like I could truly SEE Sully’s glowing eyes shining with the fear of being on the wrong end of the Darwin stick. I could hear the dull whistling of the wind as my feet carried me faster than I’d ever run before toward the Wall. On either side of me were two Guardians that were equally ill-equipped, running toward a presumed salvation inside a broken Wall. All of us placing our trust in things we didn’t understand. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/207405933] Part 5: The Wall[/url]