Sweat dripped down his brow and pooled on his upper lip. His bandana, tied behind his head, was a soggy wet mess, but it prevented sweat from getting into his eyes and burning.
Those eyes; deep, brown eyes that were highlighted by little gold flecks.
Those eyes were quick and intelligent, and could easily read souls, surprisingly, those eyes held kindness and insight.
He'd seen his share of hearts. First in the war, then by the small graveside near the valley and, lastly, he had the daily reminder of the half of a faded denim shirt sleeve pinned neatly at his elbow.
He saw her first, a movement near the barn next door. He thought it was a varmit. God knows there were many, but this movement was not from an animal. Approaching slowly with his hand on the axe, thumb stroking the smooth wood handle, he walked quiet for such a solid man. Nothing was ever exactly as it appeared. His eyes darted left and right as he moved with more intent toward the movement.
She stood in the tall grass. Her torn shirt sleeve hanging loosely over one bare shoulder. The sleeve had little white dots on a navy blue material. Her hair, knarly and dark, fell over a thin, pale forehead. Her eyes widened as he approached.
He forgot he held an axe that may frighten a young woman. What he wasn't prepared for was the veracity in which she leaped at him from nowhere and reached, clawing for his eyes. Already half-blinded since that accident decades ago, he acted swiftly. She was no match for his honed survival skills. His one remaining hand flicked to dislodge the girl and she spun into.the high grass filled with briars and swamp grass then landed, inert, under a cold, brooding sky.
This is my five
minute freewrite using prompt share hosted by @mariannewest.
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Wow, I didn't see that ending coming! Scary stuff!
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