Roland gripped the single javelin in his right hand and scanned the room from the catwalk. He did his best to calm his breathing and control the small tremors that came from nervousness.
“Calm down.” He thought. “You've done this countless times before.” He glared down at the open door, then readied the small spear to be thrown.
“Likewise.” He replied in a hushed tone to this Red Eyes. “And don't worry about me missing. I could plant this spear in his head from fifty meters, if need be.”
The young wolf had killed before. To him taking a life in defence of himself and others was just another task to be completed for the greater good, a kin to chopping wood or finding bog-iron. Not necessary rewarding, but a job that needed to be done for the betterment of a community.
Roland's ears perked up a bit as he heard the sound of foot-falls on gravel. He turned to Red Eyes and gave a bit of a nod. “Four shots.” He thought. “Four spears in as many seconds when the rogue slave enters.”
Word Count :: 190
.RolandBites { background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/pAx33.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position: top center; background-color:#363430; width:450px; margin:0px auto; text-align: left; padding:500px 0px 10px 0px; color:#a6a09a; font-family:arial, georgia, serif; font-size:12px; line-height:18px; border:1px solid #a6a09a; outline:1px solid #000000;}
.RolandBites b {color:#b8cac1; }
.RolandBites p { text-indent:40px; padding:5px 15px; margin:0px; }
.RolandBites p.ooc { font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; }
</style>
[/html]