Enemies, the mace was the best weapon.
There's nothing for us in Ward Three. Not anymore. Milosh had been a nomad since before he truly understood what the word meant. His mother had played with the idea of conformity but had never been too fond of it, which made leaving the Breeder barracks in buy instagram followers Ward Eight all the easier once she realized that she was pregnant with her first babe. For Milosh, the world had always been a place of potential. He'd never be free, not with the Church making the rules, but being a part of the tribe was pretty damn close as far as he was concerned. If he worked hard, if he did his part, then there was no limit to what he could do. When he instagram wasn't playing sentry, he usually spent lazy afternoons with a weaver by the name of Dooriya. She was funny, she was sweet, and while she wasn't as pretty as some, she kissed him like his mouth was soaked in the strongest of ales. In his mind that made up for what she lacked in the looks department. Though, in all fairness, buy instagram followers he'd hit most, if not all, of the branches when he'd fallen from the ugly tree. A fact that his peers were always eager to remind him of. The point was that Milosh understood his own weaknesses. He knew himself. He knew what he wanted, what he buy instagram followers could accomplish, and what he was good at. He was no Casanova, but he was a damn good guard and hunter. He was so good, in buy instagram followers fact, that he was the first, and only, one of the scouts who managed to spot the creature before the bloodshed began. Not that seeing it meant that he was able to stop it. It began as a shadow. An idea. A threat. But shadows didn't move in slow, measured steps. They didn't stalk through the night and turn the surrounding darkness away as if even the night were reluctant to lay hands upon it. When there was meat to be found, Milosh had always been the one chosen to lead the expedition. He had a gift, one that allowed him to feel the touch of inhuman eyes, the intent, the hunger that ruled the larger meat-eating beasts of the wild. He'd learned not to question that sense of danger, not to hesitate. His skin rippled, electricity running across his nerves, and he lifted his hunting bow and took aim, eyes squinting, trying to see what http://oneeyedeer.com/
his body had only been able to sense. There. A flash of pale skin from the corner of his eye, a growl in the dark. He turned, his notched arrow already pointing directly at the creature's heart before his mind registered what he'd been about to kill. It was just a man. A scruffy looking one at that. Frail, and covered in dried, red dirt. The tension in his arm eased a bit as he examined the man, the point of the arrow angling downwards as he took him in. The stranger was far enough away that Milosh was confident he'd be able to get a shot off in time if the man turned out to be a threat. The newcomer was thin to the point of instagram emancipation, his bones painfully obvious beneath tightly stretched skin. His skin was a faded brown, as if he used to be darker but lack of sun and proper nutrition had bleached the richness from the tone. Eyes so bloodshot they were more red than brown raked hungrily over Milosh. His hair, hanging long and thick down his back, was matted with