Ficlets

Team Handed

No Hunter prowled at sunset. Smaller things retreated into nests of loose wires, twigs, and other bits of shrapnel, and the dystrphic foliage of the irradiated trees was colored orange by the last rays of orange sunlight that filtered through. That glow filled whatever remained afoot with an infamous aggression, turning foragers into man-eaters, recluses into flesh-renders. But the mute stranger, who shot truer than his parts should allow, and who carried that borrowed knife like a pet’s leash, gave Buckler the courage to take down the big game.
He watched the stranger watch the forest. The man’s eyes never moved—they took everything in at once with unnaturally large pupils. Buckler raised a hand to point at a far-off twinkle. Then he heard something rustle directly behind. Buckler shot around and drew his gun, too late. The beast was upon him.

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