Cornered in a small clearing, he squared his shoulders, picked up his head, and looked me right in the eye, judging me. I was close enough to watch him sneer.
My rifle raised, I traced a line through the gap between his front legs, up to the center of the black mass of muscle that formed his chest.
Behind two feet of muscle…his heart and malice. Mine was filled with fear.
Continue reading South Africa and a Black Death Dream Hunt at The Truth About Guns.
Powered by WPeMatico
