Hidden in the thick bushes around the road we wait, silently expecting the convoy that we know to pass through here sometime this week. The pack is getting restless after three days of waiting partly dug into the ground, but we must be patient. We must remain here to wait for them, for they carry with them many goods essential to our survival.
Suddenly, I feel the silence of my surroundings heighten, as if even all the small traces of life that were around me before had stopped. I listen very carefully, and yes, there it is: a sound of hooves on the sand approaching us. A scout, most probably. Carefully I take a deep breath, the last one for a while.
As the rider passes the cliffside into the pass guarded by us, I try to get a clear picture of him through the leaves. A slender man, he is, dressed in the manner of the valley people, and carrying a small horn with him, no doubt to warn the others if anything should threaten them here. The man rides into our direction, eyeing the bushes suspiciously for some length of time. At one point, it seems that his eyes are looking almost directly into mine, but he soon looks elsewhere, apparently not noticing anything special. He then rides back, leaving us waiting for the rest.
Soon they arrive with their wagons, three in total, with only a handful of men guarding them. The men have weapons, sure, but they should prove only a small hindrance, if any. Still silent, we wait for them to arrive right into the middle of our trap before we attack. As the first wagon crosses a certain predetermined point, I jump forward from my hiding hole, charging as planned towards the first guard with my packmates by my side. The battle is on, and my mouth drools already with the anticipation of blood.
The prey reacts quickly, however. The guards raise their weapons, firing at us, even felling a few before we get to them. I do not have the time to ponder the significance of this as I lunge towards my target, who points his sidearm at me, pulling the trigger. In my rage I almost take delight in the anticipation of the pain, insignificant yet energizing. However, as the projectile hits my shoulder, my pain easily exceeds my expectations, making me stagger a bit. Silver!
My right arm useless, I take my revenge on the shooter with the claws of the other. The man falls down, spilling blood all over, but still manages to shoot me again. I feel my innards explode as the silver bullet enters my stomach, felling me to the ground. There I lay, writhing in agony, able to do nothing to help myself or the others. I can but wait for the battle to end so that I could be either healed or finished off, and even the waiting subsides as I slowly drift into darkness...