It wasn’t long before I could see the dust kicked up in the distance from the pack I had been following. I knew they were hurt and could see it in their movement. They moved quick but I was moving quicker.
My long barrel could have taken them all there and then, and really it should have. I hadn’t time to be wastin’ away from the stead as I was.
I thought of simple things as I headed uphill; my fire stoked oven, hard chair, dust particles changing the hue of the room to match my lonely heart.
From here I knew a trail that tracked the edge of the ridge along the length of the valley. Before we were half way across I would be upon them with a vantage point to pick every single one of them off before they knew where I was. I was a fast shot, even with my long barrel.
I wondered how Tim and Casey Johnson were getting along, just East of my trail, just over the ridge. My trail ran North-South. I had come from the North and was heading South following this rogue pack of wolves that had taken two of my lambs. I was born a tracker, and these were my lands. The wolf was my birth sign, but my lambs were my right.
[note: to read the full epic track my land]