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This is a short short writing I had to do for college. As you may or may not know (most likely not) I am an English major. My "professor" placed four phrases on the blackboard and we had to write a story using all four phrases. This was the result and it has no real title, so feel free to dub it as you will.

Enjoy.

The cold southern wind was blowing mercilessly, chilling my face and immobilizing it. Nonetheless, I kept firm with a steady, unblinking stare into the horizon. They were coming, I knew it, I felt it. Though my eyes could not see them, the wind brought me tidings of that which went on beyond the horizon. The time had come, I best be prepared.

I was in no mood to talk to anyone, least of all the other men back at the camp. I had been sent up this hill as a scout, to keep watch and send warning of any danger. I knew their pursuer, I knew their allegiance, yet they knew not mine, my true alignment. Yes, they were coming, but that was not the only warning carried by the wind. The first was aimed at the fugitives at the camp at the foot of this hill, the latter, was aimed at me.

"Hell", I said, "can't I just feel for once the wind caress my cheek and bring peace with it rather than doom?" No one was around me as to hear that remark, yet it wasn't intended for any human ears, but the wind's. It had been uttered into an to that soft breeze which was gently turning into a gale. A gale which urged me to move.

The phone they had given me as to warn them faster of incoming forces started ringing now. No doubt it was them, wondering what had happened to me, worried, not for my well-being, but theirs. The dense foliage which covered this "watch post" kept them from seeing me, just as it kept them from seeing their captors who by now were surely closing in on the camp already.

A single shot breaks the still silence, giving way to the dreaded stillness of death. As a flock of birds take off from close by treetops, more gun bursts and shout are heard. The strife had started. Turning around I began walking and dropped the still ringing phone on the snow covered grass. I kept a steady pace away from the phone's call, the gun bursts, they screaming; from the guilt, just as I had so many times before. I picked up my own pace, the phone kept ringing and I could not afford being caught. My allegiances were neither with the fugitives nor their captors; they lie elsewhere.

They always do.