Taren struggled to raise the crossbow to his shoulder.  The weapon was
 built for a grown man, and was much too heavy for the boy.  He gnashed his 
 teeth together and slid the nose of the bow onto the stone wall in front of
 him.  Fortunately the string was already set.  Taren was not strong enough to
 set it on his own.  He grabbed the bolt from where he had placed it on the
 wall and jammed it into its groove on the bow.  There would only be the chance
 for one shot.
	Closing one eye, Taren sighted down the bow towards the lone
 mercenary.  The black clad man had been hired to track Taren down and steal
 the cloak back.  What happened to the boy didn’t matter.  He could be left
 dead just as well as alive.
	The mercenary was still hundreds of feet away, but he knew where Taren
 was hiding and he was closing in fast.  Taren felt his chest heaving as his
 lungs sucked air in and forced it back out again rapidly.  He closed both eyes
 for a moment and tried to relax his breathing – he must have a clear mind for
 this.  Taren had never shot a cross bow before.  He knew he could not rely on
 his aim, so he would wait until his pursuer was directly in front of him.  He
 could not panic or the bolt would miss for sure.
	He opened his eyes again.  The mercenary rode a swift horse and had
 quickly filled the gap between them.  Taren watched as he raced closer.
 Closer, closer.  Suddenly, without really thinking about it, Taren sprang into
 action.  He was faintly aware of the scream escaping his lips.  He almost
 didn’t notice as his muscles went to work lugging the crossbow up to aim.  His
 finger pulled the trigger.  The horse flew into the air over the stone wall,
 almost on top of the boy.  The butt of the bow slammed into Taren’s shoulder,
 forcing him over backwards.  His head struck a rock.  His brain rattled.
        Everything went dark.

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