Standing perfectly silent, hardly daring to breath, Donathar Jordan listened to the stillness of the night, the silense was so mute it provoked a ringing sound of blood in his ears. Nothing. Still he waited, he knew he had heard it. The faint crush of gravel as a footstep unsettled the ground. The intruder was somewhere on the other side. Still Donathar was unsure if that one was aware of his presense in the vincinity. Sure, the intruder must know that the plant was warded during the nights. However did they know he was so nearby, did they know they were discovered, or at least noted. He was not sure, he wasn't taking any chanses, he knew nothing about the other one. Didn't know what arms they carried, their strength or purpose. All he knew was the pistol he was clutcing, he took pride in his ability to handle it, his aim and his speed. Still, it was nothing if you didn't know your enemy. If you didn't know where your enemy was.
What was that? Had he heard it? A short intake of breath?
Then the still was broken by the shrill call of a nightjar, the flutter of wings, and he took a chanse, and dashed around the pump, pistol in both hands, taking aim. But there wasn't anything to be seen. Rapidly he turned, pointed the weapon to the left, to the right. Nothing. It was after that he looked down - to find the body. He knew the man was dead in the very instance he laid his eyes on him. No one can bleed that much and still be alive. But who had killed him and where was that one now?
Once again, the sound of silense was shattered, this time by a starting engine somewhere, a motorbike accellerating and dissapearing in the distance.
A mystery. Someone had died here tonight. But why? And by whom?