Under grey eyebrows, covered with tired eyelids, eyes of the old man looked at the warm fire of the candle. He saw the fire reflect his dashing youth, remembered the taste of past battles, remembering the beautiful maidens with whom he spent a delightful evening...Gone youth. The skin is cut with wrinkles, and his hair and beard become whiter than snow. But the eyes, the eyes remained the same. In them burns the same fire of life, and sixty years ago. And hands still famously managed with any bladed weapon. Even the string of her powerful bow he draws, as before. So, inspired by memories, he took off his baggy hoodie, wore leather boots, trousers of black silk, leather harness with throwing knives, was surrounded with a dagger, took a quiver with bow and arrows, and went hunting that night.
The old warrior was not used to set snares and traps on animals. He valued only real competition, without deception and lies. He was walking in the forest at night a quick steady pace, miraculously without hitting tree branches and bushes. Somewhere in the distance was heard the roar of the rapids of a mountain river. Hunter went to the water, hoping to catch at a watering hole of some large animal.
To be continued...