Stories: Alias Smith and Jones

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He watched intently, still and silent, tracing the smallest movement with his eyes. The rise and fall was slow and slight, but he was sure it was there, as sure as he could be in the diminishing light, as the embers of the fire receded to little more than a glow.

There it was again, an only just perceivable fluctuation. His eyes began to sting with the strain of looking. Blinking away the dryness, he continued watching. That was all he could do. Watch the movement, watch and hope that he could still see it and that it didn't stop.

He kept his vigil through the long, dark...
by Lana Coombe - Comments: 5 - Views: 1731
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