The tall man crouched at the end of the forest, his silver head barely peeking out from behind the crumbled stump of the scorched tree. I can see he is waiting. Waiting for his friends; waiting for those who will not come. Waiting even as his blood drips red upon the forest floor.
His crouched form trembles in indecision. ‘Should I stay and wait, or should I return and search for them?’ The thought is as clear as if he had spoken it aloud. He rises to half stand, then squats back down; he repeats this motion twice more before hanging his head and covering it with his red hands. Even from this distance I can see his eyes shift back and forth then finally retreating to gaze inward.
Without warning he has risen to his full height and begins to sprint in the direction to which he has first arrived. He is bent over, his head tucked neatly between his hunched shoulders as he bends and weaves to make himself less of a target. I see that he is headed for a small outcrop of boulders. I know he will not make it and even if he does, there is quite an expanse of open land before the next haven. And yet, I sense he knows this. But still he is running for the rocks.
He is a foolish man; surely his friends are already dead or dying in the shallow valley. There is nothing this man can do. But still, he tries. He is now nearing his shelter and I see his opposition rise from their hiding, arrows trained on their quarry. Amazingly, he sees this and, even as he runs, he pulls free the strange black fire weapon and aims it in their direction. The weapon bucks and jerks in his arms as the fire shoots from its point. I watch as three…four…five of the men are knocked from their feet as they are hit. They fall, unmoving, to lay on the ground amongst their lesser weapons, but not before the silver haired man is struck by one of their arrows. He stumbles, nearly falls, but propels himself onward toward the rocks.
Perhaps I should amend my earlier supposition; this man is not a fool, but courageous and strong. For who else would continue to risk his life for his friends?
I watch from my perch in the tall tree. Well hidden, I feel like I am not a participant, but rather a spectator as I watch this man battle the forces below me.
He has finally reached the boulders. To my surprise I see him scan the horizon in two quick sweeps before jumping out in the field anew. He is exposed once again, but he seems not to care or even notice, his goal evident: the valley. He continues to fire his alien weapon as he runs, his agile and graceful movements evading harm even as it brings him nearer to his desired destination.
I watch enthralled as he rises over the ridge, more soldiers fall around him, brought down by his barking fire weapon. He is about to disappear from my sight and I murmur a remembered prayer. I fear what will happen when he finds the battered and bloody bodies of his comrades lying in that lowland. I count slowly as I wait for him to reemerge.
…146,147,148—the strange barking of his weapon is silenced and I can hear nothing but my beating heart. An unnatural stillness spreads through the land, allaying even the once forceful wind that had swept through not moments before. A strangled scream cuts through the air and I know that he has found his fallen friends. A shiver runs up my spine and I am not sure if it is caused by the anguished cry or the cold wind that is once again cutting through the trees.
As if perfectly in tuned with the silver haired man’s despair, the land grows dark as large thunderclouds roll closer, covering the sun. A loud clap of thunder reverberates through the valley and the stranger’s fire weapon starts barking once again.
I expel a breath I was not even aware that I was holding as I see the silver headed man mount the crest. Slung over one shoulder is a yellow haired woman that I recognized to be one of his friends. Behind them stumbled a large dark skinned man, a smaller man cradled in his arms like a cherished child. This cannot be; they are not all dead. The pair marched onward in a clipped pace, stumbling often but never falling—always vigilant.
They are almost to the great circle, they are so close. I can not allow this to happen. My finger tightens on the crossbow trigger. I close one eye and take a steadying breath as I place my target on point. With the slightest increase of pressure, the bow releases the bolt and it flies swiftly to find its target. The impact is silent but I can hear the rather loud exhaling breath of my target an instant before my own. The man falls face first onto the ground, the force of the impact driving the arrow back up through his chest and further out his back. I allow myself an instant of praise; never had I let fly a more perfect shot. I smile.
The silver haired man turns in surprise, his attention drawn by the solid thud of his fallen enemy. I can tell he is shocked at the close proximity of the aggressor as well as the fact that he has been struck down. His eyes begin a search for me, his savior. I am well hidden and yet he spots me. Our eyes catch and he offers a quick grin in gratitude. I nod in acknowledgment and return the smile.
I watch the silver haired warrior turn away and begin activating the stone circle. With great care and effort, he helps his friends through. And just as he is about to step through the portal, he turns and finds my eyes again. In a swift motion he raises his right arm, the edge of his hand touching his forehead where it hovers for a moment before being abruptly dropped. I mimic the motion. He grins again and disappears through the shimmering blue wall.
End.
© March 25, 2001 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.