After sitting in the bush for a short time he sighed, he was far behind whoever he was following. Or atleast he thought he has, he could sit here all day, maybe a week if some animals stopped by, but nothing would have gotten done.<br/><br/>He picked up his sickle, looking at the long simply curved blade, a sharp point, it was only a useful tool at full arms reach, made for cutting and leaving wounded, sure it could cut through bone, that takes much more force, and would take more than a split second.<br/><br/>Hearing leaf crunching coming from the path he had taken, his thoughts stopped. Looking down the path through the woods he saw a girl following him.<br/><br/>This couldn't have been who was following him, she was much to light to make the imprints he was following. A full grown man had to have made the prints. She was almost good looking, the scars and hair were a slight turn off but no one was really on the better looking side anymore, you either had the parts or didn't, simple.<br/><br/>Dante reached for his knife, he had to make a choice, kill her or talk to her. She seamed tired, her heavy breathing could have meant anger or exhaustion, her tattered cloth could have meant scavenger or needy killer.<br/><br/>If she was following him, she may have been part of the raiding group that got him, or one of the captives they took.<br/><br/>"Come out murderer.. death, sickle man. Pay your dues"<br/><br/>…<br/><br/>Alright, she wasn't friendly, he finally assumed and kept hidden, hardly breathing. He knew the average breath rate of a human was between twelve and twenty breaths per minute. From tracking he also knew that without trying a human could only hear differences in breathing or sharp sounds in breathing. Being a hunter for his tribe helped with that, He lowered his to a constant thought, keeping between five and fifteen per minute.<br/><br/><br/>Moving from the bush he was at to one generally behind her, seeing the rage fill her features as he continues to stay hidden. Fear trickled down his spine, it had been a long time since he had killed a man, a week before he had left his tribe. He'd never so much as touched a woman in such a way.<br/><br/>Picking up a small stone he threw it to the side of a tree making the sound echo off the other trees around them. If he hadn't of thrown it he never would have known where it landed.<br/><br/>He fitted his sickle into his hand and waited for an action.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>