Christopher Rowley

IT WAS the sight of those demonic eyes that told me I was close to my quarry.

I would recognize those distinguished eyes anywhere—large cat-like irises filled with green color around the opening. They finally seemed to notice me after nearly twenty minutes of scouting this wooded mountainside that it called home.

The next move it made would be very telling. It would either regard me as a predator and attack, or it would think that so far I was a harmless annoyance and continue feeding.

For right now, it seemed not to sense my dangerous intent yet—something that could prove fatal to it in the long run.

For several tense seconds, the Marshapit regarded me coolly, keeping those cat-like eyes trained on me until it decided that the rumbling in its stomach was more important than I was. When it lowered its head again to graze, I extended one leg slowly, being careful to step in a spot that wouldn’t generate any noise.

The walking stick definitely helped. I could test the ground where I was about to step, ensuring no noises would catch me by surprise.

I guess if I was being technical about it, I could have moved forward with the use of Teleport, but it took all the fun out of what I was trying to do.

Marshapit hunting wasn’t for the faint of heart. It took steel courage and brass balls to get this close, relying on one’s two feet and good instincts alone. And I wasn’t about to let my prey get away from me.

Judy Hemric

Depths of Ambition - A LitRPG Saga Part 4

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