He is sitting quietly up against an old oak tree lost in thoughts not meant for the world.
The only sound is the wind which blows back his dark hair and presses his clothes tight against his body.
Beyond him is a field where wild grass tries and fails to stand against the wind’s power. Among the tall grass another man stands, the steel of his blade reflecting the bright sunlight like a common, household mirror.
He lets the wind push him forward towards the tree, as if there are a million other things he’d rather be doing. His face is a mask of calm, but his tensed shoulders betray his reluctance. He has come to this place to kill, to add to the growing list of names and faces that entered the next life by his hand.
This reluctance is nothing new to him, just as the fact that this next target’s face will stay with him until the next one comes to replace it.
He is nearly within striking distance when the other man opens his eyes and sees him for the first time.
The man’s eyes go wide and the assassin smiles.