Dangerous Men

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


“That was a warning shot, d-bee. Try anything funny and there won't be enough left of you worth burying.”

Burning trees cast the area in a sinister play of crimson against the night's shadows. The rippling light twisted the soldiers into gross parodies of men.

The three men who had been huddling around a campfire gathered to their feet. All three were tall and fit with Adam being the broadest and most muscular.

Adam raised his open hands. “We want no trouble, friend.”

Marshall removed his hat revealing long black hair tied into a ponytail. “We were lost and didn't know

this was your land.”

Lion-O narrowed his eyes thoughtfully but didn't say anything.

An androgynous voice from the back said, "They're wary more than anything else. No psychic stink to speak of."

The leader touched the side of his helmet and nodded. “Collect your things, we're to escort you to Outpost Dangerfield. These woods are dangerous at night and evil can take any form.” Their guns never wavered, still trained on the three men.


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