A Question of Honor
The snow pushes into the cold of my face from the chasm below. My eyebrows are heavy with icicles. I cannot think I do not know how long I have been standing up here. Below me, bone chilling winds whip around climbing the sides of the steep canyon, but I wait. If it weren't for these gloves my hands would have froze around the wooden stock. I need less than a minute that is all. I know he will pass this way even in this god forsaken weather. Once it is done, I will leave here and never return. That is the way it must be.