EREBUS
Standing on the front porch of the small cabin I absentmindedly wipe my hands on my pants. I have never had sweaty palms in my whole life and here I am standing in front of a cabin that is no more than a shack sweating my balls off. Raising my hand to knock on the door it flies open before I get the chance. An elderly, but large man is standing in the doorway with a very large shotgun pointed at my head. Instinctively I growl loudly and the sound echoes off the trees surrounding the forest. The man enveloping the doorway does not flinch against my anger, he only c***s the shotgun in response.
Only a hunter would be brave enough to stand against me. “Walter Nash, I assume?” I cannot suppress the smirk that crosses my lips as the man tightens his arms around the gun.
