There is no creature with greater stealth than a vampire
hunting. Agros, a prince of darkness, leads his nest towards a speck of light
in the forest. Only the night owls turn their head in recognition. The vampires
arouse no interest from the little scavengers of the night. It could have been
immediately or a few seconds but in no time the nest of vampires was looking
into the gypsy encampment.
A central
fire is all the light in the campground. Intriguingly decorated wagons
surrounded the fire asymmetrically. There were no empty spaces between them.
Makeshift tents put together with ropes tied to the wagons and large colorful
hanging sheets created the extra living space the tribe needed. No sentries
could be seen. Nothing stirred, not even a mouse.
If Agros
could feel happiness he would have smiled at the sight. It was going to be a
blood fest. Without a signal the nest leaped into the encampment.
(To Be
Continued.)
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