He heard the slight rustling of leaves, the tiniest betrayal of his presence. Was it a ruse? A trick? Possibly. All could be decided in a moment; the constant razor's edge of combat, in which there was no quarter, and nothing but cunning and instinct would lead to survival.

He paused, casting about with his free hand as he crouched down, finally finding a decent-sized stone. Keeping his eyes focused on the path ahead of him, he tossed it ahead of him, slightly to the left of his path.

Perhaps, just perhaps, his opponent was nervous. Perhaps he would fire, giving away his position. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. He leveled the pistol at the darkness, waiting for the flash of a muzzle.