The Hunt

No place is sacred.

The monastery stood in silence.

But silence is not safety.

They came not as soldiers—

but as something worse.

Men with hunger beyond command.

Beyond reason.

And inside—

something else was waiting.

The doors of the monastery noisily opened as though the hinges had not been used in the longest time and lacked grease.

Shamini slowly stood up and called to her daughter, but Zehera had fainted.

Through the open wooden doors appeared a hooded monk in a brown garb, holding a thin candle in the grip of his bare palms, his arms cloaked under the bulky sleeves of his robe.

Shamini could not see the monk’s eyes which were covered under the garb’s hood.

From the light of the candle’s flame, she saw that the person was a man, from his chiseled jawline, mouth, and chin.

“Holy monk…please help my daughter…please help us…there are hounds chasing us…please we are fleeing danger…” Shamini said frantically as she knelt beside Zehera .