The sun is gone. It’s time. I begin the ritual as I have done
so many times in the past. It is an ancient rite, yet it’s still as potent as the
day the first hunters first performed it.
I dip two fingers into the red paste made from the life
force of lower beings whose sole purpose for existing is to sustain me and
enhance my faculties.
I repeat the words as I paint my body:
“I call upon the eagle to make my eye sharper than his,
The winged bat that my ears may detect the tiniest
vibration,
The fox that my mind may be sharper than my foe’s,
The bear to give power to my hold and my strike,
The snake that I may move undetected,
The cheetah so my legs will carry me faster than the wind.”
It is done. I feel the power flowing into me, heightening my
senses, enlarging my capacities. Some may say this is overkill for such a
simple and weak target, but I refuse cut corners.
Not again.
I underestimated an opponent once. That mistake still haunts
me every moment of every day. Even my dreams aren’t safe from the memory. Someday
I will correct that mistake.
Someday.
