No movement other than the flicker of an eyelid betrayed the Old Predators presence as he scanned the ambush site for movement his trusty weapon of choice clasped in a sinewy right hand. He had taken up his chosen position at the side of the clearing while the sun descended ever lower on its slow arc to the western horizon and temporary oblivion.

Past experience had taught the old man well. He was well aware of the suns reluctance to surrender its position of dominance to the approaching darkness. He was also aware that this struggle for dominance would probably allow him enough light by which to carry out his mission. He knew he would need to act swiftly and silently if he was to succeed.

Observations from two previous sorties with some careful stalking, had determined where and when would be the best time and position from which to strike with the greatest chance of success. His preys inbred instinct for survival and uncanny ability to sense imminent danger, coupled with excellent vision, made an undetected attack across the open clearing almost impossible in daylight.

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