The rain dripped off his down pointed sword, as he stood, rock still and silent, straining to hear the telltale footfall of his enemy. The gentle hiss of the rain, as it fell to the pebbled forecourt of the ruined church, only served to smother the sounds he hoped to hear, needed to hear. He had stripped the chained mail from his head and it lay across the top of his back like a hood. He breathed slow and measured breaths through his mouth, so as to make no sound. He stood at the ready, his enemy by darkness hidden.