The Ranger Chapter 1

Prologue


Black clouds rolled through the sky dropping wet pellets. As violent gigantic waves mirrored the clouds, a small wooden boat defiantly sailed through the peaks and valleys of the dark sea.
The Lone Man in the boat was in silhouette as he struggled to keep his tiny ship level. His arms had given up on him ages ago and he knew it was useless
to keep rowing through the beastly storm. The only thing he could do, is defiantly sit down in his boat, and hold the sides of his vessel as a tower-like wave approached him. All was black.

Chapter 1

Pieces of The Ranger's boat were scattered throughout the shore of the new land he slept on. The waves continued to slowly pour in, reflecting
the light of the yellow sun. His boat stuck out of the sand. The head of the mast resembled a dragon's head, it stuck out at a slanted angle. It seemed to jut out and pierce the clouds, almost as if it were billowing smoke from its fiery breath.
The Ranger suddenly awoke on the shore, face down, then face up as he coughed out sea water.
The mutton-chopped man donned an eye-patch over his right eye.
It covered an injury that occurred during a tragic battle aboard a ship and under mysterious circumstances, circumstances not even he remembered.
He lost consciousness before it happened.
He looked around, hardly believing his fate. What were the chances he would make it into shore the previous night? He assumed the gods were keeping him alive for some purpose unknown to him.
Immediately he sat up as the sun basked down on him. Although he was exhausted and a little bruised he knew he had to get to work immediately to stay alive.
Survival, he had learned, was not something he could take his time with. He knew the benefits of fast preparation, water, a quick basic shelter and
fire. Luckily, materials for fire had been instantaneous. He found a small hole in the ground. He quickly used a stick to check for life.
It was his code, The Ranger's code, not to destroy an animals home and certainly not while it was in it. He examined the outside of the hole and hadn't seen any footsteps. The lair had been abandoned long ago. He placed some dry leaves and dry sticks in it.
The Ranger stopped to look at the vast treeline the island had to offer. The gods were blessing
him indeed. Suddenly, his body jolted as he remembered something. Was it there? Did he still have it?
The Ranger immediately ran to his boat, now in total shambles. He frantically looked around for the thing that had served him for many years. He spotted
the gleaming, silver hand axe under a few of the boat's torn floorboards. It seemed to call for him through the wooden debris.
The weapon had been dear to him over the years, it wasn't passed down from family because he didn't have much of one.
From a very young age, he was put to work on a ship almost like a slave.
This silver weapon was given to him by Leto, his mentor of long ago. He had taught him the ways of The Ranger and helped him give up the ways of the savage.
The Ranger didn't waste time. He cut down small branches and gathered more kindling. It was nice to have his axe back, it was not only an invaluable extension of his arm, but he also considered it an extension of himself. Once he gathered all of his materials together he dropped them into the small hole and prepared the fire.
It was never easy, even for the most experienced Ranger to start a fire.