The rifle barks gently, silenced to keep anyone from finding my location. Measuring the scope, my target lay dead a few hundred yards to the west of me. A big boar, massive tusks willing to throw me into the air or impale me if I decided to fight one on one. Neither seem a good idea right now with the confusion over my failed mission in my head.

What would become of me...oh, I could only imagine. The failed soldier come home to be treated like a mistake. They'd analyze me, dig into my brain with that machine, and dissect me until there's nothing left, but shell. For what? To save a man who would probably die tomorrow from the bullet of an Alliance gun, much like the one I carried, or similar.

Dusting off the pants that they had issued me, a hole in the knee causing some dirt to slide down my bare leg and into my sock, I shake out my boot. The boar is about half mile between their camp and my blind. It's a shame to waste the meat, the boy looked rather skinny, and I'm sure the last decent meal they had was a while ago.

Shouldering the rifle, my boots strike the hard ground with a rhythmic pat pat...vultures already catching wind of my kill. Still, they'd wait for me, not yet ready to approach that big a monster without confirmation that the thing was dead. Of course, most things were that ceased to have much of a head. Besides, I could smell the loss of its bowels from here.

The landscape is the same as most planet's this side of the Alliance hub, rocky terrain, small lakes that don't amount too much, and life that seems okay with the arid regions. The Alliance stocks them all with boar, deer, sometimes even elk. Cattle came with the settlers as did sheep. Never could get a taste for domesticated animals. If I can't hunt it, I didn't like to eat it.

A rabbit runs in front of me and I growl gently, watching as three little ones follow. If it hadn't been for the boar, I'd have gone after them, not scared them with my boot. My stomach rumbles, we haven't eaten for days except the horrid dry meat my creators seem to think is tasty. Truthfully, it has what we need daily, but there is no blood. Predators need blood to survive, to satiate the blood lust from taking over.

I smell the boar, its blood, brains, and bone splattered on the ground around it. It's a good hundred fifty pounds at least, which wasn't as big as I was hoping. Still, once cut into, the beast would feed the man's people for a few nights. Reaching down, my blade slices through the stomach and guts spill over the ground, a few of the vultures crying out as I do. They deserve something and since most humans aren't into eating organs, I would lighten my load as well as pay for the ability to hunt on the death birds' land.

With the head almost gone, severing the rest was quite easy, most of the blood already spilled, but some leaks out turning the sand under us red. I resist the urge to lick the blade clean as I slide it across my pant leg, before hoisting the dead carcase on my shoulders. Retrieving the rifle, I head toward the camp, a bit of blood from the boar dripping slowly down my neck and arms.

"Miss Shadow, don't ya?" My target spoke to the boy, I could hear him even from where I rested. Dropping the boar to the ground and then my rifle, I let my feet carry me into the dim light from their camp. Blue eyes from both stare at me, guns cock as I close my own for a moment. Heartbeats almost in line...the younger beats slightly faster, still not use to the thrill of war...horses, hay, death...they both smell of it, ranchers once...warriors now...blood cakes in my fingers as I allow my eyes freedom once more and I see before me my future...the barrel of a gun...a bullet to the head...my mind cries to them....as I finger the one held tight in my hand...the one meant for him...Sargent Malcolm Reynolds.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ AN: For those wondering about the boy....meet Bo here.... http://www.fireflyfans.net/showprofile.asp?un=BrowncoatE3

he's an awesome writer.