The Little Wolf and Her Rifle
Note: this is another long chapter, strap in, put on some music, and get a drink. Don't forget to tell me what you think after.
Beneath the moonlight, the door of an old tavern opened up. An old man in his late forties walked in, his eyes dazed, staring at the distant nowhere. The untrimmed grey hair on his face dripped with blood as his shaking hands trembled. From his mouth nothing came but incomprehensible mumbles.
From the window that is on the opposite side of the door, a nine-year-old girl in a tattered brown dress jumped in, pointing a rifle at him. "Don't move!" She shouted and the whole tavern froze, they all stared at her in shock, and their eyes finally noticed the homeless-looking blood-drenched man.
The man beside the door stood and glared at the homeless man, "You! What's going on?" But the moment that man spoke, the homeless man grabbed him by the face, clenching so hard that the man's cheekbones cracked.