THe Hunt

Dust hung in the air like a superfine, dry mist. With each stepfall and turning, beams of light filtered through holes in the ceiling to take definition as near-solid, slowly-moving, columns of gold. This mosque had not been used in a long time, yet all the signs showed that our quarry had recently been here...footprints in the dust, the blood and feathers of a chicken beside a small, warm pile of ash in the corner... we were close, very close.