Melsher

(TGK: @fixnamazyak)
The sun was slowly setting, its golden rays bathing the golf course, painting the immaculate hills in deep hues of burnt sienna and copper. Silence reigned among the perfectly manicured lawns, broken only by the distant whir of automatic sprinklers and the faint rustle of the wind in the crowns of the ancient oaks bordering the course. The air, saturated with the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth, hung still, as if in anticipation of something inevitable.

Mellsher stood on the tee of the eighteenth hole. His tall figure cast a long, slightly distorted shadow on the emerald carpet. He wore a light shirt. His fingers, with a practiced, almost automatic movement, adjusted the peak of his cap, hiding his gaze, which was directed somewhere into the distance, beyond the flagpole.

He was in no hurry. Every movement was precise, measured down to the millimeter. He tossed a few blades of grass into the air, testing the wind, then leisurely selected a club from his leather bag. The silver steel of the driver briefly flashed, catching the last rays of the setting sun. Mellsher took a stance, his feet shoulder-width apart.
There was a sharp, dry crack, the sound of impact echoing over the hills. The white ball, reduced to a tiny dot, soared into the sky, tracing a perfect arc against the fading horizon, and disappeared into the shadows of a distant slope. Mellsher stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the ball until it touched the ground somewhere where the light finally gave way to the gathering dusk. He slowly lowered the club, and only then did a faint shadow of tired satisfaction cross his face.

He turned his head, his gaze fixed straight ahead, a slight smile on his face.

— I suggest we go get some beer after such a wonderful match.