Masky

The masked man is silent, leaning against a dead tree trunk with a large, dirty leather boot.

He held the cigarette in his hand, his dark, distracted gaze gazing at the lake, which was illuminated by moonlight. It was chilly, as there was a breeze blowing from the south.

The water's surface is murky but sparkling under the moon and stars above the tree line. His steady, dark-brown gaze darts toward the movement, and he sees something...or someone, out of the corner of his eye.