I never dared leave the forest during the day.

  Far too dangerous for a skeleton to wander open fields in broad daylight—someone might just loose an arrow at me. Or several.

  So I stayed hidden among the trees, not too deep in the woods, close enough to spot anyone who might stroll by. In that case, I could’ve killed them and taken their clothes.

  …Though that would’ve raised suspicion—imagine a local villager vanishing, and moments later a stranger appearing in their exact outfit.

  No, I needed a better plan.

  I waited until full dark—then crept toward the fields.

  After a whole day of thinking, one idea had finally taken shape.

  From the tree line, I studied the fields. Long rows of grain swayed gently in the wind, forming a calm, rippling sea—and right in the middle of it stood my target.

  Just as I’d hoped.

  Now I just had to reach it.

  I waited for complete darkness. Then, pressing my entire body flat against the ground, I began to crawl.

  My goal was about three hundred meters away—but far enough from the gates and walls to feel slightly safer. Still, I moved extremely slowly, timing every motion to match the wind: it blew—I moved. I had roughly eight hours until dawn.

  I advanced steadily. The fact that I had no muscles or nerves helped immensely—I could freeze in any position for as long as needed.

  Whenever the stalks bent one way, I shifted with them.

  I was like a snake… a shadow at your feet… a leaf drifting on the breeze.

  Ha-ha.

  Truth be told, I was terribly clumsy—but thanks to the night and the guards’ lack of attention to small details, I made it unseen.

  Above me loomed my salvation:

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  the field’s silent sentinel, the sworn enemy of birds, the immortal guardian of order—

  the scarecrow.

  In truth, it was just a bundle of old, tattered clothes hanging on a pole: trousers, a shirt, a badly torn jacket, and a pair of boots.

  Now, all I had to do was… appropriate this property.

  If I’d stood up and started stripping clothes off the post in plain view, a few arrows through my skull would’ve been guaranteed.

  But my skull isn’t empty—I’ve got ideas. So I began… digging.

  Using the knife lashed to my left arm, I quickly dug a small hole around the base of the post.

  After another hour of careful excavation, I could feel the pole growing loose.

  Holding it steady with one hand, I carved away a bit more earth—then waited for a strong gust of wind.

  When the grain rustled loudly, I pulled with all my strength.

  The post toppled with almost no sound.

  But I did hear voices—guards shouting. A sharp cry, followed by a soft whistle.

  Whistle?!

  I instantly covered my skull with my arms and froze.

  Arrows began thudding into the earth all around me—eight in the first volley, then four more.

  I didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.

  Let them think that if anyone had been out there, they were now dead—pierced by arrows.

  I wouldn’t risk walking out into a field at night to check on a possible corpse. And neither would they.

  After lying motionless for another hour—or maybe more—I slowly started stripping the clothes off the scarecrow.

  I didn’t put them on. Just gathered them into a bundle, moving with deliberate slowness. That took another hour.

  By the time I finished, the sky was already lightening.

  I turned toward the forest and began crawling back—still matching my movements to the wind, still low to the ground.

  Once I escaped the sea of grain, I kept moving without stopping, deeper into the trees.

  A successful day, wouldn’t you say, Living?