He crawled through the undergrowth. Silently.
He held his breath. He mustn’t make a sound or they would hear, would know, and he would lose the element of surprise.
His years of training taught him patience.
He inched forward, literally, inch by inch.
He held the large knife in his hand for cutting away the dense foliage on the jungle floor. Like an unweeded garden, he thought, then banished the distraction of thinking, emptied his mind from everything but purpose.
He crawled forward.
This was a pre-emptive strike. They mustn’t be alerted to his presence before the moment when he would rise and rush forward.
But not yet. Not yet.
He thought, why has the world come to this? Why can’t borders be respected? But that was thought, a distraction, and he tried to shake his head without moving to clear it.
Almost. Almost.
He rose to his feet with a yell, rushed forward, cut away the offending weeds, and chased the neighbor dogs out of his back yard.