Lashan leaves Guts to that, he seems like he has it under control.
Drawing a fresh, ordinary arrow back, she sees two others reacting to the singing arrow and makes her judgement. This isn't a boat associated with the smugglers the Enclave has dealings with, she doesn't recognize these men, they're armed and armored like people who have some funding, she can't touch their minds. That's all she needs to decide they should die. She shifts her aim, correcting for drift and the peculiarities of the bow, and the bowstring whaps hard against her armguard as she looses, nocks and draws and sights, looses again.
Lashan doesn't practice as obsessively as the boy - she has actual things she has to do - but she still makes sure to keep her hand in at the archery range, afoot or on horseback, trying to keep old skills from degrading. The first arrow finds the eye of the man who'd been building up a small fire; he collapses, smothering it. The second doesn't quite hit where she wanted, with a target who's considerably further away and moving and who she had less time to sight on. That arrow takes him through the throat. He goes to his knees clutching at it and gurgling, taking longer to die. She doesn't spare him another glance, looking for more targets and any other movement with a tight intensity. Are there only three men?
In the woods, out of sight, another horse answers Safflower's neigh.
no subject
Drawing a fresh, ordinary arrow back, she sees two others reacting to the singing arrow and makes her judgement. This isn't a boat associated with the smugglers the Enclave has dealings with, she doesn't recognize these men, they're armed and armored like people who have some funding, she can't touch their minds. That's all she needs to decide they should die. She shifts her aim, correcting for drift and the peculiarities of the bow, and the bowstring whaps hard against her armguard as she looses, nocks and draws and sights, looses again.
Lashan doesn't practice as obsessively as the boy - she has actual things she has to do - but she still makes sure to keep her hand in at the archery range, afoot or on horseback, trying to keep old skills from degrading. The first arrow finds the eye of the man who'd been building up a small fire; he collapses, smothering it. The second doesn't quite hit where she wanted, with a target who's considerably further away and moving and who she had less time to sight on. That arrow takes him through the throat. He goes to his knees clutching at it and gurgling, taking longer to die. She doesn't spare him another glance, looking for more targets and any other movement with a tight intensity. Are there only three men?
In the woods, out of sight, another horse answers Safflower's neigh.