Snippet #1383139

Sorana stared at the tree in front of her, committing the designs of the bark to memory. With a deep breath she leveled her bow, drew the string, and released both it and her breath as one. She did this twice more before she lay her bow down and approached the tree. Five arrows clustered in a spot of mud the size of her palm. She frowned. It was all well and good to hit a still target for her distance but it wasn’t going to help her at all. What she wanted to do was go out and hunt – get exercise that wasn’t about killing another human to save her own skin. Carefully, she began to work the arrows out of the bark.

A week ago they had faced an enemy that out numbered them. It wasn’t new – as a mercenary Sorana faced death a lot and she was even used to it. The thought of killing didn’t really bother her, or the thought of being killed. What she hated was the knowledge that someone was hunting them, and they never knew when the enemy was going to strike. The stress was making her edgy – she would prefer to be chased full tilt, arrows and fire balls flying – because then at least they would know where the enemy was.

Feir’s call brought her to attention and she cursed herself for closing herself off. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed the quite calls of the forest had gone silent. She pulled out the last arrow with a growl and jogged back towards the group, swinging her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She picked up her saddle from where it lay near the fire and carried it to Starfire, placing it on the mare’s back. It didn’t take her long to cinch it or secure the reigns to the horn.

She glanced at the fire as she donned her scimitars. After a moment of thought she reached out her hand to brush against the flame and whispered, “Sleep, I’ll wake you when it’s time.” The fire died as if it had been doused with water and Sorana started scattering the rocks and ashes, her hand a bright red.