New Project of Sorts.
She smirks from the backs of trees, pressed close and out of sight, breathless;
never daring to look behind her at her stumbling opponent, never needing to;
he busied his fingers always with an arrow and chord, ever patient.
Though not all were so successful, he surely would be.
He, like so many others, found it unfathomable how she moved,
unknown just how she thinks, even by those who consider her mildly,
It must have been the look of her.
Gentle features and the look of an innocent nature;
it could be argued that a man could shoot her,
and forever miss if he made the great mistake.
To gaze into those pale eyes, mesmerized in small yellow flecks
surely meant death, meant a broken arrow and a lost chance.
This however, was different,
a this hunter had nicked her, on more than one occasion,
arrows wizzing by; how…
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