Mabh froze. Stock still in the middle of the forest, her body tightly wrapped in leather and her head cocked slightly to one side. Red hair rippled over her shoulder, billowing like burning vermillion silk in the sudden gust of wind that left a hot, treacly smell in the air. Her porcelain beauty marred by a brutal sword scar across her mouth. She squinted against the leaves still fluttering past her and reached over her shoulder to pull a peacock-fletched cloth-yard shaft from the quiver on her back, and slowly fitted it to her horn-tipped bow. It was quiet amongst the trees now, the dying sun cast long fingers between the shadows, catching motes of dust and setting them ablaze for just a moment. Yet something wasn’t right. Something was awry, something that wasn’t supposed to be here.
“There.” “Between the two trees.” “Just to the right.”
These thoughts – and many others – flashed through her mind as Mabh drew the bowstring back to her cheek, and let fly a single arrow.