Her bow was gone. It had been taken a long time ago, first locked away, then brought back out, only to be mocked. Strung wrong. Bent. Used as something to laugh at. A reminder that the things she had been proud of could be turned into tools for his amusement. Halveth had never liked women who were stronger than he was. So he made sure they never had the means to overpower him.
Now there was only her humiliating fabric between her and death.
It would not protect her from his attack one bit.
Her fists felt small when she clenched them. Light. Breakable. She tried to picture striking that thing in the sky. Tried to imagine bone meeting that ominous, black armor.
Her mind could not finish the image.
Her body reacted anyway.
Old habits clawed their way up from where they had been buried. Angles. Distance. Height.
