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Archer Under Fire

An arrow whistled from high and away, clattering on the rocks. Roffe started and wriggled sideways, eyes on the arrow. It rocked slightly and rolled off the stones. Roffe cursed quietly in disgust, unable to tell which direction it came from.

A second arrow whistled from the left and klinked off the rocks. Roffe jerked backwards as it bounced over her head. Dust sprayed up in her eyes and she coughed, shaking her head to clear it. Stuck proudly in the dirt inches from her face was a third arrow.

Roffe leaped and ran back, seeking cover behind the hill. She gasped as two arrows crossed her back grazing tiny cuts against flesh. Side stepping she twirled and snatched an arrow from the air beside her. She spun again, knocked and sighted. There! She drew back as her bow came round toward the trees. Elves in the tall pines, she drew back and loosed.

An arrow punched through her arm. Screaming she clutched at it sending her shot high and wild. Her thigh burst into pain as another shaft sunk home. Roffe collapsed. With a mighty groan, she pushed upright and took a step towards the edge.

The next arrows caught her in the back and gently lifted her over.

Monday, 17 March 2003.
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© Ben Boyle 2003