Raen’s spent days shadowing her mark, watching him, blending into the background—another hunter come south for the game—waiting for this moment.
Pre-dawn. The mark leaves the tavern, weaving his way toward the inn.
Kneeling in shadow, Raen nocks one of her specially treated arrows, watches the mark until her focus narrows to a single point on his body.
When the arrow pierces his neck, the world rushes back. She pulls air into her lungs; it’s cool, fresh. And despite the tremor in her muscles, she thinks she could run the miles back to Vale to collect her payment.
For Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge: Invigorating
