"you present a graceful bow, a heart melting curtsey as you draw the arrow back and shoot the bullseye."
Your opponent, as intimidating as he looked while gripping the hard wood of his handmade snakeskin bow, couldn't stand the pure pressure of your presence. As you shooted your deadly arrow in his direction, He looked one last time at your unshaken eyes, shifted back and ran to the narrow pathway he came from before he fell on his knees, shaking. Your right hand reached for the hood on your head while the left laid your old brægdboga on your shoulder. Your golden hair flowed back on a whim like the autumnal leaves you loved so much, flowers aromas breaking out of your cape. The warrior in your soul shall never be disappointed.
The music, her, never stopped playing in your head.
