'We have the high ground here' she thought with a gleeful grin. Her bow was pressed tightly to her chest, her quiver slung over one shoulder. The young child's kin were all around her, though hidden and waiting for the pale-faced ones to arrive.
'Soon...'
The white bastards weren't doing a very good job of keeping themselves concealed. The one riding at the front, he was enough of a racket all by himself to give away their location. The child could easily spot his sandy hair and the gleam off his spectacles.
'He dies first' she thought with a determined stare as she relaxed her breathing until it was half the speed it had been before. The world slowed down around her as she lifted the bow and nocked a feather-tailed arrow.
'No one tries to take away my home from me' she thought to herself.
However, anger causes unrest in a kind heart. With a troubled heart comes an unsteady hand. The arrow did not fly as true as she would have liked.
The other braves gave out a raucous cry when they saw the arrow zip from the bushes and embed itself into the upper arm of the young man leading his small infantry. He gave a loud shout and clutched his arm, fingers gingerly encircling the arrow's shaft.
Volley after volley of arrows were let loose from trees, shrubbery, and boulders. Though not all hit the mark, it was enough to turn the American soldiers back!
"Rrgh... Fall back! Retreat!" the blond the girl's arrow had struck called at the top of his lungs. His arm was bleeding still, and badly. Perhaps she hit an artery?
Her fierce braves whooped and hollered at their retreating backs, sending a few final projectiles as a reminder of what they were up against.
"You won't take our home!" the girl shouted in accented English, and strangely enough the man once at the lead of the pack turned to look over his shoulder. His sky blue eyes met her emerald green ones, and a strange feeling passed between them both. An odd connection was born from mutual sight, and it would not be torn for decades to come.
