The Archer

Chapter Three

I’m sixteen now. I have waist length slightly curly brown hair, big round brown eyes, very tall for my age. I am very tan, all year round. Mother says I got these traits from father. I like wearing deer skin moccasins, and have a few pairs of pants that I traded some rabbits for. Some loose fitting shirts make good tops. I have a leather bracelet that my brother made me before he was taken away. It’s been four years now, but I still cry almost every night. Living in the woods doesn’t really give you that many friends, and my brother was the closest. 

My mother is still beautiful, with only a few hints of grey in her shiny blonde hair. Her eyes look like you’re staring into a bottomless crystal blue pool. They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. My mother has only two pairs of pants, and tucks in a fitted white shirt to go with them. She still has the blue gown she wore on the day I was born. She hemmed it up though, so that it only goes down to her knees, and then she wears thick cotton stockings with a pair of rabbit skin shoes.  Her quiver is always slung over shoulder, with her bow staying at her side.

Three years ago for my birthday, my mother traded two deer, five squirrels, and three rabbits for s horse named Boots. She’s black with white going down each of her hooves, making it look a lot like she’s wearing socks, or, as her name says, boots. She’s really obedient, and very beautiful. Last year, mother bought me a set of throwing knives, which I practice with everyday.

Ever since that dwarf came, my mother and I have been hunting him down, seeking revenge. His beady little black eyes and fowl breath are stained in my memory, along with the horrific feeling of the weapons in my arms, and the awful sensation of blood falling down my body. I have nightmares about it almost every night, waking up screaming. It’s a terrible combination, crying yourself to sleep, and then waking up in a cold sweat. Which is what I did now. I crawl out of my temporary animal skin tent. Trembling, I walk to the stream at which we’re camping.

I splash cold water on my face, the images still in my head. The blood that trickled down his forehead, as the dragon’s claws dug in deep. The way he moaned as his head hit the rock. That despicable cackle, ringing through my head. The eerie silence that followed, along with hurtful tears. I touch the scars on my shoulders, then  shiver, pulling my blouse off and slipping into the water. I dunk my head under, letting the water flow through my hair. I pop my head back up, rubbing my back and sore arms. We went hunting today, and I had to carry a whole doe, because our hunting sleighs were too full for Luna and Boots to carry. When we got to the stream, we cleaned and skinned all of the animals, and put the meat in glass jars. Then we stuck them in the mud under the cool, creak water.  It kept the meat cold so it wouldn’t go bad.

As I swim around, my feet brush the cold metal tops, sending another shiver up my spine. I breathe out.

Tomorrow’s my birthday. I have no idea what mother is getting me. Perhaps she’ll just trade a rabbit for a cake in town. Delicious. I haven’t eaten cake for a year now!

The taste goes rotten in my mouth as I realize that we live in the forest and I’m asking for something as impractical as a cake!

I hold my breath and dive back under the surface.

The cold water incases me, pulling me down. It swirls around, not allowing me to move. I see glints of blue, green, and red. I hear little giggles, and then they turn into laughs as I get slower and slower, my breath running out. I struggle, finally swimming to the surface and coughing for air.

“Water sprites” I mumble as I sit on the bank. Water sprites are an odd mix of mermaid and pixie. They are as miniscule as a fairy and have their small scale magic, but also have tails and gills, making their survival in water possible.

They also have this nasty habit of pulling humans down into the depths to kill them. They don’t eat us; they just kill us and let us float to the surface. It’s some sort of morbid game to them.

Three of them swim up and look at me with scowls.  One on the end, which has blue hair and a beautiful face, frowns, sticking out her finger and looking at me. She mumbles something, sending water pouring on my head.

Another, a male one with sea green fins on the side of his head, closes his eyes and whispers, making water start levitating around him. It freezes, turning into little ice chunks as he sends them at me, pelting my body.

They can’t do anything really to hurt me. Like I said, small scale magic only. But they have killed a number of people with their whirlpools that suck us down.

I pull off the little flecks, sticking my tongue out at them.

The third one holds out his hand and closes its eyes, red hair spreading out in every which way. But then its eyes pop back open and instead of mumbling, whispering or murmuring, shrieks, ducking under the water.

The other two stare at something behind me for a moment before diving.

A creature zooms past me, catching the tail of the green finned man, swallowing with a satisfied slurp. I freeze; shock waving over me as the wolf cub turns around, wagging its fluffy tail. If there’s a wolf cub around, a mother can’t be far behind.

Then I remember. Hunting and finding the small cave.

The wolf howling at us madly. Charging at me. I, pulling out my knives and allowing them pierce one of its eyes. I look down as a whimpering puppy crawls into my lap. Tears roll down my face for the second time tonight. We killed this innocent puppy’s mother. I realize that if we hadn’t, I would probably be dead right now. But I still can’t help but cry. By now I’m dry and I pull my shirt and pants back on, holding the dog close. I reach into his mouth, feeling his teeth. He burps, releasing the smell of fish and flesh, an odd mixture, but the smell of the dead fairy.  I hold the pup close, he trembles and whimpers. I wrap him in my arms, bringing him into my tent. I lie down, covering him with my pelts. He curls up, drifting to sleep on my stomach. I fall asleep, right after naming him. The name?

“Marcus.” I state to my mother the next morning. “I’m naming him in honor of my brother. I killed his mother, and I am taking it upon myself to take care of him. I can’t just leave him to die. Feel his teeth,” I say, jabbing my mother’s fingers into his mouth. “He’s still nursing. He was probably just learning to hunt. I’m keeping him. He can even be my birthday present.” I leave out the little detail that I found him while water sprites were trying to kill me.

 “But honey. It’s too dangerous…” my mother tries to change my mind.

“Please?”

“Okay, fine… But you’d better be careful.”

“Thank you!” I hug her on the way to my tent.

“Remember,” my mother calls after me. “Wolves live in packs. That might have been any wolf. His mother could still be around, trying to find him. Just be aware.”

“I will.”