Warrior Princess

Chapter One

I slowly open my eyes to the glorious glow of the morning sun. The damp trees shine brightly as the rays of dawn land upon them. The wet grass is filled with dew from the previous night's showers.

I sit forward with a yawn and rub my eyes. Some old morning, just like every other day.

I crawl out off the makeshift shelter I created out of vine and sticks. Though it didn't look like it, it's very strong. It can last several weeks without collapsing.

Inside a hollow log, lies my bow and quiver of arrows. It wrapped in several layer of deer hide so even one drop of water would touch them. It was crucial that they were protected. The bow and arrows provided food and protection. Without them, I would be a lost cause.

I cautiously retrieve the bow, which I had carefully crafted from oak wood and twine. It had taken me about a thousand tries before I perfected it. But now, it was my greatest asset.

The story about how I acquired the quiver was more gory. It was around seven years ago, when I was around nine. I was starving from only feeding on wild berries and mushrooms. I was at the creek for a drink of water when i noticed it was crimson red. I followed the creek upstream and found a body at  the mouth of the river.

It was an unlucky hunter. The wolves had taken a good bite out of him. And then, the vultures had probably found him. By the time I found him, he was a rotting corpse. He reeked of rotten eggs and pus filled his wounds. But, by the bank of the river lay his quiver. The leather on the quiver had many claw marks, but the arrows did have a scratch. Then, I grabbed the quiver and left the man to decay, without looking back.

Crack! The sound of a branch breaking echoes through the forest. I immediately whip out my dagger in a defensive position. I hear the sound again. And again.

I silently follow the noise, cautiously walking on my toes, careful not to make a sound. I'm prepared to take on an intruder, but I found something else instead.

In the forest clearing stood a beautiful mare. Its hair is a dashing chestnut brown with a long, dark mane. Judging by its long its long neck and chiseled head, I conclude it's an Arabian horse.

I step back. How I possibly know that? As far as I know, I've never seen a horse in my life. I don't even remember anything other than my isolation in the woods.

But there was something about the mare that made me feel safe and shelter. I inch forward and pet its muzzle. The horse softly whinnies and steps towards me. I run my fingers though its mane. The horse has pity for me and leans into me. I smile and stare straight into its eyes and I find something I see every time I look at my reflection. Loneliness.

Suddenly, I hear a swing and something impacts with the back of my skull. My head throbs my pain and I stagger. I glance behind me, but I only see a faint image of a man before I collapse.