Stephen [2]

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The comforting sounds of the forest faded to silence, and I unwillingly opened my eyes. I’d dreamed of a black-haired girl, watching the destruction of my town. In her hand was a flaming arrow, and atop her head a golden crown.

Only the whistling of the wind warned me; I threw myself to the ground, and an arrow struck the bough I’d been sleeping on. I spun to face my attacker – and stopped.

She was bleeding badly, her right arm cut open. She stared at me with lifeless eyes, black hair blowing in the breeze, bow in hand. In her left hand was another arrow, and a shining circlet sat on her head. It was the girl from my dream.

Lightning fast, she nocked her arrow and loosed it. I rolled to the right. Why was she attacking me? And how was she even able to hold the bow? Another arrow struck the tree next to me. She was injured, so her aim was off, but how was she able to string it in the first place? Her right arm was torn open, she couldn’t possibly have the strength to pull the bowstring and–

Oh. She was left handed.

Before she could nock another arrow, I tackled her to the ground. The crown rolled off to the side, and suddenly she went limp. Why wasn’t she fighting? Cautious, I glanced at her face. She was unconscious.

The crown clattered as it came to a stop, and I stared at it. I hated it. The urge to destroy it nearly propelled me to abandon the girl in search of a tool to do so. But I stayed with her, and examined her gash.