The Archer's Legacy-Part Three

        Lucinda loaded an arrow in the string of her bow. Her back was to the wall left of the door. Using the heel of her right foot, she slowly nudged open the cracked panels of wood that made her door. A small strip of paper flittered unnoticed to the ground. The armed girl did a half turn to stand in front of the door, facing in, arrow pointing inside.

        The single room house was empty as usual. Nothing had been disturbed. Two steps showed her what was behind the door: dust. With a sigh of relief, Lucinda lowered her bow. Some would remove their shoes before entering a house; she readied an arrow and scoped the area before entering. It was a precautionary measure that never revealed any unknown visitors; she did it nonetheless.

        "'It is the stupid and careless that always die,'" she said, quoting her mother.

        The room wasn't by any stretch of imagination elegant. It was longer than it was wide. The walls consisted of a brick base and stone top with crisscrossing wooden supports. A single straw mattress bed was pushed into the corner. At its foot was a locked chest with an arched top. Opposite the bed was a large, stone hearth with a blazing fire. A table that doubled as a desk and dinning place made residence near the warm flames. Lucinda's very few clothing items resided in the wardrobe beside a secondary, smaller desk that sheltered stacks over stacks of books. There was a single candle holder and at the moment was resting on the shelf hanging beside the bed. With the exception of that shelf and two baby holes that resembled windows, there was only one decoration on the wall: the hanger in which Lucinda kept her bow.

        The archer turned and placed the slip of paper back between the door and its frame. If anyone was to break in, the slip of paper would have fallen and made an extra warning for her when she returned. She set the bow down on its hooks.

        A shard of firelight suddenly sparked off something sitting on her desk. Shrugging off her quiver, Lucinda strode over to her desk, wooden floorboards complaining under the shift of weight. An obsidian arrowhead was the cause of the light refraction. A length of thread was wound around the indents, making it a necklace pendant. It was the arrowhead of her first bull's eye and the only item tying her to her mother.

        Lucinda lifted it with her hand, allowing it to dangle. "The day I forget to wear this, I meet an odd stranger," she said to no one in particular. She slipped the string over her head. The volcanic glass was ice against her skin.

        To keep her mind from walking down the road of memories, she randomly swept up a book from that stacks. Othello, a lesser known work of Shakespeare, which involved love, jealousy, betrayal, and racism; Lucinda had read the book more times that she could count.

        If it were light outside, she'd read near the waterfall and save some candles, but it wasn't. Light, that is. Instead Lucinda changed from the hunting gear consisting of a blue tunic that hugged her slender frame, flared out at her hips, and stopped halfway down her thighs, a black leather belt holding a variety of knives and daggers, and black tights that went down to her ankles to a simple white nightgown that would most likely catch on something and trip her if she was to run outside. The necklace stayed on.

        Carrying an unlit candle to the still burning fire, Lucinda dipped the wick into the heart. It lit instantly. The plain candle stick was then firmly stuck into the brass candle bearer. She set it down near the table spilling over with books. Conveniently, it was close enough to the bed, enabling the girl to read.

        Quietly, she slipped under the rough spun and fraying covers with the book in hand.


With one eye closed, Lucinda aimed the point of her arrow at a flying figure in the sky, moving around the leaves and branches that blocked her sight. Her fingers released. The arrow zinged through the air and into the sky, striking the bird square in its chest. The duck fell, turned on his side from the impact, flapping harder to stay in the air. With a final quack it dropped from the sky.

        With a sigh, she stood from her squatting position on the tree's branch. She had been taught the value of a life which was why she took as few as possible. Lucinda found and retrieved the bird with ease, barely noticing the blood that stained its feathers a deep scarlet.

        A twig snapped behind her. Lucinda turned, arm reaching behind her to retrieve an arrow. Standing there was something she hadn't expected, though. What she had expected was maybe a kingdom soldier due to the fact she was hunting in the forest close to Noralica. It was even possible that the man had tracked her back, but no.

        A wolf cub.

        Red was smeared all along its right hind leg. The fur was dark brown with specks of tan and black on its back. The animal's stomach was covered in a lining of orange fur. The tips of the wolf's ears were black.

        The mask of uncaring hate fell for a single moment at the sight of an injured wolf cub. It snarled a warning in Lucinda's direction, apparently recognizing the weapon. She set the bow and her quiver of arrows on the grass, making only snail like movements. The snarling didn't cease, but it did quiet a bit. Lucinda noticed its eyes wander to the duck beside her. The smell of meat must have attracted it.

        She pulled a knife from her belt and sliced open the duck, ignoring the blood that spilled. When one lived in the wild, it was impossible to be squeamish. The blade made a clean cut through the duck's feathers and muscle.

        Lucinda threw a piece of bloody meat in the direction of the wolf cub. It leapt back, whimpering when too much pressure was placed on that leg. She winced at the sound for she had a soft spot for injured animals.

        In moments, the hunger took over the feeling of pain. Leaves crunched under its weight as it walked towards the meat, sniffing it cautiously. The wolf cub—it was a he—warily picked the piece of meat in his mouth and swallowed it in one bite. His body went rigid as if expecting something to happen. Lucinda didn't do anything but watch him eat as she threw chunks of meat.

        Soon after, most of the duck was gone—most likely being destroyed by the wolf's stomach acid.

        She held out the hand that wasn't holding the knife. The injury on his leg had already scabbed over by that time and she wasn't afraid to hurt him anymore. The wolf snarled and bore its teeth. With movements quick as hers, he surged forward and clamped his mouth on her outstretched hand.