Italicized text is a memory.
Underlined and italicized text is a thought in the memory.
Underlined text is a current thought, in present day.
No. Not again.
Sky blue eyes. Hair as brown as good Bree-land soil. A smile that shone like the sun.
The plate falls from her hands. Scrambled eggs- the only thing she knew how to cook reliably, and soft enough to get down without much effort- flop across the carpet as she tries to wake her friend. She gets no response.
“What are you thinking about, Tara...? Stop being like that... you're fine.”
Why hadn't she done more? She'd been hurting, she knew there was something she could have done...!
Shouts and screams filled the forest. Her arms were almost mechanical, magical, filling the air with arrows, face set in stone, heart unwilling to listen to her brain. This was what they deserved. They were beyond saving.
She needed an out. The energy, the rage, the sadness, the grief- it bounced around in her mind, almost unwilling to be contained. But it all streamed back to her own mind.
You caused this. You did this. Daphnee is hurting, and you can't reach her. You failed another friend. This is what you deserve. You just sat with her- why did you not go find something, or someone? WHYDIDYOUNOTDOMORE?!
She saw the arrowhead, sprouting up from the thick mass of brown hair, and she screamed. She screamed until her voice went hoarse, until there was only squeaks and gasps coming out. Curls she'd run her fingers through, slick with blood, with liquid, with squishy grey material she'd learn later was brain and bone and everything that had made Kela the way she was- all gone.
Out of habit, she wiped Daphne's forehead almost mechanically, wanting to feel like she'd done something, anything, even just one thing to make things just that much better. She'd rest her hand on her friend's shoulder, and just keep the other one wrapped around her bow.
She'd distrusted her gut. She'd let others influence her, to cause her to question her judgement. Now Deorla was running round Evendim trying to get back as fast as she could, and it had been because she'd not filled a suspicious character full of arrows like every bit of her gut had been screaming at her to do. Daphne had needed help right there, and she'd wasted time talking instead of doing-
It brought her back to mind. A farm girl, just as good with a bow, they'd bonded over their love of hunting, of running through the forest, of having to help each other out when things had gone south, and... well, that brought other memories.
Kela had been jealous of her life. She'd been jealous of hers. An uncomplicated life, out in the countryside, being able to do things? Yeah, she had more than the occasional other person, but most of the money her father brought in ended up going to support her mother's desire to turn her into something she wasn't- Tara would never be one of those demure girls, only wanting to find a husband to raise a gaggle of children with, someone who looked outside the gates with fear, with foreboding, of what might come through them, what might exist, lurking just outside, ready to pounce upon them-
And then, she'd just wandered out one day, bow strung over her shoulders, and had bumped into another young woman in a flower-strewn field. She'd been about her age, and the two of them had become friends.
They'd learned and practiced how to skin, how to harvest meat, how to sell it to some of the other merchants in Bree- her father never would have approved of selling things like wolf fur and tusker meat in his shop, he was more looking for gems and jewels, for things that would bring in gold to keep her mother happy- and she'd sock away the money at Kela's farm, to avoid her mother getting hold of it- just keeping enough to keep her in arrows, as well as caring for the old, shoddy hunting bow she'd been able to afford and learn with.
As they'd grown older, they'd started sneaking ale and wine and even a little pipe-weed, off to their little forest sanctum, where they'd sit and trade sips and flavors of the weed, and just talk after they were all done hunting for the day.
Kela was jealous of how many men were lining up for Tara's hand. Tara was jealous that Kela's parents were letting her marry for no more than love. It lead to more than that. One afternoon, under too much of Barliman's Best, Kela had drunkenly kissed her on the cheek. Sure, it had been more of a demonstration, but... she'd liked it. And besides, it was more about training, but- it had lead to more, and then one day, Kela had shown her again... and she'd returned it. Kela had just looked at her, taken a swallow of the Best, handed her the same flask, waited for her to drink some, and well... they gave in-
Her eyes darted over to Daph's motionless body. Her hands picked up the cloth and dipped it into the water, and she wiped the woman's face and forehead again, trying to keep her clean, to try and wake her up. Her mind jumped ahead.
To that day.
The day when she'd lost everything.
The day when she'd finally stepped over a line she'd toed before, one she'd always been afraid of stepping over- wights and dead things didn't count, they were already dead, and dead things weren't people- and besides, they were guarding barrow-treasures, ones that could make them both insanely rich if they could find them-
She'd been meaning to meet Kela at their usual spot, to talk about her meeting with the man she thought was going to be the one, one who didn't care that Kela liked to hunt, one who didn't care she wasn't as frilly or delicate, but who seemed to care about who she was and what she wanted- and Tara... had been late. Racing over fallen logs and low branches, loving the muddy, grassy, scented air-
And then she'd found the first arrow. It had been one of Kela's- she'd know that color of fletching anywhere- and it had been stained with blood. Then another, and another-
And she'd found the first body. Blackwold- she'd know that look anywhere. Torn between running back to town to talk to the local authorities and pressing on to find Kela, she chose to push. If Kela had been fighting, she'd need help clearing out- or getting back to-
She burst into their little clearing. Bottles and mugs lie everywhere, as well as arrows and the hay target they'd dragged all the way out here. The collection of antlers, of teeth, of everything all strewn over the mud-
And there was Kela, face-down in the dirt, hair draped around her face.
“Hey, wake up, lazy! What happened-”
And that was when she'd saw it. A metal arrowhead and wooden shaft, poking up through that mess of hair.
I should have been here earlier.
Rolling her over, she spotted what used to be a sky-blue eye, popped and ruined by the fletching of the arrow that had gone through it, liquid dripping down her face, eyelid draped over the top of the intruding shaft. Lips still wet with cool spittle. Blood streaking down her face.
Why did I not come on time?
She pulled the body to her, resting her friend on her lap, regardless of what dripped onto her lap. Fingers curled through hair she'd just stroked for a giggle yesterday.
This is my fault. I have to make amends. No matter what, I have to repay this.
Her voice grew hoarse, and she realized, all this time... she'd been screaming at the top of her lungs.
A rustling through the trees. People emerged.
They're responsible.
More of them. Were they here to-
They took Kela from you.
She took up Kela's discarded bow, plucked an arrow from her quiver, and let fly.
They have to pay. Make them pay.
The arrow sank deep into his chest. The bandit's eyes went wide, even as bloody foam dripped down his front from his mouth, his hands clawing at the fletching.
Her feet stepped over that line. Leapt, even.
Draw.
Nock.
Fire.
Scream.
All in order, one after another. Soon, there were none left, and she ran, screaming back to Bree, and bringing back one of the guards, all hell broke loose-
Something creaked. Immediately, her hands flashed up, nocked an arrow, and fired- and the wall sprouted another fancy decoration of wood and feathers. That made a dozen. She'd barely slept, dozing off, only to startle awake again to look at Daph, then to look out the window, and then scrape the crud out of her eyes.
She was going to feel like fresh crap in the morning. But at least she could still feel.
Kela was gone, dead. Out of her reach, but resting peacefully. She'd buried her oldest, first bow with her, to let her hold a piece of her until she joined her in death, someday.
Daphne, well... she was about the closest thing Tara had currently to a friend- a good friend- and seeing her like this brought things welling to the surface of her mind. Granted, they weren't as close as Kela and her had been- she had a suspicion she was sweet on someone else- but then that brought the memory of that shouting voice to her mind, the one screaming to have Daph brought to it because she was Furley's -woman-, a voice that she hoped to stick a quiverful of arrows into just for that.
That memory caused her to shudder back to alertness. There was no time for sleep, no time to mourn.
Her hand rested on Daphne's brow again.
“I'll get you out of this. I want to show you that flower meadow... and I've lost too much, already. If I have to fire every last arrow I have into oncoming darkness, well... I can always nock myself and fire.
There's always a way. Always.”
She pulled each arrow out of the wall, crumbling material dusting the floor, as she returned each of them to her quiver.
Then it was back to watching. Waiting.
Hoping.
Nocking.
Aiming.
And internally screaming.
