Á la Blog Azeroth Secret Santa, here’s Nim’s little present to me. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
Fae pulled the string of her longbow back, her index and middle fingers quivering slightly. She breathed a silent curse knowing that a cold, shaking hand is not indicative of a straight shot. The warm cloud of breath that escaped her lips was not reassuring. It was never this cold in Eversong. She lowered her left eyelid, allowing the bright green of her right eye to hone in on the small beast she was hunting. Moments passed. The bowstring remained taut, held by Fae’s two fingers, the arrow resting idly atop the fist that was firmly fastened to the hard wood of her bow. Slowly, she lessened the tension on the string until its wooden counterpart returned to full length. It was too damn cold.
The oversized frozen bush she was kneeling in provided adequate concealment, but it also provided a noticeably colder air around Fae. The hairless beast would not notice her, but it was only a matter of time before it would meander away from her firing range. She rested the bow and arrow on the soft snow in order to rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt to loosen them up. It sank into the powder. NomNom let out a low, guttural growl next to her. Fae cocked her head toward the feline with a frown; it was too dangerous to send such a dear companion to do it. She patted the nape of her furry friend’s neck, which was still warm despite the dusting of snow on her coat. Nom continued to bare her teeth, her eyes following the potential prey as it moved. Fae’s emerald eyes wandered back to the beast as well. Her hands were starting to go numb. Soon, she would have no accuracy with her bow. It was now or never.
She exhumed her bow from its white grave, bringing with it a small handful of white dirt. Her free hand reached behind her, pulling out a dry arrow. Balancing it on on the string and her hand, she once more drew the arrow back, every inch increasing its lethality tenfold. She did her best to keep her arms steady, her accuracy impeccable. It was difficult. She held her breath and closed an eye, aiming the tip of the arrow at the beast’s chest. Without hesitation, she allowed the bowstring to slip from her fingers.