Truth

Spppiff. Twang. Thift. Each arrow made a different sound as it raced toward the target and missed. The sun stretched across the horizon dispersing the morning mists trees had been exhaling. Birds and insects held their important discussions before disappearing mid-day for breaks or business elsewhere. The cold ground and wet grass teamed up to soak shoes while the arrows flew overhead.

I can't do it.

Crack. The back door smacked the door frame as it closed. The archer didn't look up. A dry pair of boots padded across the grass to meet up with their flooded twins. The arrival of a new quiver tossed onto the ground sent nearby birds deeper into the forest.

"Hey sis. You are up early."

"Yeah."

The cold stone of the well didn't even bother her at this point as she leaned back and set down her bow. Her brother sent arrow after arrow into the forest. He cheered when one arrow caught the far edge of the target.

Writing was the escape when the world could not be conquered. The rough leather notebook and ink sat on the rim of the well. The first truly warm rays of sun slipped through the trees. The smell of flour rising wafted out of the windows of the house. Soon it would be time to return to the bakery. She wrote it all down, the feel of the sun and smell of the baking buns. She wrote about the arrows lost in the woods and the hopeless attack on the target.

Over her shoulder her brother peered. "No, no, no, sis. The target is a crafty and wily deer putting up a brave fight. We'll have to wait until it is a proper enemy before we can hit it, haha."

The notebook slapped shut.

Her boots squished in the grass.

She picked up her bow and closed her eyes.

The trolls had raced through the town. Screams echoed down the streets. She remembered the odd smell of fear and sweat that spread over everything. She saw the blood splashed on the walls and cobblestone. Her father had leaned out the second floor window of the bakery and fired arrows. If the trolls came again, she would hit them too.

Thunk.