the archer .

morning dawns and takes away the softer light that comes from nowhere. the kind of light that, just barely, allows you to see the blurry outlines of truths.

she walks across the concrete with her bare feet, her shoes swinging along side her as she strides and her body tensed from the cold. her surroundings are becoming brighter and she knows she should linger to watch the beauty of dawn but every part of her wants to go home and curl up in the darkness. but the temptation is too much; she has waited so long to see the sun for the first time.

so she climbs a tree and sits on the highest, roughest branch to watch the world.

humanity begins to emerge from the homes that sheltered them from the darkness and she observes their shadows as they populate beneath her. in them, there is no truth to see.

once she realised that life is much more peaceful and benevolent in a tree and she vowed to stay forever. but when winter came the tree lost its leaves and they cut it down.

now, as the humans roam around the world they look up at her in her tree.

this time she’s learned her lesson. whenever someone comes too near she draws the bow and arrow she carved from the branches and shoots. usually at the legs. sometimes at the shoulders. never somewhere that would do permanent damage.

always somewhere that would keep her safe.

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