The fall of the Shadowbow

No warning did either of them feel. Not a scent upon the wind, nor a sound carried to their ears. A well weathered day with a light breeze seemed the perfect conditions for a walk. Ciruil seemed in good spirits too, something he had been more and more of late. Yarassi walked beside him, listening intently as they talked of much on their stroll. They talked of his leaving of the Greenwood, and the folly of those wishing to rush upon the lands they both know well. It was during this warming and gentle conversation that the first arrow struck. Yarassi caught but a glimpse of the movement out of the corner of his eye, and instinct led to his twisting away from its path of flight. There was a feeling not of pain, but of being punched by a drunkard upon the shoulder as he reached back, knocking an arrow and letting it loose without thought. The arrow crafted by his own hands finding its mark with a deadly precision as it tore almost entirely through the glimpse of the Orc's head atop the ridge above them. Again an arrow he let loose, just a blink after the first had found it's mark as the air erupted with the shrill whisper of arrows in flight. That is a sound he will carry with him for all his days to come… The very air he was breathing before him singing with the lament of death… As Ciruil loosed his first arrow, the sight Yarassi saw before him made him think this would spell the end of his days. Not since the story of the battles upon the Plains of Dagorland was told to him did he ever think he would live to see the air so thick with arrows. Tensing for a single heartbeat as he dug in with his left boot, straining as he heaved himself sideways, instinct placing him between the darkening rush of arrows and Ciruil. The sound of arrows striking leather and flesh was how Yarassi had always imagined it would be in the tales of great battles… But the searing pain and the numbing cold that was to follow was not something he ever thought would feel so strange. His legs fell heavy with a weariness he could not describe, and as he let loose a single arrow with a cry of anger and rage unlike any to be heard from the mouth of man, he felt the tremble of weakness render his bow arm useless. That final shot found its mark and the Uruk fell in an instant, the others standing upon the ridge pausing for a moment as their leader slumped down heavily before them. Two others fell in that brief moment, for behind him Ciruil found once more the bowskill Yarassi had rarely seen. The arrows from Ciruil's quiver knocked and sent free with a speed Yarassi could only hope one day to mimic as a pale shadow. The air beside his face pulled from him as they flew, his vision darkening as he fell. The canopy of the trees above swirled and pulsed as he lay there looking up, the sound of heels turning and footsteps feeling in fear fading before the heavy drumming of his own heartbeat filled his head. He could see Ciruil moving above him, his touch upon Yarassi distant though, as all about him seemed to grow further away. He closed his eyes as the weariness flooded in, bringing darkness to his eyes and a slowing to the drumming in his head. For a moment Yarassi held the vision her in his mind. Her green eyes and red hair set against her perfect skin… She was all he could see and remember as he fought to stay awake, to stay alive. The feelings of his heart that he had kept hidden from even himself he now no longer held back. He could hear her voice. He could see her face. Why had he been such a fool? Why had he never spoken to her of his feelings? Why had he hidden himself behind the mask of friendship? He would sooner charge an army without a bow than tell her that he loved her… "Such a fool… Such a courage lacking fool!" were the last thoughts of Yarassi that day, for there would be many days to pass before he would awake enough to think again.