and arthur is nothing if not amused by the fact that susan carries a bow and quiver until they're on a hunt, and the boar startles her horse into throwing her in its panic. on her feet, alone, with the boar charging at her, susan draws bow and arrow, as calm as if she's sitting in her bower.
arthur cannot reach her in time. the world seems to slow and stop.
she draws, looses, has another arrow in her hand almost before the first is in the air; there are three buried in the boar's chest and a fourth between its eyes when it falls to the ground practically at susan's feet and the world has started again, the ground shockingly hard beneath arthur's boots as he vaults from his horse's back, his sword in his hand.
susan leans down and pulls her arrows free, straight out and not twisting them, and cleans the on the sleeve of her gown before replacing them in her quiver. she turns and smiles at arthur. "i can," she says, "take care of myself, your highness."
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and arthur is nothing if not amused by the fact that susan carries a bow and quiver until they're on a hunt, and the boar startles her horse into throwing her in its panic. on her feet, alone, with the boar charging at her, susan draws bow and arrow, as calm as if she's sitting in her bower.
arthur cannot reach her in time. the world seems to slow and stop.
she draws, looses, has another arrow in her hand almost before the first is in the air; there are three buried in the boar's chest and a fourth between its eyes when it falls to the ground practically at susan's feet and the world has started again, the ground shockingly hard beneath arthur's boots as he vaults from his horse's back, his sword in his hand.
susan leans down and pulls her arrows free, straight out and not twisting them, and cleans the on the sleeve of her gown before replacing them in her quiver. she turns and smiles at arthur. "i can," she says, "take care of myself, your highness."