W.I.L.D.
Trust me.
A rustle in the underbrush caught her attention. There it was—a ten-point buck, its antlers like the crown of some woodland king. She drew the arrow back slowly, letting her breath find a rhythm, muscles locked in perfect tension. Her mind cleared; only the target existed.
She exhaled.
The arrow flew.
The deer dropped instantly, a clean shot that made Serenya’s chest swell with satisfaction. First try, she thought, letting a small grin tug at her lips. She shifted gracefully down the tree trunk, landing without a sound.
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