Wayward Journey

She let off a small sigh, moving her bow back onto her back before throwing the small object as far as she could. It didn't go all the way to them, but it made enough noise to get them to turn around. Instantly, they rushed towards the herd of dead bodies slumping towards them. The small group managed to take out the walking bags of flesh without firing a single gun, needless to say she was impressed. She watched carefully, pulling an arrow out of the quiver; knocking the arrow into place.

She pulled back to her cheek, eyes glancing towards the vibrant orange feathers before looking to the undead being that was about to get a chunk out of the scruffy-faced one's throat. She released the arrow, watching it shoot forward and land directly through the creatures skull, bringing it into the afterlife once and for all. She let off a sigh, watching as the man's eyes shot into her direction. He locked eyes with her's, taking her in. Her left eye was a pale green, while her right was a cornflower blue; odd, but pretty none the less. She had a long flow of brown hair held in a high pony tail, even when put up the ends of the pony tail reached between her shoulder blades. 

Her small frame eased its way out of the tree, though she made no move towards the group. The scruffie man continued to eye her, eyes locked on hers as he pulled her arrow from the skull she shot it through. She glanced at the arrow, then at the group of men before taking off in the opposite direction. Her small frame shot through the clearing before disappearing into the other end of the woods. She pushed herself, jumping over the roots and making her way to her small camp site. Quickly, she moved to shove everything she owned into her pack before glancing in the other direction; listening for anything that may have been coming in her direction. Hearing nothing, she once again sighed, glancing at her safe haven before taking off.

Her run was long, she managed to keep her small legs moving quickly through the forest without incident for most of the day. She eventually hoisted herself up into a fairly tall tree, looking around before settling into it. She'd have to rest up there for the time being while she got her energy back. Earlier in the night, gunshots had sounded. A lot of them. She only covered her ears and waited for it to end; the noise was deafening and she always tried to avoid hearing it. When it died down, she picked through her arrows, eyeing them all carefully before worry flooded her eyes. She had one arrow in her entire quiver that was very special to her; it was the one gift her father ever gave her that was personalized specifically for her. On the arrow, carved in small lettoring, was the sentence 'A cracked foundation can still become a home.' She mentally screamed at herself, her jaw clenching as she thought over what had happened. She shot it. And she left it.

Leaping out of the tree, she landed on the ground with a quiet thud before storming off in the direction she originally came from. That arrow was hers, and she was determined to get it back. Her small frame moved quickly through the brush back to where she met the strangers in the first place. The arrow was gone, but foot prints and a trail weren't far behind. She narrowed her gaze and went on, searching for any sign of them. Eventually, she made her way to a rather large camp. Her small frame moved through the brush quietly as she observed, searching for any sign of the men she had seen earlier.