Hermi retrieved Otho's bow and her quiver, slipping quietly away from the flickering warmth of the camp. She began to climb, her boots crunching over the loose scree as she ascended the steep walls of the ravine.
She had noted a flatter plateau earlier, just before they had descended for the night. Upon reaching the top, Hermi found the spot exactly as she remembered.
It was a stretch of high ground that felt far enough away from the prying eyes of the First Detachment, with a few skeletal remains of ancient trees. The trees stood like grotesque wraiths against the horizon. They would serve as the perfect replacement for straw targets in the archery lanes.
The bow Otho had gifted her was a far cry from the practice weapon he lent her when they first met. This was a true hunter's tool, fashioned for lethality. It felt significantly heavier, likely due to the intricate silver inlays and bone accents that reinforced the limbs.
