"Father, can we stop to rest?" Arsaces asked.
Draga smiled at his boy and was going to reply, but an Ibex crested the hill ahead. Draga knocked an arrow, quicker than words, and aimed for the heart.
SLICK-
Draga's face tightened. He hadn't shot yet.
A warm wetness seeped through his jerkin, and his belly was being twisted from the inside. He looked down. An arrow shaft stuck out from his gut.
Draga's face hit the ground as he crumpled, and colors whirled, and dust clogged his flaring nostrils, and his feet kicked, trying to run away from a boy's screams.
YOU ARE READING
Medieval Memories
Historical FictionA collection of memory snippets from people of the past. Lost, hopeful, tragic.
