[Something about the way she runs makes his instincts clamour for her blood, anger taking over. Henry looses another arrow and draws the next one before he can stop himself.
He's tried to hamper the urge all day. He stored his sword and shield in his desk at headquarters, where other eyes might guard them. He locked the door of the watchtower behind him to slow his path back to the streets of this accursed city. Only it appears that he forgot that he had once stashed the bow and arrows presently in his grip inside the storage chest downstairs.
Certainly he cannot make himself release his weapon or cast his arrows out of the viewing window to the ground below now. Like a hound that has scented his quarry, the need to hunt her down is suddenly consuming, a fire lit by her presence.
It hardly matters that she is a stranger.
He changes the angle of his next shot, shooting a higher arc for longer distance, aiming beyond her to where he predicts she'll be when the arrow descends. The shot after that comes a mere six seconds later.
If she has any sense she'll escape and hide herself away before he runs out of arrows. Once they are gone he will have no means but to chase her down on foot.
For now, his honour manages to stubbornly resist that notion. Yet he struggles to still his hand.
God have mercy, Henry silently prays, gritting his teeth, lest mine falter.]
;)
He's tried to hamper the urge all day. He stored his sword and shield in his desk at headquarters, where other eyes might guard them. He locked the door of the watchtower behind him to slow his path back to the streets of this accursed city. Only it appears that he forgot that he had once stashed the bow and arrows presently in his grip inside the storage chest downstairs.
Certainly he cannot make himself release his weapon or cast his arrows out of the viewing window to the ground below now. Like a hound that has scented his quarry, the need to hunt her down is suddenly consuming, a fire lit by her presence.
It hardly matters that she is a stranger.
He changes the angle of his next shot, shooting a higher arc for longer distance, aiming beyond her to where he predicts she'll be when the arrow descends. The shot after that comes a mere six seconds later.
If she has any sense she'll escape and hide herself away before he runs out of arrows. Once they are gone he will have no means but to chase her down on foot.
For now, his honour manages to stubbornly resist that notion. Yet he struggles to still his hand.
God have mercy, Henry silently prays, gritting his teeth, lest mine falter.]