**Note: Unlike my other writings, this is a work of fiction**
She sat in the soundlessness of the wood. The huntress, she was aware that danger lurked all about and yet she sat, silent and still.
She held her bow close to her and the arrow in her quiver could be accessed in one swift movement. She knew no fear. She didn’t shake nor shiver. She sat, her eyes darting to and fro, side to side searching for the game which would walk into her path.
She knew that her passions set her apart from those other girls in the village who fawned and fainted to gather the attention of the boys of the village.
She knew who held her heart and she chose not to give those other sillies a thought. They lived their way, she lived hers. She was not going to cast stones at those who lived differently than she. She expected the same in return.
The man of her heart was not one of these featherbrained boys scurrying about the village, he was one of those men who followed his passions ardently, just as she stalked her prey.
When they were apart, she longed to hold him in her arms. When they were together, she became clumsy and awkward when trying to express her feelings. That deep burning in her soul to hold him in her arms could not be expressed with mere words.
As she sat there, deep in the forest, she didn’t realized that far behind her that same man was standing there thinking those same thoughts of her. He watched the huntress shiver and pull her cape closer around her and was jealous of the hunter green garment hugging her curves, longing to know if the garment had feeling.
As she turned to look over her shoulder, feeling a gaze upon her, he stepping in behind the old tree he stood near, never took his gaze off her for fear she would disappear. He noticed that for some reason, a small, gentle smile passed across her those lips he longed to feel on his. This made him smile in return.
Suddenly, as quick as a heartbeat he saw her pull the arrow from her quiver and bring the bow up. He had heard nothing. Unsure what had alerted her he watched with baited breath to see what she would capture.
As the fawn ran in front of her, she tarried. She didn’t pull back, actually, she lowered the arrow toward the ground.
As gently as the breeze that circulated around them, she walked up to the small animal. It was not startled, it was as calm as if she were not even in the forest, she reached her hand out and laid it on the animals head as she rubbed it; as her hand slid to rub the spots on it’s back, she shed tears.
How tender this moment was for those watching to see this woman who prided herself on her skill with her weapon of choice, in a surge of gentleness, giving her time and attention to this small forest dweller.
He wanted to rush from his hiding place and hold her in his arms but he knew he would ruin the experience for her, so he stood his ground.
She rose from the ground, pulled her hood over her raven hair until he could no longer see her face.She picked up the instrument she carried with her at all times and she started her trek through the wood and over the hills back to the village.
This was a moment he would carry in his heart forever and she would never even know he was there.