|Image by Indira|
I viewed the man along the smooth ash shaft. My arm muscles twitched as I held tension in the string.
“Come down, face the people’s justice.” Ordered the Captain.
“Would you harm me and face God’s justice?”
“Enough talk, Tyrant. Take him – Now!”
The arrow flew true. He staggered as it buried to the fletching in his chest, pitching forward, like a string cut marionette, before snagging on a broken branch and swinging, showering grass with vermilion raindrops.
“Inform the Lord Protector the prince has been executed; and fell this for firewood – there’ll be no Royal Oaks in this Commonwealth.”
This story was written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Challenge