Blessing

I pulled the arrow from my chest. A drop of blood, maybe two, fell onto the rock beside my boot. I threw it to the ground and continued my path. My assailant gasped but quickly recovered his wit and with a furrowed brow, pulled an arrow from his quiver and prepared to attack again.

The Days of Offering were here. In order to keep the power bestowed unto me, there were requirements to be met. In my darkest hour, Atrok extended an ancient, guiding hand. But his grand benevolence paled compared to his vast appetite.

Archers were his favorite snack.