the hanging tree [o]

If we burn, you burn with us.

a light swish of the wings, a soft pull of the bowstring, a sharp whistle of the arrow. things that i live for. i close my eyes softly, leaning against a tall pine and exhaled through my nose. what was i doing here? my mother, by herself, trying to heal already dead people with snow and leaves. i inhale sharply, opening my eyes and standing up straight. i should go back, i numbly think, but the pain from merely thinking about my home, and - my sister... i gasp and clutch my throat, but stop quickly. no more crying. grief had enveloped my life, and i really couldn't afford to think like that anymore. i hit myself it the chest and the feeling evaporated, along with the grief. i stood up straighter and picked up my bow, which i had thrown on the ground, and i positioned the arrow, shooting a tree in the dead center. a rustling of leaves alerted me to another person, and instinctively i raised my bow, ready to shoot.

'i really can't afford to think like that anymore' i say casually. please don't kill me ;-;