She woke early, springing out of her bed with an eagerness not seen on most mornings. She washed and dressed quickly before leaving the small camp she had made hers for the night.
His habits were known to her; she had watched him often enough, seen him traipsing through the fields in his quest to capture and use the female prey. And the trap was a simple one: some rope, a trip wire and the weight of a branch. She set it up and then hid behind some bushes, patiently waiting.
She didn’t have much of a wait. The Hunter came running through the bushes, bow drawn, and with a THHUNG, he was suspended in mid-air, hanging upside down. She grabbed the bow away, tossing it into the brush, then admired her catch. The sight of his vivid blue tunic hanging over his stomach, leaving his legs and crotch exposed, cock dangling like a side of beef, brought a momentary smile to her freckled face.
Then she remembered his attempt to register her, a Native, the daughter of gods and sirens. Growling at him, she withdrew the pack of pencils tied to her thigh. She poked the sharpened tip of one deep against his skin. “You! How DARE you try to register me! I am not some prey you can OWN! I am a NATIVE!”
She seemed to roar the last word, petite body trembling with fury and outrage. In her anger, her fingers shook as she started to poke him repeatedly with her only weapon — pencils. Each poke left a dot of graphite on the man’s skin.
“They say the pen is mightier than the sword. Let us see now if a pencil is mightier than a bow. I will kill you, Hunter…. kill you for daring to belittle me so.”
She laughed and laughed, the sound mocking and chilling to those who might hear it. Then she sat up, hands lifting to push inky hair out of her face, eyes wide as she looked up at the night sky.
It had been only a dream…