[ The clack of the bowstring is not much louder than the snap of a twig, and the bandits are too far for the impact of the bolt to carry up the hill to their ears. So there's a moment of silent suspense after Flint confirms and before the man sharpening his blade slumps far enough over to slide off the stump he'd been sat on and alert his comrades to the bolt that's now lodged in the back of his neck. Then there are shouts, men on their feet scrambling for weapons, looking around. It's not difficult to figure out the direction and, given that hint, the precise spot where the shot must have come from.
Yseult tips onto her side to crank the string back again. Her second bolt hits their archer in the hip, too late to stop him launching one of those scavenged arrows at their position. ]
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Yseult tips onto her side to crank the string back again. Her second bolt hits their archer in the hip, too late to stop him launching one of those scavenged arrows at their position. ]