[The crackle of the arrow punching through the brush would be chilling if it weren't competing with a half dozen other pressing concerns and it's more than enough to prompt an unconscious, instinctive flinch from Flint as the scraggly sticks about them tremble from the blow. Where the arrow flies after is a mystery—either between them or too high—unlikely to be solved in the moment. He certainly doesn't do more than to verify that Yseult remains capable of continuing to load the crossbow before breaking free of cover.
He makes directly for the wounded archer, half sliding down the muddy incline toward the man who apparently still has the wherewithal to recognize the disadvantage of his situation enough to go scrabbling through the mud toward another arrow. That there are more hands rapidly finding arms and their bearings is a problem for ten seconds from now. The arrow is nearer by half that.
With the alacrity afforded by adrenaline, Flint springs from the base of the incline, takes two long strides, and hacks directly through the archer's wrist.]
cw: bloody action sequences can be banter if you squint
He makes directly for the wounded archer, half sliding down the muddy incline toward the man who apparently still has the wherewithal to recognize the disadvantage of his situation enough to go scrabbling through the mud toward another arrow. That there are more hands rapidly finding arms and their bearings is a problem for ten seconds from now. The arrow is nearer by half that.
With the alacrity afforded by adrenaline, Flint springs from the base of the incline, takes two long strides, and hacks directly through the archer's wrist.]