Eirwen knelt upon the wet gravel behind a defensive gabion, holding her unstrung yew longbow close against her chest.
Eirwen watched the northern sniper nest instead of the wind, tracking the brief glint that appeared each time its archer shifted position.
High above the churning rapids, twilight settled across the masonry catwalks as storm clouds gathered in the northern sky.
Twenty paces behind her, a squad of field tenders worked frantically to repair the damaged sluice gate winches.
A sharp whistling sound cut through the gale as a gleaming projectile struck the embankment five feet to her left.
The arrow did not carry an explosive charge, vibrating in the packed dirt with a strange harmonic chime.
'A sounding arrow,' Eirwen realized instantly, narrowing her clear eyes as she peered upward through the mist.
'He is not shooting to kill the tenders yet... he is calibrating the wind shear through the arches.'
