A breath is held

A breath is held, the string is drawn,
A silent oath, the battle’s dawn.
Her arrow whispers through the air,
A strike of fate—precise and rare.

The wild is vast, the path unknown,
Yet strength is carved in blood and bone.
Through rust and ruin, she remains,
A hunter forged by fire and pain.

The sky burns gold, the trees stand bright,
Yet shadows wait beyond the light.
With steady hands, with sharpened eyes,
She never wavers, never dies.