When Amara had agreed to robbing this merchant caravan blind she hadn’t imagined it’d end up like this. Yet here she was, careening down a dirt road while her marks hurled magical explosives at her.

“Tch,” the blonde hissed through clenched teeth as the dirt kicked up from the horses stung her eyes, the bone white face plate she’d chosen to mask her identity doing nothing to protect her vision. Her mount, a buckskin called Acorn, wasn’t doing her any favors either. The stable she’d purchased him from had assured her that he was a tried and true warhorse, but the way he was jumping and pulling away from the carriage told Amara that the stable master was a [i]fucking liar[/i]. She nocked another arrow and pulled it back, only for Acorn to lurch to the side for no apparent reason at the very second she released it. As a result her aim was comically off, the arrow missing the carriage completely and imbedding itself uselessly in the ground.

The man she had intended to hit even had the audacity to laugh at her before he lobbed another bomb her way. Amara jerked the reins towards the left in an effort to dodge the electrical energy and while she managed to miss it by the skin of her teeth, Acorn decided right then and there that he was done. The horse stopped so fast the he almost sent the woman over his head and then gave her no time at all to recover before he began bucking like an unbroken yearling. Amara tried to hang on but quickly realized that it was a lost cause. She had no choice but to let go and hurl herself away from him, rolling to the edge of the road to avoid him stomping her in his frenzy. The moment his rider was free of him Acorn turned tail and headed back the way they came and away from the chaos. 

Good. Amara hoped that he would be eaten by a chimera. 

Amara got to her feet right as Giselle, who had slowed her horse down considerably, was coming up alongside her. Realizing what the other woman meant for her to do the blonde jogged along side them and grabbed the saddlehorn before she hoisted herself up, bringing her leg over to successfully mount the beast behind the raven haired beauty. “Thank you,” Amara exhaled heavily as the other spurred the horse onward to make up the distance they had lost. Her bow had survived the fall by some miracle and she wasted no time nocking a second arrow, pulling it back, and firing it into the caravan. This one hit right where she was aiming, the projectile piercing through the skin just below the laughing man’s adam's apple and driving all the way through to the back of his neck. He made a sickly gurgled sound as he tried to yank the arrow out but in the end he only succeeded in keeling over and falling from the wagon.

Amara grinned from behind her faceplate but quickly realized that the kill was far from a victory, as the rest of the guards on their side of the caravan had wised up and taken to tossing their bombs from behind crates, preventing the archer from getting a clear shot. “I don't think I can hit them anymore,” Amara admitted into the other woman’s ear, speaking loud enough that she could hear over the wind. “Let me have the reins, Giselle,” she said quickly, her hands reaching around the woman’s slender waist and hovering just above the reins, waiting for the other to agree. “We both know you’ve got a better shot at hitting them up close then I do,” she explained, as it wasn't a secret that Amara’s weakness was close combat. She was meant for arrows through the eyes, stealthy daggers to the heart, or slipping something insidious inside a mug of mead and had no business trying to take out anyone up close who could see her coming.

But she knew Giselle was wicked with that sickle of hers, so she was the obvious choice in this situation. “I'll mind the bombs and get you close enough, you just focus on getting them to stop all this magic. We're going to attract every feral creature in The Wildlands if they keep this up!”