The day of the battle had come. The thieves woke early in the morning—Simon roused Crow, who didn’t get up on his own—to prepare their weapons, since they didn’t know the exact time when the knights would arrive at the border. They sharpened their blades and inspected everything over to make sure it would hold up during the fighting. Since most of their higher quality weaponry had been taken by the knights, they wanted to be especially careful with the ones that remained. After all, it would be trouble if the blade of someone’s sword snapped or an arrow didn’t pierce its target. They wanted to be certain that they only took their best weapons into battle.

Once they had gone through everything and armed themselves with the sturdiest of their weapons, the thieves said their goodbyes to Hazel—the herbalist was going to stay behind to care for the villagers—and headed out to the border. When they reached it, the first thing Crow noticed was that forest was eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm. It seemed that even in the late morning, he and the others had still managed to beat the knights there.

Taking advantage of the time he still had, the thief climbed up a nearby tree with a wide trunk and thick, leafy branches. He ascended until he reached a spot that, from what he could tell, was mostly hidden from the ground below yet still had a good vantage point of the clearing where the battle was likely to take place.

Settling lazily against the trunk, he sat down and leaned with his back against the rough bark, dangling one leg over the edge of the branch. His bow rested loosely across his lap and his eyes were fixed on the horizon as his mind wandered to the upcoming fight. He hoped that, since Brerra had an advantage over Younis because of the stolen supplies, the knights from their kingdom would be able to keep the battle on the Younisian side of the border this time. It would be a pleasant break for the villagers to not have to defend their homes this time around. He shuddered to imagine the heartache that would come if the people had to bury more of their loved ones again so soon.

Crow continued to muse absently about the war until he eventually heard the sound of rustling down below. Tensing slightly, he craned his neck to look through the leaves to see what was causing the sound. After searching for a moment, he caught sight of the Berratic knights. They had finally arrived and were headed directly for the Younisian camp. The battle would begin soon.

He shifted to reposition himself in a way that would give him a better shot at the clearing, wanting to be prepared to stop any knights that slipped away from the main battle. Once he had settled down again, he double checked the fastening of the bracer on his left arm and the tautness of his bowstring, making sure he wouldn’t have any issues when the fighting began. Once he felt satisfied that both were secure, he turned back to the knights, watching as they assembled to attack.

For a moment, everything was quiet. But then he heard a woman’s battle cry, and suddenly the Brerratic knights charged at the Younisians, commencing the fight.

Crow observed them with hawk-like focus. He drew an arrow from his quiver and loaded it loosely into the bow, resting the shaft along his index finger and holding the feathered end against the string. His arms were tense, ready to draw the weapon at a moment’s notice should he happen to see any unfortunate knights try to come towards the village.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Shortly after the battle began, he spotted a Younisian knight cut across the rear of the Brerratic forces. It was unclear if he was trying to push towards the border alone or if he was merely trying to get behind his opponents to strike from their blind spots. The thief wasn’t going to take any chances.

In one swift motion, he cocked back the arrow in his hand and let it fly, listening to the soft twang of the bowstring as it snapped back into place. He held his breath intently until he saw the knight’s head jerk to the side, and the man collapsed to the ground. He smirked to himself. The arrow had hit its mark.

Reaching over his shoulder, he pulled another arrow from his quiver and rested it in the bow. As the battle continued on, he repeated the process, loosing arrows at any knights that looked like they were going to start heading towards Whitebridge, regardless of which battalion they belonged to. He aimed all of his shots at the knights’ heads and chests, making sure none were able to make it past him once they fell in his sights.

So far, he found it easy to keep the knights at bay. Because they had no idea where he was, they were unable to defend themselves against his assault. As long as none of them figured out where the arrows were coming from, he doubted he was going to have any trouble at all in this battle.