[color=c4df9b][b]Eska[/b][/color][hr]

She inhaled deeply.

Their chief had not acknowledged the axe, having simply left it there. It was of no matter. In a way, Eska wished for this outcome. Her training, her knowledge as a shaman rationalized that it won't be much good fighting them, that there were better methods to be found, that she should simply focus her efforts on finding Jiko. 

But her pride as a tribesman of Emmeret, her pride as a warrior, her very honor spat upon by the kidnapping of those she held dear; those will not allow her to back down. Blood must be spilled, and by her ancestors' tapestry, she will not stop at anything until Jiko was returned. No, perhaps not even then. It did not matter if her contract was severed, it did not matter if she had her limbs cut off, or her body crushed and destroyed. 

It was unorthodox to wage war so soon after the axe throwing, but it was usually because they threw the axe then left, with the chief's decision being relayed to them days later. 

There was a bittersweet feeling welling up within her as she drew her bow, the vines it was made of moving and curling around each other, piercing the ground underneath her. Her magic, was subtle, lacking the raw power of a flame, the destructiveness of earth, the sheer force of wind, or the relentless flow of water. Hers was of the green song, and with it, she sang to the arrow she nocked on the bow, singing of growth, life, and peace. A promise that it will be as strong as its parent tree, the large yew perched on her home. 

The tree on her house was supposed to be a deterrent for invaders, its base instincts suppressed until such times. Jiko was surprised, thus she wasn't able to commune with it. Had she not, had the invaders not be craven cowards, only they would have to see what the tree awakened would do. Now, their entire tribe would face her, and the tree's might, through these arrows borne of it. 

Her muscles taut, the bow strengthening itself slowly as the vines grew thicker and the bow grew bigger, it was slowly starting to be an inhuman bow no mere human can hope to draw. She wasn't aiming for anyone, but that circular waterhole in an open space. Loosing the arrow, the shot flew like a bullet, crashing through a chimney and the waterhole's centerpiece statue. A shot more akin to a piece of artillery than a bow.

Like an ancient being brought to life, the arrow grew rapidly into a tree, absorbing the water before it pushed its roots deeper into the soil, breaking rock and stone in the process. Its trunk shot up, growing larger and wider, pushing apart the paved waterhole and anyone unfortunate nearby. A tree uninhibited, born from the cultivated yew on her home. Leaves and berries grew in abundance, the red and yellow of its berries prominent amongst the green and brown of the tree. Both the berries and its seed were delicious, as she could attest, but it was its pollen that she was waiting for. A wave of white rolling mist, coming from the tree, growing heavier and increasing in range as the tree's growth spurt slowed to a steady pace. Soon it will tower over any building in the settlement, and the white mist of pollen will cover the entire area. At least, if it continued unabated. Even now it was covering a significant area around it. A harmless mist for her, but hardly so for anyone without the resistance. 

The bow wrapped around her arm, the vines coiling around her quiver as she prepared to go inside. Those who had weak constitution will not survive for long, but the stronger ones can probably withstand its effect for some time if they did not suck in air like an idiot. With her hand on her knife, she jumped down from her vantage point, and started walking down.