* * * *
Nothing moved, so presently I bounced to my feet and went over to the right to inspect the arrow, which had buried itself two finger-lengths in the bark. I broke it off and stared at the feathers and green-dyed butt. It was one I had made myself.
Standing without movement, I listened hard, and at last heard someone’s careless foot crack a twig in the distance. Then I allowed myself the luxury of an ear-shattering sneeze.
One of our own glen-folk had shot at me. There was no escaping that fact. It might have been anyone save a hunter, for all of us made our own weapons, giving the surplus to be divided among the less adroit men of the other callings.
In the split second between the string’s song and the thunk of the arrow, it had flashed into my mind that one of The Nameless was
