Chapter Fifteen
This feather is being an utter f**k-swine and I’m sure I’d be shoving it up the arse of the goose it came from if it were here. I’m trying to attach it to an arrow, using strands Aleks has had to fashion from horse hair because all the sinew has been used to re-string my bow. It is fiddly, the strands keep opening up, and I don’t have the patience for such tasks.
I hate bows and arrows. By rights I shouldn’t ever use them. Not just because I am as likely to hit myself in the face as I am any target, but because the smaller ones like these are used primarily for hunting, and maids and maidens are forbidden to hunt. It is men’s work, although I cannot help but think they refuse to teach us the art just so that we are beholden to them for meat when we are away from our farms
