His mark was nearly 150 meters away, perhaps a near-impossible shot for most archers, but a more than manageable one for someone with his training. He nocked an arrow to his powerful bow, turning his deep anger into razor focus. He had tracked the men responsible for this atrocity to this camp, where their chief proudly paraded among them. As he drew closer, his keen nose caught a whiff of woodsmoke, and he was forced back to the scene he had encountered a few days earlier: the scorched ruins of a farm, the ashes stained with the blood of cattle and men alike, no life in sight.
He made his way towards the clearing, where a large camp had been set up. The Ranger ghosted through the forest, his soft boots gliding over dead leaves and twigs, leaving them undisturbed.
