The fear that another arrow would find more dangerous purchase seized her, and she fought harder to regain control of her lungs and her body. She looked down at the weapon protruding from her shoulder. Three swan feathers bedecked a willow shaft. This was a Saxon arrow. How had the Saxons found them so soon? Another whistle screamed through the silence of the night, and Morgana looked up just in time to see the warrior reach out and pluck the arrow from the air, snap it with his fingers, and fling it to the ground. Then he was gone. Without a single word or a glance back at her. Had the warrior saved her life only to leave her here, wounded and alone, with naught but shadows and blood to keep her company? The thought frightened and galvanized Morgana at the same time. She may be alone, but she was not defenseless. As long as there was water, there was a weapon.
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