𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐑 || 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚 [ II ]

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙: 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕻𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘

THERE WAS NOT MUCH IN her life that Muriel had called tedious work before. There had been an occasional mucking out of the stables, or the cutting of vegetables in the kitchens. Then there were the long nights of reading, writing and planning. And of course one couldn't forget the weight on ones shoulders when teaching someone not at all familiar with swords how to fight.

No, Muriel had had her fair share of work, but none so tedious as archery.

For days-the princess liked to empathise, though it had probably only been two-they had taken to fighting these so-called 'pirates.' Muriel had always imagined pirates as villainous brutes, their teeth golden like jewellery, their faces adorned with nasty scars. But nothing had been less true. These pirates were mere men, their aim quite good, their arrows never ceasing and from what she'd seen-which hadn't been much considering their ships kept their distance-had looked quite normal.

In the past four to six years, Muriel had learned a great deal about the world. The most prominent thing being that life was comparable to her books, but often nothing like it. For once, she was glad. And yet, a little dissapointed none of these pirates had wooden legs.

For if they were in the position of such a liability, they would've been much easier to hit.

"Out of arrows already?" Came the slightly winded comment from Killian as he nocked another arrow into his own bow. He had taken rather well to archery, she'd had to admit, and he was outshooting her in every possible way. Not that they kept a tally, but she didn't doubt he would recall this when telling Darrin about their adventures.

She wasn't doing so bad herself. If 'bad' meant that her arrows never reached the other ship. Never in her life had she fired so many, and never in her life had she actually hit some of her targets. Yet, there was no time to stand still by her successes. After all, they were fighting day and night, never a moment to truly catch their breaths.

Stretching her fingers, already quite immune to the feeling of dents on her fingertips and burns on her forearm, she gave him a short nod. Now glancing at the empty quiver, she couldn't recall how many arrows she'd made or improvised to match that of their opponent.

"When will they run out?" Her words were only meant for his ears and thus soft. Muriel did not doubt their—Caspian's plan, but she did not think it would bode well to question it around his crew. "We cannot go on much longer."

"Hopefully soon," he grunted in agreement, firing another arrow and ducking with her when another wave came from their side. "I'm beginning to lose feeling in my hands."

"I haven't felt my arms like this since the battle of Baruna," she managed between breaths and ducking to avoid the pirates' arrows. They sat with their backs to the wooden railing, fingers reaching for arrows that lay forgotten on the deck.