Shanka cursed and ducked when the arrows flew, but she wasn’t fast enough. She knelt down behind a wall of shields and checked the wound. It wasn’t in deep, but it was in deep enough that it wouldn’t close as quickly as she liked, and she was liable to pass out from blood loss.
She had a battle to win. One great heave, and the flesh tore, burned, sent her nerves screeching warnings in her brain, but then she wrenched the arrowhead out, and she flung it aside. Blood streamed down her shoulder, and she had to switch sword hands.
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