The thin strips of rawhide in her mouth tasted terrible, but she kept on chewing until she felt the leather become soft enough to work with. There was no help for it, a new bow needed a new bowstring and she would need one that sang without hesitation.
Taking the wad of leather string from her mouth, she spat the taste of it on the ground and, making a loop from the middle of the length, fastened it to a strong, low hanging tree branch.
Taking a strand in each hand, she twisted the length contrary to each other and then carefully wound them around each other, like the vines of Morning Glory that crept up the fences in the small village of Arrowhaven. That done, she drew the cord taught and placed a heavy rock over the free end. It was a matter of waiting, then, for once the leather had dried she would then rub a mixture of oil and beeswax into the cord to keep it supple and waterproof.
The young carpenter had sent word that the bow she had ordered was ready - fine birch made just a handbreadth shorter than she was. It was not as strong as the bow that had been taken from her in Rohan, but it would serve. It only remained to test how the bow would sing for her.
