Perhaps they are vulnerable while they cross the river, Kryssta thought, somewhat desperately. She had been barely able to harm even one of them, after loosing half her quiver at it, and her burning brand had only irritated and ultimately driven away the creature. Good enough for a scrabble in a tight space, but she could hardly light the whole of Girdley Island in flame. Surely a victory that would cost more than a loss.
Loping silently in the shadows of the shore, under the cover of heavy brush, she was able to get within bowshot easily. How to determine whether the crossing would make them vulnerable, however, she could not answer. It was clear their crossing was slow; strange tree-shepherd creatures apparently were poor swimmers. But if fire bothered them, being half-submerged would seem to protect, not endanger, them. Finally she could see no alternative but to try an arrow, hoping to remain concealed so they would not know from whence it flew.
She hoped not so much to hurt it as to see if it was more vulnerable on the float, but fortune both good and ill was with her. The arrow struck true, lodging deep in a crevice between branches, eliciting a creaking roar. Sap began to seep out, and one of the branches began to shudder. The tree-creature turned towards her, and a low rumble of alarm rose from somewhere within it; at once, the other two creatures turned to stare right at her, or so it seemed to her, for there were no eyes, but there was somehow an overweening sense of attention, of malice.
The creature she'd struck began to shudder, and sink, and tilt over, and the mild but steady currents of the Brandywine started to overwhelm it. But she did not watch to see what came of it as it drifted, slow and then more swiftly, south towards the Marish, for the other two seemed to have come to some decision. One turned away and continued for the island with renewed determination; the other began to move steadily, directly towards her.
