GOOD SHOT.

               Antagonistic.  In combination with the word she used to describe the forest,
               a degrading one at that,  there  appears the question of who is being antago-
               nistic.  Well, Legolas cares little about being called that   &  his only focus
               remains dedicated to the defense of his homeland—- 

                                       “It  is  my  pleasure~ 
                                        —- by the way, my name is not Artemis.” 

               Words merely muttered under his breath,   the elf hesitates not one second
               as he loosens his grasp on the arrow to release it, let it rush in the direction
               whence the challenge has come.  Did she truly think he would spare her for
               a supposed act of boldness?  

               He would likely have waited,  given the visitor at least  a  chance to explain
               herself if the greeting would have been more respectful.  If  he deserved  to
               be treated with respect whilst he acted as though he  owned  everything   & 
               everyone?           Not in the mind of anyone else, but the more so in his own.

There was pain. Inexplicable PAIN, as if her darling Algea had come
and wrapped her arms around the mother’s ribs. She felt the tip pass
through her sternum, and felt the swirl of BLACK BLOOD caress the
iron arrowhead with little more than a kiss. Her fingers scraped together
like RUBBER, the long and PALE digits reaching up to  c u r l  around the
stem of the offending projectile. She was quite certain it’d severed her
sternum– a good shot, if she did say so herself. but without ANGER.
without HATRED.

                      ’  –Oh, I see. You’ve fucking SHOT me. ’

Words of obvious tension, her hand then RIPS out the offending arrow
and allows that black, sticky ICHOR to bleed out onto the ground. It
stains the front of her TATTERED gown and spreads grotesquely along
the grasses below, KILLING each blade it touched and causing it to shrivel.

Her breathing was uneven, the goddess waiting to make any
harsh or strenuous movements until the gaping hole had CLOSED.
The ebony liquid acting as a horrific GLUE that clamped the wound
together. She was lucky, had he hit her HEART then she might not
have been standing here anymore. 

      ’ Why don’t you come down here, where I can SEE you? ’