Power rushes through me, lighting me from within. The bow ripples and changes, golden vines growing along the staff. And as I hold it, my skin lights, glowing white-gold. The Nightingale freezes, horror erupting over her features. Shock and reverence ripple in the wolf’s eyes. A string of glimmering gold appears as I draw my hand back, and an arrow of starlight rests on my sight. This may be a magic bow, but the aim is all my own.
