Glennis let her arrow fly, and Dorian echoed her blow with one of his own. A lance of solid ice, careening for the exposed, mottled chest. Both arrow and ice spear drove home, and black blood spewed downward—before the wyvern and rider went crashing into a peak, and flipped over the cliff face. Glennis grinned, that aged face lighting. “I struck first.” She drew another arrow. Such lightness, even in the face of an ambush. “I wish you were my great-grandmother,” Dorian muttered, and readied his next blow.
KOA - this is very cute
