Other Forms of Creative Writing

This is a short story I wrote with the same characters as a book that I am currently writing. Please enjoy and please leave comments. This story is called A Lost Peace
Light seeped over her as the sun rose over the tall mystic trees in the dawning orange morn. A thin layer of dew lay a blanket on all things. A brisk ribbon of a stream gurgled and bubbled with delight. Birds of numerous and mysterious varieties twittered and squeaked joyous tunes. Gleefully, the young maiden rose from her slumber, her glorious golden hair, curled in the wind, gleamed and flowed in the gentle morning breeze. Crickets chirped delightfully with the frogs. She rose to her bare feet, soundlessly. The soft blades of dewy, fresh grass gently tickled the bottoms of her rough feet as she glided toward the stream.
Orange, red, white, black and yellow fish gaily splashed about in the cool, clear water. On a large rock her valorous friend lay asleep, one hand in the comforting stream. His breath, misty, pluming up into the morning air. Out of the playful, peaceful morning sounds a sharp crack of a branch snapping drew the young maiden’s attention. Quickly she snatched up her friends unattended bow and quiver, yanked out an arrow, strung it and fired behind her with a twang of the bow string. The air around the arrow whirred and whistled and the arrow lodged itself deep in a tree trunk, not far from the fleeing stag. She sighed, “a harmless creature just wanting a drink and I shoot an arrow at it, ”, she thought out loud. From behind her a hand rested itself on her shoulder. “You do your job, listening out for potential threats. You didn’t know it was a buck, did you?” He said in between a yawn and a stretch.
The young maiden simply gave a sad smile and leaned against her friend. “What a corrupted world, where even in paradise we must stay cautious.” As if on cue a black, barbed arrow sped so close to her ear she had thought for sure she was hurt. They looked up into the trees. Three men, three strung bows, three twangs and three thuds. They quickly turned and dived into the stream, using anything and everything for cover.
Swimming deeper and deeper. Knowing that the barbed arrows wouldn’t move very well under water, but they also knew that they wouldn’t be able to hold their breaths much longer. With strong arms and legs they paddled upward. It wasn’t long before they popped up by the shore, and dragged themselves onto it.
There was no time to spare, the valorous warrior salvaged his shield and handed his bow and quiver to his friend. They ducked behind the large, rusty, sorry excuse for a shield and the young maiden shot at their pursuers across the stream. Three more thuds on the ground, simultaneously. The enemies laid in a heap on the ground wet with their own vile blood.
The maiden and the valorous warrior did not have enough energy to swim back across the river nor did they want to. The current was stronger and the wind had picked up. The once delightful grass that had tickled her feet was now drenched in fowl blood. The sky had even began to weep for them, a horrible stinging rain, growing harder with every breath. Only the evil, black crows now sang, and a wretched song it was. No longer was their paradise, paradise.
There, soaked in cold, cruel water, blinded by rain, and discouraged by the terrible wind, the two of them lay exhausted. Their backs rested against the large trunk of a tree. They sat close to keep in warmth for they would surely become sick otherwise, for they coughed up water every now and then. The maiden lay her head against her best friend’s shoulder and listened to his heartbeat, for that was the only thing that could keep her sane in all the madness. The rhythmic beat rang in her ears. She couldn’t help but sit and stare, at their once beautiful paradise, ruined. “What a corrupted world, where even in paradise we must stay cautious.” The words she had once said now echoed in her head.