Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore

he said as he knelt down and got a good look at the spot where the arrow had pierced her garments. “I’m going to break the shaft so I can pull the fabric of your clothes away from the wound. Stay still. It won’t be easy. Fletchers use the hardest wood for strength.”

      “I know that,” she snapped.

      “I suspect there isn’t much you don’t know,” he replied. He held the shaft against her leg with one hand and gripped the other end of the shaft near the feathers with the other. “How many days until Christmas?”

      “What?”

      “How many days until Christmas. That’s got to be a busy time for you.”

      “I don’t—”