The human lord was taunting her.
It was the only explanation that Khorijin could come up with.
The wind through the trees had grown strong enough that Erling no longer posed any danger to her from great distances. He'd shot at her twice, and both shots had missed their mark by at least two full lengths as the Ice Fruits swayed in the wind or he over-corrected for the breeze.
By her count, he was down to eight arrows, at which point he'd changed his tactics yet again.
Instead of aiming at the fruit that hung on branches near her, he aimed at fruit that were within twenty or thirty lengths of himself, triggering the mostly harmless snow flurries and vanishing into clouds of drifting snowflakes before she could make her shot. He'd done this three times already, and each time was more frustrating than the last.
