The enemy.
There was the foggy recognition of a threat in front of Irene. It had felt like she was drowning for some time, but she still managed to breathe, move, and react even if it took great effort.
It was like someone else was speaking thoughts into her head, but she couldn't resist it, as if it was her own free will that was piloting her.
Her true self was lost in this fog somewhere, so she allowed this urge that seemed even bigger than herself to move her as she pulled her bow off of her shoulder and slid an arrow against the notch in the wood and tightened the string.
This target was moving too much.
Irene tried to stand up, but something was attached to her ankle and keeping her in place. She was forced to crouch to face an enemy. How inconvenient this was for her.
Even though her hair blew in her face with each gust of wind and snow, she felt like she could still see the target. They were pinned in place and not too far away.
"Irene!"
