SHOOTING SUNDAY: Aim High

I've always believed in the importance of dreaming big and following your dreams, even if you seem miles and miles, even planets away from making that or those dreams come true.

All of these trips and falls along the way are how you learn and grow to be better  for dreams. Each of us just has to choose what to do every time we fall - stay down? Give up and take the road you know you're not meant for? Or stick with your goals to attain your dream!

This reminds me of one of my heroines from my Remmington Pirates book series, Martha Remmington.

Martha Remmington grew up hunting for game with her brothers and cousins. She favored the bow and arrow over the musket.

This scene I am about to reveal is still a work in progress, seeing as I know it's in the countryside in England somewhere, but of Bath or Portsmouth?? I don't know. I haven't figured that part out yet. And I am debating whether she's wearing a dress or male clothes in this scene???

I guess I won't know until I figure out where this scene takes place in the Remmington Pirates series.

THE SCENE:

            A dense forest dripped with the rain fall, as there was breathing and the beat of a person running. Martha, three and twenty years old, long hair, dark brown eyes, dressed in male clothes, she glided through the trees, a bow and arrows strapped to her shoulder.

            She slowed, crooked her head, listening.

            A dense forest dripped with the rain fall, as there was breathing and the beat of a person running. Martha, two and twenty years old, long hair, dark brown eyes, dressed in male clothes, she glided through the trees, a bow strapped to her shoulder.

            She slowed, crooked her head, listening.

            A man suddenly jumped out from behind some pine trees with a dagger and attacked Marty. Instinctively, pulling the bow from her back, she blocked the man’s hand holding the dagger. She kicked him in the shin and hit his upper arm with the end of her bow. He growled, swinging his blade at her anew. She attempted to dodge, but he still slit part of the skin above her hip. Fresh blood leaked through her clothes. She kicked his thigh, pounded the side of her fist across his face and whacked the bow across his neck. He dropped to the ground unconscious. Breathless, she ran away, pressing her palm into her wound. “I need to bandage this up,” she mumbled to herself.