Farrah, Bronze Huntress

fine, faintly flickering face, a goddess' gilded grimace; eyes sharp, slightly squinting, lips pursed, concentrating; arms strained, straight, steady, inch by inch, pulling in the cord, pushing away at the sturdy bow that bends so slowly in, arched. deft fingers firmly clasp, but ever so lithely guide the lethal arrow's feather past her cheek near the ear; pulls hard, stretches taut and tense the bare bowstring, impatiently anticipating, savoring the inner, aching thrill; waiting for just the right time, but waiting forever, it seems; the prized prey, still out there feeding freely on freedom still; her destiny, chiseled, shaped by her sculptor's whiffling whim, is to forever take a careful aim, but never to make the final kill!