Once again, the drow had leapt first from the forest floor, kicking off from a shorter branch extended.
Climbing higher, flying like a spider, unique agility, aiming to keep his opponent below his elevation.
The Hunter towered over the drow. Yet now it is the other way around on a branch above the ground.
Those shurikens had failed him. No matter. Whatever happened next, the drow was ready to fly down.
Yet, Zyn’s opponent was protected by earthen barbed wire in any other definition. Find the opening.
Apparently his foe preferred to stay below; too big and bulky to climb trees, maybe. Bide the moment.
Thus flew the arrow, or as close to one as a spine could be defined. Granted, Zyn had learned his lesson.
His enemy had already proven the ability and variety of his projectiles, how they split upon approaching.
So Zyn had since decided not to risk slicing those sticks in half as he had done the first time.
Earlier, ducking would have also earned him with a stirge as served. So neither was an option.
Instead, as the black missile came toward him, Zyn once again did what he did best—he leapt.
His opponent just below, the shot was even easier to spot, so he found a tree and hopped on it.
Behind him, the branch beneath his feet which he had been on suddenly exploded in darkness.
A black mass, like a cloud of ashen smoke, erupted, and Zyn turned to face that branch distant.
Creeping things, crawling things, swarming forth like a storm. They might have eaten him alive.
Having landed on another branch, he looked back, then down, spotting something on his thigh.
Hello, little guy. It was a spider. Giant in comparison to its brethren back on that branch.
It hastened up his leg, as if chasing prey, dancing up the fabric to reach flesh and attack.
Only it didn’t. Zyn quickly whispered something, scooping the arachnid into palm and fist.
He blew. It flew. It grew twice its size to land on the Hunter’s bow-arm to constrict his limb.