At a point the head kissed my skin, almost as if to say sorry, before turning up the flesh to continue its journey. The laceration was briefly neat, as a line of smoke is when the wind momentarily holds its breath. Pressing onwards, the arrow forged a path through my body - parting tissue, ligament and muscle - twisting diligently as it went until it met bone, like china. An explosion, and one million pieces scattered and burried themselves in places they were never meant to be, startling nerves into sending one million agonising cries of "Help!".
Yet through the blood and pain and anger I couldn't help but marvel at the bowman's outstanding aim.