Dorian was engaged in a typically Dorian activity: hunting. Well, kind of. The forest clearing was littered with thin, wooden cut-outs of various animals. They were life-size and painted in bright, gaudy colors. As I approached, I saw Dorian's long-suffering servant, Muran, nervously holding up a cut-out of a pink stag. On the opposite side of the clearing, Dorian focused on them with razor-sharp intensity and drew back a giant longbow. There was a twang as he released, and the arrow shot forward, implanting right near the edge of the target's upper body, only a couple of inches from Muran's hand.
"Isn't that kind of dangerous?" I asked.
"Hardly," said Dorian, notching another arrow. "Those animals aren't real, Eugenie."
"Yeah, I know," I said. "The purple polka dots were kind of a giveaway. I was talking about Muran."
Dorian shrugged. "He's still alive, isn't he?" He drew back again, and this time the arrow hit the side of the stag's head, not far from Muran's own. The poor man yelped at the close call, and Dorian gave me an expectant look. "See?"
The Golden Lily (Bloodlines #2)
"You made your own jean shorts...with a butter knife?"
"Too bad you got so bogged down in books. You've got the spirit of a warrior."
"You need me? You yell. You want to leave? We go. I'll get you out of here, no matter what."