In my dappled cloak I hide in the shadows of the forest Perched precariously on a branch I nock an arrow to the string and wait Hoofbeats approach. No hounds? The poor fools. Two topple from the horses Black-flighted shafts spurt out of their throats. The horses stumble in their confusion Suddenly being a soldier lighter. I left fly a sliver of silver from my fingertips. Another has time to grab at the hilt -- then falls. Two left. They never learn. I leap knife-first onto a mounted man. His horse is a perfect springboard. The last turns to run from the phantasmic ghost Before my blade kisses him goodnight.