Creative Writing in English Through birdsong and the gentle hum of a late afternoon breeze came the angry whistling of rusted arrows which burrowed themselves deep into the wooden panelling of the carriage. "To me!" the Commander shouted. He stood guard by the door leading to their mysterious quarry and was now a large magnet of plate steel that pulled all the men to him in one large, rattling throng. More whistling cut through the air and was quickly followed by the dreadful clang of metal as a couple of the commander's men dropped; wooden shafts protruding from the broken skin of their necks like victory flags. The Commander's eyes scanned the trees in search of their hidden enemies until finally they picked up subtle movement among the leaves opposite the carriage. Another sharp whistle sounded as a fierce barb burst from the flora and darted towards the Commander. With a movement that should have been impossible under the weight of plate steel armour, he swung his shield from his back and held it out in front of him. When the thud of the arrowhead shook the wood, the Commander threw his shield aside and with his right hand, brought one of his hammers round in a deadly arc. He released it and watched as it battered through the air and vanished into the bushes. A pained cry signalled that the hammer had struck its target. A surge of power flowed around the him as his body was now prepared for battle and the dispatching of one of the hidden enemies gave him a thirst for more. Almost as soon as his defeated enemy hit the floor, however, there followed another cry, this time of despair.