And indeed it was, the arrow still protruding from its wet, grayish skin, humping its body along with incredible speed. A flick of its tail caught the edge of a statue, sending it flying into the dry ornamental pool, where it shattered into dust. “By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles,” noted Will. “Has no one respect for the classics these days?
Sharp are the arrows of a broken heart.
If there was an arrow speeding toward Will, I would be bound by oath to step in front of it.' 'Handy, that,' said Will.