We've had lunch together, and now John and I are walking home. I've got my hand tucked into the crook of his arm as we chat about nothing special, and I'm laughing when I trip over the vine. I would have fallen if I wasn't holding on to John's arm, but even with it I can hardly keep my feet.

I know it's impossible, but I would swear that the vine is wrapping itself around my ankles, trying to bring me down.

The arrow that zips through the air seems even more impossible, but it comes so close that I feel a breeze. I turn to try to see who's shooting at us, but the vine is pulling at me so it's all I can do to keep hold of John's arm.