Knight's Hard Wood Short Bow

Knight's Hard Wood Short Bow glints under the workshop lamp, its limbs carved from a single dense oak that bends without snapping. The grain runs like weathered armor, tight rings telling of winters spent beneath shields. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, darkened by rain and use, and brass fittings along the riser catch the light with shallow, confident points. A small crest—a knight’s shield flanked by two crossed arrows— is carved into the wood, a vow etched into the timber. The string is taut and clean, tightened with beeswax that gives it a faint, almost ringing rasp when drawn. It feels heavy with history, yet lithe with purpose, as if it has stood at the edge of many dawn patrols and never betrayed its bearer. When you lift it, the bow settles easily into the forearm, the wood warming to your touch, telling you where to place your fingers. It’s not show but steady work: a short reach for city walls and forest lanes, a precision tool for puncturing gaps in armor or brush. Knights, scouts, and caravans whisper about its reliability, how the timber seems to remember the user’s rhythm, how a quick, practiced draw can silence a foe before a shout leaves the lips. Its lore threads through the world—the bow forged in the old smithy that guarded a siege camp, blessed by a veteran archer who spoke of timing and mercy. In patrols, it pairs with light quivers and a quiet mindset, turning a tense moment into a controlled exchange: draw, release, count to the heartbeat, and let the target blur into the dusk. I’ve watched it ride along on a pack-beast, nestled between canvas sacks and a dusty map, waiting for the moment when a rusted gate needs a quick, clean bolt of death to a predator or a hunter’s rival. On my way through the market caravans, I paused at a stall where a price tag rattled in the breeze—Saddlebag Exchange, the name traders murmur when the day’s trade is weighed. The bow’s value is not fixed; it shifts with rumors of a knight's order, with the sheen of the varnish, with the tightness of the string and the faint glow of runes along the grip. A veteran hunter, counting his coins in the shade, told me that a Knight’s Hard Wood Short Bow with even the slightest enchantment can command a higher price than a dozen common bows, while a bare, dry piece might be traded as a barter item for leather and rations. The market breathes with stories of scarcity and supply; a single listing on Saddlebag Exchange can draw eyes from outposts a day’s ride away, turning a simple purchase into an alliance formed in copper and trust. So you learn its place in the world: a weapon of measured pace and decisive moment, able to drop a target before the wind finds your scent, and a symbol carried through many chapters of a road-weary pilgrimage. It travels with you, always.