Cavalier's Soft Wood Short Bow

Cavalier's Soft Wood Short Bow rests on the stall counter, its pale sapwood catching the lamplight like a quiet sunrise. The stave is slim and deceptively flexible, with a satin finish that glides against the fingers, a smoothness earned from seasons of care and the soft resin that keeps the wood supple. Small brass fittings catch the glow, tiny horse-bit shapes that hint at why this bow earned the name Cavalier. The grip is wrapped in worn leather that smells of saddle leather and days spent on the road. Carved along the tiller and the limbs are running horses and wind-swept hills, a tribute to riders who never quite left the field. The string is a pale sinew, taut as a drawn bowstring, and the whole thing feels balanced enough to swing from a saddle loop without a misstep. The lore whispers that this bow was favored by mounted scouts who rode the edge of crossroads and markets, trusted to pick off targets with swift, economical shots, then vanish with the caravan before trouble arrived. In gameplay it is sharpened for immediacy, not brute force. Its short draw length makes it forgiving in motion, ideal for riders who must stay in the saddle while following a caravan across rippling plains. The Cavalier's Soft Wood is a quiet instrument for hits that matter, a way to thin a patrol without warning and to scatter a cluster of rioters before they can form a rally. Players notice its tempo—the way a quick shot can break cover, then another, faster than a horizon line. Off the battlefield, its lore travels with it: caravan masters teach that a bow like this carries the memory of every ride, every campfire, every night spent listening to the pantry of the road creaking as the horses breathed. It makes sense that a weapon built for mobility would travel through many hands before ending up in mine. Market life is part of its story too. The Saddlebag Exchange is where stories and steel trade hands, where a merchant named Roan will offer the bow to travelers for a price measured in silver, perhaps 34 silver, depending on how the caravan has fared that week. It’s common to haggle a little over a bow that’s seen a few miles and a few mildewed maps, because the wood remembers the hooves and the weather. On a recent dawn I watched a hunter haggle, tapping the counter with a leather-gloved finger, trading stories along with price, and I left with the bow resting easily in the hollow at my side, a reminder that even a simple tool can become a companion on the road. The world greets the Cavalier's Soft Wood Short Bow with a quiet respect: it is a traveling ally for the wanderer, a reminder that balance between speed and precision can decide a march, a rumor, or a quiet rescue. Its lines still whisper in the pocket of a saddlebag, ready for the next whistle of wind, the next turn of a path, the next dawn when a rider needs to speak to the bow without waking the rest of the caravan.