The arctic wind stings my cheeks, pulling tendrils of my chocolate colored hair loose from its braid. I breathe out the icy air, lining up my feet and preparing myself to shoot the practice target down range. As I steady my hand and pull the bow string back to my cheek, I look down the shaft of the arrow at the center of the circular target. As I breathe out, I let the arrow fly. It is not until after I hear the resounding thunk! of the arrow in the target that I catch the sound of snow-muffled footsteps approaching behind me.

"It is time my dear,"

I spin on my heels, turning to face my father with eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Time for what, Father?" His statement has peaked my interest, but I nonchalantly turn around and load my bow with another feather-tipped arrow.

I pull the string back to my cheek, and let the arrow fly, waiting for Father's answer. A cracking sound echoes back from the end of the range; my arrow had split clean through my first.  A small smile graces my lips at this accomplishment, for I had made that perfect shot from almost three hundred yards away.

"Come now Arra, I have much I must talk to you about."

"Yes Father," I agree obediently, following him as he treks out of the archery range.

I sling my bow over my shoulder, not wanting to forget it outside again. Its pure white and silver coloring makes it very easily lost in the snow: there's no shortage of that in the North.

I pick up my pace, trying to match Father's longer strides as we begin to climb the steps up to our home. The stoic guards open the doors of the castle and bow low as Father and I pass.

Although I remain calm on the outside, I am just dying to know what Father has to tell me. He does not speak a word though until we have made it all the way back to my bed chamber. After making sure that no one could possibly overhear us, Father takes a seat next to me on my bed.

"What is it Father?" I ask gently, laying my hand on top of his.

He sighs deeply, a line of worry creasing his forehead. "There is something that I need you to do for me, Arra." he speaks after some time, seeming reluctant.

"Anything, Father. Just tell me what it is." I speak softly, trying to coax the answer out of him.

"You must go on a journey. An old friend of mine is in trouble." he says vaguely.

"Is this friend of yours from the North?" I ask, hoping the answer is no.

I have never been allowed to leave the North before; because, according to Father, I am too valuable to be putting at risk. Not only am I the princess and heir to the throne, but I am also the last known Spirit Healer of the North. I have the ability to heal people at the edge of death using water.

"No, he is from Mirkwood. It is King Thranduil, and he is gravely ill."

"And you wish for me to go and heal him?" I guess. I had never heard of King Thranduil before. Father never spoke much of the lands beyond our borders because he did not wish to encourage me gallivanting off on an adventure when I was younger. They must have been great friends, for Father almost never asked me to use my gift on other people.

Generally we, the people of the North, try to separate ourselves from everyone else because it only ever seems to end in war when we do not. It is the easiest way; even the orcs have no quarrels with us.  We try to have as little contact as possible  with other kingdoms to keep it that way.

"Yes, and you must leave at once." he urges.

I never thought I would see the day Father not only allowed, but encouraged me to leave the borders of the North.

"What if I am not able to heal him?" I ask, the thought nagging at my mind.

"You must." he says simply.

I nod, accepting Father's request, and rise from my seat next to him on my bed. "I do not know the way to Mirkwood." I realize, saying so out loud.

A new weight has come to rest on my shoulders with the responsibility.

"His son, Legolas, is here in the North to take you to him. You must ride swiftly; whatever ails the King of Mirkwood is very powerful.  I fear it is the work of a darker power"

Father rises as well, and moves to the door, looking at me with an unreadable expression.

"I will be down in a moment, Father."

He nods sadly, leaving me alone in my room. As soon as he leaves I change into a pair of light brown riding pants and slide a dark green tunic on over it. I slip my feet back into my knee-high riding boots and re-braid my long brown hair down my back to keep it out of the way. Fastening my white cloak around my throat, a glance fleetingly at myself in the mirror.  Satisfied that I am prepared for this journey, I take my quiver of arrows and place it on my back and pick up my bow from its resting place on my bed. Mentally thanking myself for not setting my bow down on the way to my room, I step out into the corridor, looking back one last time at my room. I then begin the descent to the main hall, knowing it will be a very long time before I am in this familiar environment once again.

As I am nearing the castle doors I can see Father speaking to someone. I am unable tell who it is though because their back is turned to me.

These are the types of arrows I pictured Arra having (mainly because it is the type that I use).