The child of a saint, conceived on St Patrick's Day? As if the answer could possibly be anyone else. It just made narrative sense. Elaine pressed the last leaf onto her pie and let out a breath. "Well. This is done. Into the oven with you!" She scooped the pie up and in it went into the oven, neat as neat. She could clear the table now, wipe up the flour and crumbs, and perhaps it'd be better if they stayed in here around the table, comfortable and cosy, instead of moving through to the sitting room. She wiped her hands on her apron, and looked over the two young women.
Both looked shaken, pale, worried, but holding strong by each other. She had a brief vision of Snow White and Rose Red, standing up together against the bear, and felt heartened by the analogy. Thank goodness for her sturdy John, unshakable as an oak tree. Her gaze was drawn back to the arrow as Rosario looked at it, and she contemplated its origins as well. There were a few mythical archers out there who it could have belonged to, and Elaine did enjoy a puzzle. That, and Rosario was looking like she needed to be refocused. Elaine wanted to avoid any breakdowns, if she could guide them past them.
"Marian wouldn't shoot an arrow like that, would she?" she asked John as she approached the table. She didn't think so though, Marian's style was a little more homespun. And why would she be out in the woods all alone? "Skadi? Guenivere? Durga?" she mused to herself, circling around. "An Amazon warrior perhaps? Atalanta? Or Artemis, of course. What did your huntress look like? May I hold it?" She reached out a hand to pick up the beautiful arrow to examine it, awaiting permission before she did so. Bad things inevitably befell people who took things without permission.