Longbow Bedded That I be as Oconostota, pull your string so taut, the bow of your back curves to primal possession, then snaps free… passion liberated: Wicked. Wet. How my arrow flies straight, true and deep… you felled to its impact, its accuracy, its certainty, its saving grace in bringing you to your knees. Slain. Mine. That I be just a man, pick you up, my woman, not just another muse… as preferred weapon, drawn back…...