I want the King’s daughter to hold the bow, instead of the guard.There is a murmur from the crowd, at this unheard-of request. They all look at the King’s daughter, as she stands up, walks down from the dais where she had been seated, to the center of the court where the bow, the guard, and the shepherd girl are, and as, without a word, she takes the bow out of the guard’s hand, and holds it, standing erect, with arm outstretched, as he had done. Less strong and less tall than he, she still holds the bow steady, in a firm grip.She looks at the girl before her, who had come to make an end of it.“Now draw the bow, or die,” she says. She feels sad, there had been so many deaths.The girl, instead of taking the bow, takes two steps back. The crowd gasps, the palace guards grip their swords, but the King’s daughter does not yet move, nor does she give a sign. Then the girl stops, kneels down, and from a pocket of her gown takes out a rolled up blank sheet of paper, which she unrolls, and a. ”He switched arms. The paint on her was mostly smears, transferred from him to her. When the paint left the can, the bottom was pointed towards her, and the paint had hit him squarely. Some of it had splashed back on her, making dots and spots all over her front. He was more or less unconsciously going after those dots when he ended up swabbing the skin under her chin, on her upper chest. On one swipe, the rag, in his fingers, hit where the top button of the shirt was. Her fingers reached for it unconsciously and undid it, opening up the shirt to the top of her cleavage. He stared at that spot, and Flossie’s eyes saw him staring. He pulled back, flustered.She took the rag from him, and started doing his face, where paint had soaked almost everything. He had rubbed a lot of it off before it dried, but there was still a haze of paint all over. She swabbed carefully, and then went to his neck and to his own top button. She unbuttoned that and pulled his shirt apart to see that paint had.
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