Creative Writing: The Handmaid's Tale

The arrow impales his shoulder, and he stumbles, swallowed by the undergrowth. Lydia can see Aela gag a little but is soon distracted by the other three bandits, who had leaped to their feet at the twang of the bow. I have bigger things to worry about.
She drops down from the ridge, right behind the younger male bandit. Before he can see her, she grasps her sword with both hands and strikes him in his side, denting his armor. He whirls around, having swung on his shield, and bashes her head. Backing up, Lydia can feel hot blood pouring down her face, her nose broken. However, she ignores the pain as they circle, like two aggressive cats waiting for the other to lash out first.
As she tries to catch her breath, she can see the women and the

They don’t think I’m going to win. With a start, she realizes something else. They’re not going after Aela. They don’t know that she’s here.
Propelled by this new thought, she leaps across the firepit, surprising the thief. Their brawl lasts for a few minutes, as both sides are equally skilled in the art of sword fighting. However, Lydia can see that the bandit is becoming tired, and as he makes a half-hearted thrust toward her chest, she deflects it and swings her sword around before he can react, stabbing it through his side where there is a chink in his armor. She must have hit his heart, because he gasps and falls over, dead before he hits the ground. She stands over him and wipes her blade on his

A black fog clouds her vision, and she collapses, realizing on her way down that the chieftain had snuck up behind her and struck her with the pommel of his sword. Idiot, you got yourself distracted. Lydia scampers away on all fours before they can attack again, her thoughts muddled. I need to fight harder.
Suddenly, she springs from the dirt and dashes between the bandits, legs pumping. Their reflexes aren’t fast enough. Before they have the chance to turn around, she stabs the woman’s calf. The woman’s legs buckle, and her head smashes against a rock. Lydia watches and waits, but the woman is motionless.
“It’s time for this little game to end,” the chieftain says, stepping over his comrade’s body and drawing his enormous double-edged sword. Up close, Lydia can see that he is at least a foot taller than her. He raises his shield and saunters toward her, forcing her to move closer to the stone face. Lydia can feel her adrenaline wearing off, and her muscles feel heavy. Three down, one to