Lightborne Longbow rests on a sun-warmed table, its limbs carved from a pale, almost translucent wood that seems to drink light rather than reflect it. The grain flickers like a quiet current of dawn as you trace the bow’s edge with a fingertip, and the surface feels cool and silken, as if you were stroking a blade of ice that won’t melt. The grip is wrapped in soft leather dyed the color of first sunlight, comfortable without cloying, and along the belly and back run slender inlays—threads of pale gold that catch the eye and the corner of the eye again, as if the bow itself wore a thin halo. The string is remarkably taut, a whisper-tight arc that hums faintly when drawn, and the nock glints with a sigil—a small sunburst frozen in crystal, a memory of light that refuses to fade. There is lore tucked into its sheen, as if a memory of dawn lies pressed into the wood. It’s said the Lightborne Longbow was tempered by smiths who learned to coax order from radiance, bending the stubborn gleam of day into something wearable, something seaworthy for a hunter who moves between shadow and glow. When the archer draws, the runes along the limbs flare for a heartbeat, pale motes of light threading the air as if the weapon gathers atmosphere like a sail catching a breeze. The arrows it guides feel unusually effortless to release, and the shaft seems to cut through air with a quiet confidence, as though the bow answers a deeper intention rather than raw impulse. In patient hands it rewards precision—timing, stance, the breath held just long enough for a target to spring into the open—yet it does not punish quickness when it’s earned. It is a relic of restraint as much as a tool of haste, a reminder that light can be as merciful as it is exact. In the field, its use settles a hunter into a steady rhythm. The Longbow’s reach lets you hold back from melee skirmishes, picking off threats before they close, while its lightness makes it forgiving for those who need to maneuver between cover or scale a slope without swapping to a different weapon. A good wielder learns to read the landscape in its glow—peering past bracken, lining up a shot as a caravan stalls under a canopy of stars, or sending a warning flare to friends at a distance. It’s not just about damage; it’s about the tempo you set for a fight, a tempo that keeps your team intact while you carve a path through danger with a measured whisper of light. Prices drift with the market’s mood, and vendors tell their days as tides. At Saddlebag Exchange, a hawkish merchant notes a price that glints like coin in the sun, a sum that makes a buyer’s heart pause and then decide to step closer. The bow is not merely an instrument but a story you buy into—one of dawn-smoothed wood, of craftsmanship that remembers the moment light chooses to stay, and of a world that values patience as much as prowess. Walking away with Lightborne Longbow in hand, you carry both a weapon and a memory: that in the right light, a single arrow can write a quiet, hopeful ending to a day’s struggle.