Percy shati

I sigh, and put down my sword. I'm in the arena, practicing with my new wand/sword, but I've run out of dummies to obliterate. Of course, I could repair them with magic, but I'm getting tired of practice. I fix the dummies with a snap of my fingers (my left hand, always my left hand) and sheath my sword, called "Magissa", the Greek word for sorceress. I named it myself, very creatively, since its core is the ash-wood wand I've used since before I can remember.
Excuse me, where are my manners? I'm Darcy, Darcy Edwards. No, I'm not British, but my mother is and I inherited the accent. Yes, I am...

Woosh. A single arrow of three feet solid silver whizzed through the air and hit a charging ng'ombe in it's eye.
"Bull's-eye", snickered a young girl of about fourteen.
The ng'ombe staggered with steam billowing out of it's nose and six zaidi silver arrows sprouted from it's neck and it exploded into yellow dust.
The girls that had shot the ng'ombe went to the mountain of yellow powder and each took their arrows from the pile. There were many zaidi girls and they were all wearing the same thing: camo pants and silver jackets. They were all around their teens- fourteen, fifteen- the youngest had to be only...