Pick off the slavers one by one

You almost decide that this can't be your problem. There's just too many of the slavers to fight and they seem to know their way around the weapons they're carrying. It'd be foolish to even try fighting them. You'd just end up dead, or worse, captured yourself.

Then the elf boy raises his head a little, staring miserably into the trees with big, emerald-green eyes, glistening with tears. He's very pretty, soft, pale cheeks covered in a spattering of cute freckles, his messy red hair down to his shoulders. A pair of long elvish ears peek out from either side of his head, quivering in the air as he sobs helplessly. He seems younger than his two sisters, maybe only just past his majority. The same age you were when your clan was destroyed. Just like that, you find yourself raising your bow and slipping a barbed arrow from your quiver into place.

Your only chance is to pick off the strongest slavers first, their leaders, and hope that sends the rest into a panic. Just like you were stalking a herd of deer, you let your narrowed gaze trace over the armored men and women, searching for your first target. That cold-eyed elven archer near the front is the obvious choice. She seems to know these woods, though not well enough to spot you yet. Killing her will take away their eyes and ears, plus something about a woman willing to sell her own kind into slavery makes your blood boil.

Raising your bow, you line up a shot that'll put your arrow straight through her chest. You breathe out all the air in your lungs to steady yourself. There'll only be one chance at this and you mean to make it count.