This may be cheating, but for the duration of November, I think I'll post an excerpt from my weekly word count on my WIP - Swamp of Sorrows, which is the first sequel to my unpublished novel, River of Blood.

The arrow slashed out from the darkness and struck beside her head.
“Corrou!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “They’ve found us!” Her companion did not move.
Another arrow whistled through the shadows. Nyah took a deep breath and the missile seemed to slow, to stop, to hang in the air, the dim glow of the tiny campfire glistening along its razored tip. As her awareness spread out from her core, she sensed rather than saw her attackers. Three large men ran at her, but like the arrow, they were caught in a moment of time. Another, larger, group remained hidden in the foliage. The archers were among these.
Nyah reached out, plucked the arrow from the air – just as she had the crossbow bolt outside the gates of L’ Baile. Her mind’s eye flashed on the image of the last time she had seen ‘Karu; his body wrapped in salted canvas and propped unceremoniously in a corner.
The memory served to fuel her anger, to hone her rage, and to sharpen her skill. With the flick of her wrist, she sent the projectile into the nearest attacker’s throat. He gurgled rather than screamed before toppling to the ground.
“Corrou!” she yelled again, rolling across the narrow clearing of their camp. Two more arrows sliced the air she had just occupied. She came to her feet in front of the second man, who had slowed his charge when his companion’s arterial spray had struck his face. Nyah’s fist followed, and he collapsed like a shanty caught in a gale.
The third warrior rushed her, his curved sword and armored vest glowing in the firelight. Nyah dropped to a crouch. Two more arrows sailed over her head. She launched a kick into the man’s knee just as he planted it, heard the satisfying crunch, felt the cartilage explode inside the joint, and listened to the even more satisfying scream as the man went down in agony.
“Corrou!” Nyah called again as more men came from the shadows. And more arrows.
She spared a glance at the campfire. Corrou lay balled into a heap where he had fallen into a fitful slumber just hours before. She had not wanted to build the fire, knowing that they were still hunted, but he had burned with fever and was wracked with chills. She had feared he might die without the comfort of the small flames.
And now, because of their glow, they both might die.
“What the hell’s taking so long?” a voice called from the darkness in the Talakoku tongue. “It’s just one skinny girl and a half dead man!”
Seeing that there were seven brigands moving to encircle her, Nyah retreated back to the campfire, crouched and picked up her nunchaku. Another arrow whistled past her, forcing her away from the illumination. That was fine. It was time for her to go on the attack.