He was never clear of the foe, but was always in the thick of the fight; his spear was never idle; he poised and aimed it in every direction, so eager was he to hit someone from a distance or to fight him hand to hand.
But Meriones aimed a bronze-tipped arrow at him as he was leaving the field, and hit him on the right buttock; the arrow pierced the bone through and through, and penetrated the bladder, so he sat down where he was and breathed his last in the arms of his comrades, stretched like a worm upon the ground and watering the earth with the blood that flowed from his wound.
Levin was not so lucky: he aimed
at his first bird too low, and missed; he aimed
at it again, just as it was rising, but at that instant another snipe flew up at his very feet, distracting him so that he missed again.
With painstaking care he aimed at the target upon the shore from which he now was drifting with the current.
Again he aimed and fired, the bullet splintering the gunwale of the canoe close by Baynes' face.