“Remember what I said about callouses? As long as the rawness on your fingers don’t blister, you should have a nice set of them soon.” Marrick’s Patron chuckled through the bit of his pipe and puffed a long billow of smoke into the air from his nose and mouth. “That way, yeh won’t need a glove.”
The Raven Kelvic heaved a long sigh while he felt the ache in his raw fingers acutely. He stiffly flexed his drawing hand, the leather rub of the glove echoed his stiffness. He lowered the bow and his hand down at the ready for a new draw of his quiver yet he tested the readiness of his fingers with the gentle tapping of an arrows fletching.
With a smooth motion he gripped a fresh shaft by its feathery fletching and notched it above the grip. Focus centered on the target down range from him, Marrick inhaled deeply as he drew the bow string and arrow back with a sinewy sound of tight sliding wood. As his arms stretched the weapon to its limit, the fletchings kissed his cheek.
‘Focus Marrick ladd’ The Kelvic thought to himself. He adjusted the angle for distance, and tried to feel the wind as it breezed gently through the practice yard. The Dark haired squire’s arm throbbed from holding it tight, and his breath felt as if it might seize in his chest. At last, almost as if all his being were behind the throw of the bow string, Marrick loosed the shaft toward its target. It arced gracefully for the briefest of moments and buried its sharp head deep into the center of the target.
“Mezeen!” Marrick exclaimed triumphantly in the closest thing to Shiber he could manage. He celebrated with a little fist pump and analyzed the strike. It was a little bit off center. Just along the edge of the red circle painted on the straw dummy. The placement of the arrow in a person would have been a kill shot, and the Kelvic was proud of that fact. Yet a reluctance filled him to use this knowledge for such an act of violence and he found himself wondering where that feeling came from. With a beaming grin that stretched from ear to ear he looked to his Patron for approval.
Ser Whitevine stood with a little smile on his face, the pipe smoking in his hand. “Almost little brother. Almost.” He approached confidently and stood beside his squire. He even gave Marrick a little chuck to the shoulder. “You’d have landed it perfectly if you made a couple small fundamental changes though.”
Marrick felt the triumph fizzle, puff, and float away like parchment in a bonfire. He gathered himself though and bowed to the fact that Ser Whitevine was far more experienced than him. “So what do Oi need teh do?” He said as he scratched the stubble on his chin.
“Take your stance, Notch an Arrow, draw your bow, and hold your position.” David said thoughtfully as he nibbled at the bit of his pipe.
Marrick did as he was bid, and took a stance, one foot in front of the other, and notched an arrow. He drew side long along his body to maximize the draw. As he drew his breath David poked his belly making him cough out any air he had. Fortune favored though he still had enough control over his bow string to simply relax the draw. “Oy! Oi’m ticklish, what the hai yeh playin at?” He sputtered angrily at the Knight.
David chuckled and laid a hand on his own belly. “Remember the breathing technique I showed you during our first trainings? It’s all a way to manage, and control your body. Draw the maximum breath, it will sustain the draw of a bow with a stronger draw.” Ser white vine patted his belly as he breathed deeply. It made little sound as his hand patted against his gambeson, but Marrick understood what the Knight had meant.
The Kelvic began anew, setting his feet and drawing his bow, a deep breath waiting in the wings as he drew the string back. With a deeper breath the bow string and his lungs felt as if they moved together and he realized in that brief moment that by drawing a bow this way he would eventually no longer distinguish between the two and they would happen naturally. When he had drawn the string he held his position, his arm quivering with exertion.
Ser Whitevine inspected his squire’s stance and nodded thoughtfully as he circled. The Knight made minor adjustments to the way Marrick held himself. He spread his stance a little, and pressed at his back to ensure that he was tautly holding the bow. “Right then, now adjust for wind and loose.”
Marricks arm quivered and his lips must have been blue from holding his breath. The Kelvic wasted no time checking markers for wind and letting the arrow slip from his grip. The string made a pleasant twang snap as it slapped against his bracer and the arrow arced gracefully toward the target.
Like it had eyes of its own the little shaft of feather Twine, Iron, Wood, and Feather landed almost dead center in the target putting the Kelvics previous shot to shame. “Oi’ll be cursed.” Marrick exclaimed as he stared wide eyed at the target. He fixed his patron with an incredulous look of pride, only to already find the Knight smiling at him the way a father might. Marrick had never known his father, and the concept cut him deeply, but in that moment the little Raven Kelvic felt like he could land a quiver full of arrows just like that.
“Well done little brother.” Ser Whitevine said with a shallow nod of his head. Then almost as if they stood upon the field of battle the Knight took his pipe and pointed its long stemmed bit towards the target and shouted. “AGAIN!!”
“Aye Ser!” was the answer that stirred in the Kelvic’s soul as he drew another shaft from his quiver and followed his Patrons steps for a perfect shot. Remember your breath, draw it in strongly. Remember your stance, keep it wide and set your feet. Draw breath and string at once. Bring the fletchings to your cheek, aim down the shaft, adjust for wind, and loose. |
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by Marrick Corvis on May 31st, 2014, 2:42 am 
