Jez Firetongue 11th of Spring 517 AV Pavi/Grassland Sign , Common, Nari ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Jez huffed out a laugh as the arrow sailed clean through the air, in a perfect straight line, and landed a significant distance to the side of the bush he was trying to use for target practice. Wind snorted from where he lay in the grass a little way behind him, still for once, and Jez turned to raise an eyebrow at what he assumed was his Strider mocking his inability to shoot arrows. “Hush, Wind,” he lightly scolded him, “I’ll never get better if I don’t learn my errors first.” The stallion ignored him, turning his head to watch as somebody moved a small zibri herd in the distance. A member of Jez’s Pavilion, too long ago to remember who, had introduced Jez to archery with the shortbow. A few days ago he had seen a shortbow, set of arrows and quiver for sale at the Market. The sight made him smile, vaguely remembering his lessons, and with his Winter wages in pocket he had bought the items on impulse. Luckily the impulse buy had paid off, with the announcement by Thomas Heartsong yesterday about the Spring Triathlon. Still remembering the basics, he had set out today with the goal of training for the archery event. With a slightly exasperated sigh, Jez walked over to fetch the arrow. His remaining nineteen arrows were in their quiver on the floor, being used as a place marker. He had counted ten strides from the bush, considering that a decent starting distance, and put the quiver down there. He wasn’t exactly going to be a master archer by the 20th, he thought as he returned to the quiver, but if he could at least hit a target sometimes he’d be proud of his performance. He wasn’t joining the Triathlon to win, but he wanted to be able to participate enough to look like he wasn’t just there to socialise. He wasn’t there to work out his frustrations from Winter, but many were and were looking for some competition; he was going to try to be a worthy competitor to help them out. Jez was glad he at least knew he had bought the correct type of bow. The one who taught him in the beginning had told him about eye dominance, that because he favoured his right eye he would be best using a right handed bow; he would hold the bow in his left hand and pull the string with his right. The stance to use, however, he didn’t remember as well. He turned his body perpendicular to the bush and stood with a wide stance. He didn’t realise that his feet being farther than shoulder width apart would make doing an accurate shot harder. Jez repositioned the arrow to rest in the notch of the wood in the bow and lifted the bow towards the target. The arrow slipped at the movement and almost fell to the ground but Jez managed to catch it in his right hand. He tried again, and again, before finally getting the balance right and the bow in position. With three fingers he pulled back the string beneath the arrow, arm shaking a little. He was strong from life on the Sea of Grass but pulling at that angle strained his muscles in a different way from usual. The bow was simple, relying on an instinctual method of shooting, so it would take a lot of practice to have an accurate shot. For now it was luck more than anything that would cause an arrow to hit his target. Improvement would come from the method he used to shoot the bow, not from attempting and failing to aim continuously. Even so, it was better to have an idea of where he wanted to send the arrow; a goal to aim for while he tested different ways of shooting. This time he pulled the string closer to his face, thinking that perhaps if it was near his line of sight it would go where he was looking. He released the string and the arrow flew, its line wobblier but striking closer to the target bush than before. Jez wasn’t busy looking at that, however, as dual points of stinging pain appeared. The end of the arrow nicked his right cheek, drawing a line of blood just under his eye. Almost simultaneously the string snapped against his left arm, a red rash quickly springing up. “Cultakh!” He cursed loudly as he dropped the bow, the sign for ‘freaking moron’ accompanying his words. He gripped his left arm with his right, applying pressure to try and alleviate the sting. It wasn’t often he’d use such words against others, but he wasn’t against berating himself when the need arose. Behind him Wind tensed, ears pricked, and snorted loudly with eyes fixed on his bonded Drykas. “Calm, Wind,” he called to stop the horse getting up to check on him, “It was my own foolish error.” He winced, staying still to rub his arm for a few moments rather than immediately going for the arrow. Perhaps it would be best if he sought a training companion; he wasn’t doing such a great job alone. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ || Jez Firetongue || 25 years || Drykas || Amethyst Clan || Firetongue Pavilion || Strider-Wind || |