Completed [Archery Ranges] Beginning Steps.

[Edric Wingard]

Winter Season, 23rd day, 513 A.V.

Wingard walked silently through the Warrens, the slight thump, thumping of his boots the only indication of his presence. It was eerily quiet to the male, his wide eyes easily scouting the area as he watched each passerby slide past him. It was rather evident to him that winter had set in, beyond the basic realization that one would receive from looking out a window, as the usually crowded corridors seemed to be completely vacant from the hustle and bustle that the Craft Gallery was known for. Rather than the cacophony of noise that bounced off the walls and seamlessly transitioned into the buzzing of a working hive, this particular pathway to the Archery Ranges was dead. It was as if someone flipped a proverbial switch and snuffed the life out of this place to make it into a rather unappealing tomb.

Grimacing at his own thoughts, the Kelvic inwardly shuddered as the walls felt like they were creeping in. To a man that valued the freedom of the sky so desperately; this descending walk through the mountain severely reminded him of trekking into the stony, dark, all-encompassing grip of death. He knew he was working himself up as he walked, but it was such an instinctive feeling of suffocation that it was not something he could easily ignore. His Wind Eagle wanted to flee for the heavens; to desert this blasted stony cage that he instinctively recognized as dangerous, but Wingard knew better, bottling up the sensation messily. Rationally, like the optimistic belief that ‘there was always light at the end of the tunnel,’ the Kelvic knew that the Archery Ranges would alleviate some of the stress that he was feeling.

The whole point of him travelling this far into the mountain was after all, to acquaint himself with the Silver Quiver. Luckily for Wingard, he had proven his worth and ability to hunt because of his raptor form, thus earning him the caste of Avora, but he knew he would only last there so long unless he widened his knowledge into including the use of a bow. Hunting was generally easy for him, instinctually, anyway. His naturally enhanced eyesight had given him an advantage that he readily used in order to show his prowess to his city. The problem with that was now beginning to surface before the young Avora. A one trick pony was bound to fail.

Thus, Wingard was determined to become proficient with the bow and arrow. Regardless of the ridicule he’d face by being so incompetent at the beginning, he knew this was the perfect opportunity for him to better himself so that he was more useful to the village as he secretly felt somewhat of a failure otherwise. Already ten and still without a bond mate, the Kelvic really questioned when the opportunity would arise for him to meet his match. It was rather embarrassing to him that he was unable to find a connection, both as a Kelvic and Wind Eagle. Could it be that he was simply so undesirable that people avoided him, or was it simply that he was too picky?

Sighing at such troublesome thoughts and being unable to fly them away, Wingard was almost happy to finally arrive at the Archery Ranges. It would be a welcome distraction from his pessimism he knew, because he most certainly needed to focus all of his attention on the task ahead.

[Turrin]

Walking into the Second Quiver, Turrin immediately went to the closest open stall. Taking off his talon sword, he lean it up against the side of the stall. The Endal took his short bow from his shoulder and walked to the firing. Looking up at the bow, the War hank was grateful to get away from the insanity of the famine. He could have handled the stress much better if he was assigned to hunting duty, but he was on constant day or night patrols throughout the city, and it was starting to wear on the Endal's soul. Archery and training was the only thing that took his mind off the worries of his life, so the half-breed archer stared at the target intently as he kept trying to hit his first bulls-eye. Turrin got into his stance with his right foot out slightly and his left foot back. He made sure the heels of his boots lined up with the target. Bending his knees slightly, Turrin pulled a arrow from his quiver and placed onto the bowstring. Holding the arrow in between his pointer and middle finger, Turrin lifted the short bow, so the metal tip lined up with the center of the target. Drawing back the bowstring to his cheek, Turrin readjusted his arrow alignment with the target as he held the bowstring to his cheek. Taking a deep breath, Turrin released the arrow on the exhale. Turrin kept the shot bow up as the endal watched the arrow soar towards the target. The arrow finally hit the target, but it was nowhere near or in between the bulls eye or the first ring. It hit somewhere between the third and fourth ring. It wasn't a very good shot, but the Endal was just satisfied that it hit the target at all. Frowning to himself, the Endal looked down into his stance to make sure it was correct. He noticed his feet were slightly closer together than he wanted them to be, so he widened his feet slightly by a inch or two. Turrin wanted to familiarized himself with his movement again with out the arrow Turrin reached back pulled a imaginary arrow and placed it onto the bowstring. Using his pointer and middle finger, he used them to pull back the string to his cheek. Turrin glanced over and noticed that his elbow was pointing slightly down, so he leveled it out. Adjusting the imaginary tip of the arrow with the center of the target, he took a shallow breath and re;eased on the exhale. The Endal her the bowstring snap forward. Turrin noticed that he made a few small mistakes like not straightening his elbow or his feet wasn't wide enough. It wasn't the end of the world, but he knew that his life would go back to normal in the spring, so he needed to keep his archery skills up to par.

[Lavira]

It was a training day today, Kovac out with Sira right now and she and one of the other Flight members left to work with Nash on their bowmanship. She'd really wanted to work with Qeeta, but the insistance of the Flightleader had prevented her from training the healing golden eagle. So it was, the young Endal was in the Second Quiver standing at the firing line one set over from Turrin and three down from the Entrance where Edric was entering. Nash was standing in front of her barking his stout orders as usual and the little girl the teen had recently brought into hers and Kovac's home was seated against the wall playing with a doll from the spare room.

"You're still lifting your elbow too high and letting the bow drift. You have got to keep it steady or you're never going to hit anything." Nash was saying to her, adjusting the bow back into proper position and pushing her elbow down slightly as Vira held the string with grit teeth and tried to keep the arrow steady.

"Sir, I need a break. We've been at this for over a bell; my is killing me. Five chimes and we can continue, that's all I'm asking."

But the man was not having it; he countered her request with, "I don't see blood pouring from your orifices or any broken bones. You sure don't look to be dying from that pain to me." He even went so far as to reach out and press a knuckle into her right side, right about kidney level. This made her yelp in pain, flexing in and releasing the arrow straight into the ground a few feet from the firing line. The bow was lowered afterwards and her left hand slid across her torso to rub at the spot which had been so abused.

"What the hai, Nash?"

"Start training your mind to the pain and maybe you'll stop dropping the bow instead of needing breaks every half bell."

"Yea and doing that's going to put me on the ground everytime, you jerk. I'm taking a break now; I'll run the laps later." She turned in aggravation from him and towards the back of the range where the child was still waiting quietly playing with her toy. "Asshole..." This was said under her breath and she slid down with a grunt and laid the bow across her lap. The girl was on her right side, kept in the blind as Vira rubbed the flat of her right palm against the scarring.

It was now that she spotted Edric making his way into the Quiver, the man not immediately familiar to the one-eyed rider; but then, Vira had spent the first four of her non-Bendi years in the nesting aeries, away from most of the rest of the citizens except a handful of Endal. She spent several chimes just watching the skinny and dark haired figure, gauging and silent in her observation. He wasn't particularly outstanding other than being somewhat taller than most of the others in the chamber, though his thinness made up for his height. Maybe it was his birdlike features that struck in her a curiousness. It reminded her of her own and her fathers, the sharp features very raptor like.

However before she could inquire further in her visual investigation, something else caught her eye. It was Turrin! The mongrel was standing in the set next to the one she and her fellow Flight members were in. What caught her attention of him, though, was that he was- "Wow, seriously?" IT was the number one rule in archery and he was breaking it!

Vira shook her head and let out a little hah sound before she turned her head and gave the girl a kiss on the head. She then got to her feet and trotted over to Turrin's stall, touching his shoulder as she approached. "Hey, uh, you know you shouldn't be dry-drawing, right? You're gonna ruin your bow, Turrin."

[Edric Wingard]

If the Warrens were reminiscent of a tomb then the Archery Ranges in comparison were ‘loud enough to wake the dead.’

Apparently arriving at high-tide, the area was scurrying with activity, the amount of movement nearly so overwhelming that Wingard instinctively wanted to take a step back. Needing to take in this new area from a less-involved position, the Kelvic quickly ducked into his range, placing himself against the wall as he made quick work of observing his surroundings. Having never been in the Second Quiver before, the russet-haired man eyed the expansive ceiling with appreciation, noting the open-concept and far line of shooting stalls curiously. Directly across from them he saw the fletching station; armed to the teeth with available bows and quivers of arrows that sent inquiring butterflies off in his stomach. Knowing these strange sensations could not be because of hunger, the man surmised that his nervousness had ripened to the point of cautious excitement. How pathetic.

Tearing his gaze away from the table he knew he would eventually have to frequent, he took an opportunity to watch the other archers in the range. Quickly he zeroed in on a man four stalls away from him, his rugged appearance and drawing of a bare bowstring somewhat intriguing to the beginner. From here, he believed it was one of the Endal he was witnessing that was drawing and slinging off imaginary arrows without preamble, his face a familiar one in the Aeries. Tilting his head in question though, Wingard silently wondered why a man that was such a successful hunter for the city would commit one of the most obvious faux pas of the Inarta.

Unlike most that dismissed the concept of naked shooting as damaging to the bow without further thought, the muddy redhead saw the opportunity to delve deeper. Beyond the basic physical ramifications of such actions, the young Kelvic thought that practice without a deadly object was in itself, a recommended undertaking. If one were to simply wish to practice their form, the idea of using an imaginary bow and attempting to recreate such stances was laughable. Not only would one look like a complete idiot with a side of mental instability, but one could not form the correct stance if the additional weight of an actual bow was not taken into consideration. Firing off multiple arrows without knowing the proper stance would only result in pitiful shots and needless retrieval of arrows.

Frowning slightly as he knew this would be his fate as a new shooter, he directed his attention to the other archer that he recognized from the Aeries as well. Her obviously observant staring had caught his peripheral attention nearly immediately upon entering the Second Quiver, but he did not bother to catch her attention until now. Shamelessly making eye contact, he stared openly as he returned the clinical stare. Like all Inarta, her hair was red but hardly fiery, her features prominent like his own in ways he’d easily sum up as attractive. A ghastly scar marred this feminine beauty though and although he thought it was rather unsightly, Wingard seemed to appreciate it more than the genetic beauty that she was borne with, and hardly earned. Scars in Wind Reach were a symbol of work and one’s hardiness as a warrior, and that sentiment was something the winged creature heartily approved of.

Tilting his head in acknowledgement of their respective staring, he followed her path over to the other Endal and eavesdropped without guilt as she quietly reprimanded her fellow hunter. Deciding it was time to get this embarrassment over with so that he could quickly improve himself; Wingard pushed himself off of the wall he was lounging on and headed over to the available in-house weaponry that was available. As he reached for one of the bows, he reminded himself to purchase one from the manager prior to leaving the place, and began his initial education. Having picked up a bow only a smattering of times during his Yasi training, the man knew what he was looking at which was a small comfort for the beginner. The shortbow was smooth beneath his roughened palms, the polished wood light and malleable in his hands. Dragging an elegant finger across the bowstring, he flicked it lightly like a musical string only to receive a satisfying twang in return. Drawing it back slightly with his left hand to feel the strength of the string, he brought it to eye level in order to discover his dominant eye. Instinctively knowing it was his left, he confirmed the knowledge by closing each eye respectively and facing a target to see the difference. Considering his sight was on par with that of his animal counterpart, the disparity was hardly worth mentioning but the comfort he felt when drawing back with his left displayed his dominance easily. Retrieving a quiver of arrows as well, the man decided it was time to get on with the exercise and moved towards the stalls.

To his own amusement, one had opened up in-between the two warriors’ stalls that he had been studying previously, so without hesitation, he took his place on the shooting line. Deciding it would be best to learn how to draw arrows efficiently from a quiver right from the get-go, he placed the arrows upon his back, rolling his shoulders in order to accustom his body with the unfamiliar weight. Next, he began fixing his form, placing his feet shoulder-width apart while directing his right shoulder towards the target. Idly replaying the stances of the two Endal and their slight modifications they completed in order to better their shots, the young Kelvic raised his bow, keeping his back straight as he did so. Getting used to the feeling of straightening his arm with such a contraption took a moment, but with a steadied hand, he pinched the bowstring and drew it back to his anchor point without hesitation. The resistance was once again an unfamiliar sensation and he allowed himself a few chimes to pull back the bowstring, bring it back to its stationary position, and then redraw again. His arm shook as unused muscles groaned at the strain, but he continued readily, knowing that this first part was essential before he even attempted to nock an arrow.

Spending five more chimes simply repeating the action, he next attempted to incorporate the raising of the bow from a lowered position while drawing the string back. This attempt at seamless coordination was not the most majestic of sights as the man fumbled clumsily with what should eventually be an elegant motion. Unable to really get the timing right, Wingard found himself raising the bow and then finishing the draw moments after it reached its needed height. Knowing that only time and practice would really perfect this movement, the Kelvic wasn’t discouraged and decided that it was time to attempt to nock, draw, and shoot.

Retrieving an arrow from the quiver, he took a moment with unsteady fingers to nock it successfully. It was such an interesting experience for a man that was rather elegant and smooth in his actions to feel so clumsy, but he took it in stride, finding self-deprecating humour in the fact that his fingers felt like a baby’s as he learned to move them in a new way. As much as the man disliked looking like an idiot, he thrived on new knowledge and he knew this was a much needed learning venture. Finally nocking the arrow, Wingard raised the bow unsteadily to eye-level, the draw-back rather shaky. Having pinched with his forefinger and thumb, the man decided that he utterly disliked the feeling of it, and attempting another redraw with his middle finger and thumb, the index resting comfortably on top of the arrow.

Looking down the shaft of the arrow at the target, Wingard attempted to relax, his muscles tight with tension in his nervousness. Seeing where he wanted the supposing ‘extension of his arm’ to go, the young man took a single breath before releasing the arrow and watching as erupted from his bow…

And hit the ground nearly five feet from the target.

Nice.

[Ainyi]

Ainyi turned her hands over with a slight frown as she walked to the Second Quiver. They were still stained a reddish-brown after the hours she spent preparing food at the processing center. This time she hit a central artery by mistake and it burst all over her arms and face. She was lucky it was only her hands she had to worry about.

But she was no longer doing her job. She was in her own time, in her own space. Her quiver rattled rhythmically at her hip, Yasa strung around her body, and settling at her hip. The string crossed an old archery scar on her hip, feathers hanging from bottom knob of the bow dancing with each hastened step. One day, she would be bringing in the kills, not preparing them. This was the best, and fastest, way to start.

As she entered, she found that she had come at a busy time. It appeared the Eagle Riders were here to practice, and from the screeches of some unhappy girl, as were the Yasi apprentices. However, she tried to keep her distance from them. Her sharp face and hazel eyes kept a matter of fact expression, though it wasn't an ugly one. Her hair near the crown of her head was held back in thick braids, held together by glass beads her mother gave her when she was young. Eyes danced across the stalls, and she eventually chose one by an inordinately tall looking Inartan man; One she had seen about, but never properly met.

While he seemed respected around town, the bow did not seem to respect him. As she got into the stall, she saw him strain and labor to set the arrow, only for it to fall short of the target on release. She cocked her eyes at him with an arched brow, equally amused by his attempt and his failure.

"You think too much," She stated bluntly, though it had a lightness or whimsy about it. "Look at your arms - look how long and strong they are. They should handle a bow without struggle. Your mind is the one struggling, no?" The Chiet did not know what rank he was, but she hoped he wouldn't take offense to her advice. Father would have taught him well, she caught herself muttering mentally.

Father also didn't last a week in the Avora. She felt her teeth clench her tongue before she could give anymore unsolicited advice. Instead, she took out her own bow and seamlessly nocked it into the string. She drew back slow and calm, thumb touching her lips like hands in a prayer. She trained her eye on the target, and held the bow back a bit longer, then a bit longer. Her bow arm began to shake a little from the endurance test, but she kept her mind clear. As she released the arrow, a wave of relief spread from her fingers up her shoulder. The arrow landed with a satisfied thunk close to the center of the target, but certainly not the center. She frowned. A simple shot like that should have been easy. It should have been as effortless as breathing.

"It'll do," she muttered to herself in Nari, before looking over the tall man, and drawing another arrow. She was curious how he would do.

[Turrin]

Releasing the bowstring, Turrin was satisfied at his stance. He wasn't no master archer like Kovac, but he was competent that he could at least hit the target most of the time. Suddenly, The Endal felt a tap on his shoulder, and he instantly whirled around to look at the person who had the gall to touch him. To make matter's worse, she had to point that he broke one of the rules of the ranges. The rule that she talking about was a stupid rule because dry-drawing was basically the name motion, strains, and force on a bow as wet-drawing, so the rule was pointless. Besides, this short bow was his for years, so he knew the kind of torment it had to deal with in the jungles of Falyndar and harsh extremes of the Unforgiving. The Myrian frowned at Lavira for a moment, and he had to take a deep breath to quell his anger when he stared at the one eyed Endal. Crossing his arms, Turrin looked directly at the Endal and said in a cold voice, “I thank you for the advice, Lavira, but my short bow was Myrian made and has been through shyke and back, so I doubt normal archery motions would damage it. Besides if it breaks, I will just buy another one. Is there anything else that you want to tell me? If not than go away.” For a chime, the Myrian wondered if the novice Endal would say something to him, but she just walked back to her stall. He was glad that she left because he wasn't in the mood to deal with another smug Endal today. Since he had to deal with the worst of Wind Reach, every day since he started the daily patrols of the city. Turrin watched her walk away and just shook his head when she was out of sight. Turning his attention back to his target, he was about to pull a arrow from his quiver, but he noticed a arrow fly towards another target from another stall. The arrow landed five feet short of the target. It wasn't a bad shot for a beginner since it was flying straight at the target. However, the arrow just didn't have the strength to make it to the target. Turning his attention to the archer, he saw a tall man with blond hair standing in a stall not to far away from him. The human, not Wind Reach born, was powerfully built young man, so it was strange to Turrin that he didn't have the strength to get the arrow to the target. Turrin noticed that he looked awkward holding his bow, so he figured the man must be a novice archer. The Endal shrugged his shoulders and wondered if the young man was a apprentice of a avora hunter. It would explain the man's lack of skill with his weapon, and he was just waiting for his his instructor. Getting bored sizing up the foriegner, Turrin turned his attention back to the target. Turrin put his l eft forward, right foot back, and turned his feet away from the target at a ninety degree angle. The myrian bent his knees slightly, so he just sat in his stance. Turrin had to admit that Marrin's stance felt a lot more comfortable than the stance that he used most of his life. Pulling a arrow from his quiver, the Endal placed it on his bowstring in between the pointer and middle finger and lifted his short bow till the metal tip of the arrow lined up with the center of the target. Turrin noticed the tip of the arrow was slightly lower than the center , so he adjusted his aim up and lined up with the dot in the center of the target. Pulling back on his bowstring to his cheek, he noticed his elbow wasn't straight enough, so he moved it down slightly, so it was level. Turrin noticed his aim was off, so he adjusted it slightly down. When he was ready to fire, he took a shallow breath and released on the exhale. The arrow soared straight towards the target, and the Myrian smiled started to widen when it soared towards the eagle-eye, but it veered down at the last moment and hit in between the third and second ring. Shaking his head in disappointment, he reached for another arrow for the next shot.

[Edric Wingard]

… He thought too much? Staring blankly at the woman who seemed to have the gall to even state that that was even a possibility, Wingard tried to regain a semblance of decorum before he ineloquently unloaded verbal diarrhea onto this creature that even dared to trounce his religion. To state that one could think too much on a subject in such an off-handed manner was equivalent to thrusting a dagger in between his ribs and asking him to breathe normally. To the recluse Kelvic that saw each endeavor he committed as an act of learning, just the belief that he should stop observing, making connections and extrapolating information for even a second could not be fathomed. Thinking and knowledge were his oxygen and to simply turn off such an involuntary action was not possible.

He lived his life through his brain; using each moment of action as an experience to gain something from. Even those actions that he committed instinctively were often thought back upon to calculate where each movement came from and what his instincts involuntarily thought in order to achieve his following actions. Studies of this nature were what enabled him to think first, act second, and glean results thirdly. Without the studious chimes of self-contemplation, Wingard would hardly call himself a capable individual.

Frowning slightly, his lips pulling down on one side as he thought deeply, the Kelvic nearly disregarded the woman’s continual chatter that seemed to follow her original asinine comment. Blinking in order to refocus, the man listened intently as she seemed to justify her words with the classic explanation of an Inarta. Feel, don’t think; completing tasks naturally is more important than understanding how they occurred as it allows one to begin utilizing those skills involuntarily, just like breathing. Taking his own breath, Wingard decided it was best not to respond yet, so he watched her instead as she seemed to demonstrate her own talent and discipline by preforming the same task he had just undertaken.

Her form was rather beautiful, he noted idly, his mind hungry as it took in her stance and relaxed posture. Archery to him was a beautiful sport and he understood why his people valued not only its abilities as a hunting tool, but the finesse and elegance that it took to perform well. As she released the arrow and it soared onwards, slamming rather close to the center of the target, the russet haired man could only observe with a respected admiration. Regardless of her opinion on ‘thinking too much,’ she had a good shot that he’d be stupid to ignore merely because of a difference in opinion. If there was anything he did understand, it was to not look a gift horse in the mouth and considering how competitive hunters were, free advice was hardly a common occurrence.

“Right,” he muttered, squaring his shoulders once again as he directly made eye contact with the woman he really didn’t recognize. Normally to him, names were unimportant as he hardly dealt with people regularly enough to warrant learning them, however, considering that she seemed to be capable enough, if this unknown chit was willing to give him a hand, Wingard would take the time to offer acquaintanceship. After all, he really couldn’t get any worse.

“The strength of the mind often determines the willfulness of the body,” he stated, drawing another arrow and nocking it once again. Reliving his previous observation of her draw and placement, the Avora went through the motions. He was still lacking the elegant coordination that everyone around him seemed to have mastered, but it was getting slightly better. With an optimistic viewpoint, he raised his arm once again, determined to give her mindless suggestion a go. Knowing that ignorance was the biggest downfall of many, Wingard was determined to try her way once before discarding it as ludicrous and preening in his own arrogance. Any fool that merely skipped the step of experimentation, regardless of the subject, often was the first to perish – which was not something that the Kelvic had on his agenda.

So, closing his eyes in order to clear his mind, Wingard took a moment to meditate. Controlling his breathing, he felt the slight twinges of his muscles and eased their pain with his breath; each exhale extending from his lips and nose down his lungs, through his arms only to settle into his muscles. It was soothing this meditation, allowing him to think of nothing but the feeling of his body pulled tight in readiness. Releasing a final exhale, he opened his eyes and by only taking a moment to focus on the target, he once again sent an arrow into the air. It flew true, its strength increasing tenfold as it cut through the open space like a bullet from a gun. With a thud it landed, its sharp beak embedded deeply into the hay bale behind the target. Recognizing his obvious miss, he quickly withdrew another arrow, forgoing the breathing this time round in order to see his own progression. Releasing it, it too flew straight and proud, connecting with the edge of the target, rather than the floor or the break behind it.

Elated at such progress, Wingard took a moment to smile; his lips breaking forth in order to showcase a set of white teeth. Shaking his limps somewhat, he hopped about as if the energy zinging through his body could not be contained. Letting the bow beat against his leg, the man turned around to face the woman who had taken the time to critique him and offered her a triumphant smirk.

“However, it seems that the body merely needs concentration, not a dictator, in some cases.”

His eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he closed the distance between the two of them, the Kelvic pleasantly surprised that a little help from some chit had made a difference in his shooting. Raising his hand in greeting, he spoke directly to her, connecting their gazes and locking in as was his wont to do, “Hello. I am Wingard and I appreciate your assistance, madam.”

Having already given her a ‘once over’ and not necessarily finding anything in her appearance interesting, he smiled genuinely at her in companionship, his raised hand shifting so that it could physically extend his offer, “May I inquire the name of whom I owe my gratitude?”

[Ainyi]

"Right."

As the tall man locked eyes with her for a moment, she wasn't sure what to make of him. Was he annoyed that she offered him help? Glad? She found him hard to read. At the very least, he was impressed enough not to write her off immediately. She bit down on her lip as he drew the bow back, this time calmer, focused, but not frenetic.

Thankfully, the next shot was improved. The spark of happiness on his face was noticeable, as he drew another arrow, and set up to fire, quicker still. She smiled a little. This was good. When the shot hit the target, she saw his own lips crack into a smile, and her smile widened to match his. His whole body exuded a bit of joy at the progress. There were times she debated if she should follow her father's footsteps into teaching. But she shook her head a little at the idea. Not now, at least.

“However, it seems that the body merely needs concentration, not a dictator, in some cases.”

His proud smirk was infectious. Ainyi returned her own, hazel eyes gleaming mischief up at the taller figure. As his gaze met her eyes once more, and he approached, she thought to wave as well, and remembered the dried blood on her hands. He had a handsome face, she thought. No need to explain her hands unless asked. She smirked and bowed her head in greeting when he closed the gap, standing close to him as well. Ainyi, no matter who she talked to, never seemed to have a sense of personal space.

“May I inquire the name of whom I owe my gratitude?”

"Ainyi Braghna," She replied proudly, puffing up her chest a little. Realizing how tall he was, she rose on her toes for a moment as though pointing out a joke, eyes mirthful. She laughed about it, teasing, "You're rather tall for an Inarta. Which God blessed you with this height?"

With that said, she returned her feet to the earth, and began the pleasantries. "You learn quickly, Sir Wingard. That is good." Her face took a slightly more serious tone for the moment, adding, "With how short food is lately, we can't afford for any of our arrows to miss." She smiled and tucked a wild strand of burning auburn hair behind her ear. "I'm glad I could help. When I was learning, my father would only let me aim as long as it took to inhale breath. By the time I exhaled, the arrow should be gone, as he puts it."

[Edric Wingard]

The Kelvic cocked his head to the side in curiosity as he watched his new acquaintance introduce herself animatedly. Her cheeks flushed a lovely pink, her full-lipped mouth pulling upwards into a pretty smile as she spoke her name of identification. The way her eyes seemed to sparkle with pride made Wingard momentarily reconsider his original assumption that she was merely breathless from her demonstration; her heaving chest caused only by a puff of confidence rather than a body-wracking recovery for air. This alone intrigued him as the concept of pride over one’s own name was an unfamiliar one. The fact that she was an Inarta and still carried a last name was a staggering thought independently if one considered the fact that incestuous mating was so common that last names really bore no meaning or semblance of value any longer. To actually tack it on to one’s common name was simply an interesting twist that he had not expected, which allowed this girl to fall into a more intriguing category in his mind’s filing cabinet.

Feeling that it may be rather crass to ask such a personal question at this point into their introduction, Wingard decided to set his inquiries to the side momentarily so that they could focus on other things. As she interacted with him, her tone friendly and rather appealing to his octave sensitive ears, the eagle found his thoughts straying somewhat onto the puzzling concept of pride in one’s name. A name, which was created from basic syllables of any language, was nothing intellectually stimulating to study. Regardless of it was so short that it resembled a cough or so long that one felt out of breath by merely uttering it, names to Wingard were entirely overvalued. Just as he had simply introduced himself as Wingard, a name that he was not borne into, without thought, he would forever be encapsulated by Ainyi through that name. No matter what she knew of his personality or preferences now, what she saw would simply fall under that ascribed name and forever he would be defined by it. If he began to grow and mature as an individual, the previous assumptions of his youth would still follow him regardless as they were attached to his name.

Thus, names to him were like presenting a collar and leash to those around you. By giving them something to grasp onto, it allowed them a way to recognize one another throughout the sea of faceless individuals that one waded through daily. These names were nothing but a hindrance of one's growth as they held assumptions and expectations that one may never be able to or want to live up to. Like a trapped animal in a pen, these names held one back from reaching one's potential and Wingard absolutely hated it. Who he was as a baby when his parents birthed him, was no way a reflection of who he was now. Edric, a name that he had not used in a long time, was a lost child from the distant past that had held onto idealistic dreams only for them to fall short to the harshness of reality. That child, that dreamer, was not fit for the society that he lived in, and therefore - he had to go.

He was Wingard now, a name that defined what he was in a multitude of ways. Winged, and forever guarded, the eagle held his new identification tag as close to his heart as he would a badger. When the day came that he no longer carried the same ideals and felt like this name no longer encompassed his new beliefs, Wingard would once again reestablish himself. Names were likes clothing that eventually went out of style, and the Kelvic was okay with this. Perhaps it was because of his Kelvic origins, where one was often renamed by their bond mate to whatever tickled their fancy, that had him thinking this way, but regardless of what the actual cause was, the Wind Eagle didn't think it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

So, he smiled politely as he disinclined to agree with Ainyi's feelings and instead focused on answering her playful inquiry over his towering height. Inwardly, he wanted to roll his eyes as this question was so common as an ice breaker that it nearly ran towards plague-like in occurrence, but instead he tried to take the question at face value, "It is merely the genetics of a foreign mother that has graced me with such height. Occasionally, it can be a hindrance, but more often than not I appreciate the capability to look over and down upon others when the needs arises."

Letting her decipher the hidden connotations on her own, the man simply nodded his head in acknowledgement of her compliment and continued listening as she spoke of the famine their city was facing. This sentence, something that he assumed they would be equally worried over seemed to be glossed over in comparison to the quick statement she made over her father's teaching methods. Wingard was not too sure what exactly caught his attention about the way she said it, but underneath the nonchalant sentence, the eagle detected a sense of longing. It was a deep chord to experience; soothing and raw as it ripped at his heart in familiarity. Loneliness and longing were not unknown emotions to the man; especially to a man that had been longing for another all his life. This sense of companionship touched the young Kelvic's soul, moving him beyond his initial intrigue over Ainyi towards feelings of companionship and understanding.

As he was wont to do, Wingard wanted to know more of this young girl so that he could not only empathize but truly understand the motivations behind her actions. That was more important to him than any 'emotional connection' would be so the Kelvic persevered through, wracking his brain for a moment in hopes of discovering a tactful, gentle bone in his body to assist with his approach.

"Your father," he began, "seems like a very knowledgeable fellow. His method must work well if you are capable of shooting like that consistently."

Not bothering to offer a false smile, Wingard hoped that the phrasing was open-ended to the point that it would entice her to speak freely. If there was one thing the Kelvic truly disliked, it was unanswered inquiries or mysteries, so he hoped that this one would be clarified swiftly so that he could then file it away and move on to more important things.

[Turrin]

Turrin knew that he needed to focus on the task at hand and less of his surroundings, so he slowly closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sounds around him in his mind. He needed to find clarity if he was ever going to hit the eagle eye. Turrin opened his eyes and reached back and pulled a arrow from his quiver. Holding the arrow between his middle and pointer finger, Turrin placed the end of the arrow onto the bowstring. As he got into his stance, he realized that he was standing to rigid, so he relaxed his legs and bent slightly at the knees. Marrin warned him if he was to stiff. He could fall over, so he made sure to apply his advice. The Endal lifted his short bow till the metal tip lined up with the eagle eye. Pulling back the bowstring to his cheek, he made sure his elbow was straight. Turrin knew form was the foundation of all physical activity especially in acrobatics, unarmed combat, and armed combat., so he made sure that he to check his stance is correct, so his body naturally goes into the position if he circumstance needs it. Readjusting his aim back to the eagle eye of the target, Turrin took a shallow breath and released the bowstring on the exhale. The Myrian watched his arrow soar toward the target as it got closer. The arrow never veered from it's intended target, and it plunged into the target in between the first ring and eagle eye. When Turrin took his eyes from the target, he noticed the long mahogany hair of Ainyi. He remembered meeting her in the inner warrens nine days ago. The Endal remembered that she was good enough with her bow to take down his fugitive without killing her. It was a impressive shot, and he wasn't surprised that she was tutoring the foreigner in archery. The Endal watched his old acquaintance swiftly and gracefully pulled a arrow from her quiver, placed it on the bowstring, aimed, and fired in one fluid moment. His eyes followed her arrow till it plunged near the center of the target. It was a amazing shot. When Turrin couldn't help himself from noticing that the blond foreigner seemed displeased at her eagerness to her sudden act of kindness, but the man must have noticed that she had greater skill than him, so the blond haired man stayed quiet as she took her shot. When Ainyi took a step back, the blond foreigner made his way up to firing line. The blond man did his best to try mimicking her stance, but Turrin saw slight mistakes as he tried his best to capture her form. Before his father died, Turrin was told him that even slightest mistake in form, aim, or body position can alter his aim ever so slightly, However, the blond foreigner second shot was a vastly superior shot than the first shot since it hit the target. When Turrin first started learning, it took him three weeks to actually hit the target. Putting his short bow around his shoulder, he belted his talon sword to his belt and walked over to their stall. Turrin made sure that he timed himself, so he could let them introduce themselves to each other. When he got to their stall, Turrin nodded to Ainyi and said with a smile to tall blond hair man in Nari, “My name is Turrin Aponivi of the Twisted Vine Clan, and I wanted to congratulate you on hitting the target on your second try. When I started to learn archery, it took me a three weeks to actually hit the target.”Turrin smiled at Ainyi and said a nod of respect, “I guess that I am not surprised you have a great teacher with Ainyi.”