the moon only shines with the help of the sun
Color pooled in Marcus' cheeks as his eyes set ablaze on his father. His nose wrinkled, and he raised his arms to protest again, but Noah sent him out onto the range. Groaning and grumbling, the youngling handed his father his bow before he stomped out onto the field. He kicked at clumps of snow and hardened dirt, but he collected every arrow.
On his way back, he watched with quizzical brows as his father inspected the bow. Some relief came to him, though, as he came to the conclusion immediately that his father's first instinct was the blame the equipment rather than him. That was comforting. When he arrived, he placed the arrows into the ground quiver and folded his arms over his chest, watching his dad.
"Why is that going to make a difference?" Marcus asked, the frustration still laced through every cadence and tone. "I couldn't make the shots, and nothing is wrong with the bow, so obviously something is wrong with me." He huffed.
On his way back, he watched with quizzical brows as his father inspected the bow. Some relief came to him, though, as he came to the conclusion immediately that his father's first instinct was the blame the equipment rather than him. That was comforting. When he arrived, he placed the arrows into the ground quiver and folded his arms over his chest, watching his dad.
"Why is that going to make a difference?" Marcus asked, the frustration still laced through every cadence and tone. "I couldn't make the shots, and nothing is wrong with the bow, so obviously something is wrong with me." He huffed.
it's not as safe when your walking alone
