Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
She paid no heed to the joke, uncertain if she should smirk at a time like this, where his eye had yet to be mended, or brush it all aside. The youth chose the latter, holding her bow while she watched Nate take up the mantle, following the instructions she’d laden before him. Her gaze was careful, pinpointed, serious, an alteration from the normal emboldened, impetuous interludes, striving to decipher movements, motions, and correct them again if need be.
But he tried – and her stare followed the arrow as it slid and cut through the air, cleanly, sharply, before descending into the ground.
She saw the defeat in his shoulders, the layers of failure, and thought about furrowing her brow in exasperation. Nate would need to snag some grit and mettle of his own, if he was ever going to accomplish beyond here and now. But she’d been there before too – after piles of sticks, stones, broken quivers, snapped strings, pondering why she was bothering. The fire in her soul had grappled hard with the sunken soullessness, until defiance rang its doldrums, and she’d sunk herself into the earth, fervent for another fray. “That’s okay,” she answered instead, a soft smile making its way over her mouth; a reassurance of strength, fortitude, and shared experiences. “I hardly ever hit when I started.” And there'd been far more at stake. A shrug to her shoulders, an indication for him to loosen up, take the failures for what they were – opportunities to learn, grow, and savor. “You’re just beginning, and being close to the target is a step in the right direction.”
The youth went to demonstrate again. “Watch my stance.” Straight, poised, she inclined her feet into the ground, allowing her weight to disperse. “Take a breath.” Even if he didn’t need to, it was the feeling of anticipation. “Pull back.” The band was taut in her grip, a familiar friend, ready and willing to be unfurled. “Release.” The arrow skimmed forward, fast, swift, slashing, lacerating along the atmosphere, and once more settling its way into the target.
She turned back towards the Ascended, brow arching, but the grin still there. “Try again.”
But he tried – and her stare followed the arrow as it slid and cut through the air, cleanly, sharply, before descending into the ground.
She saw the defeat in his shoulders, the layers of failure, and thought about furrowing her brow in exasperation. Nate would need to snag some grit and mettle of his own, if he was ever going to accomplish beyond here and now. But she’d been there before too – after piles of sticks, stones, broken quivers, snapped strings, pondering why she was bothering. The fire in her soul had grappled hard with the sunken soullessness, until defiance rang its doldrums, and she’d sunk herself into the earth, fervent for another fray. “That’s okay,” she answered instead, a soft smile making its way over her mouth; a reassurance of strength, fortitude, and shared experiences. “I hardly ever hit when I started.” And there'd been far more at stake. A shrug to her shoulders, an indication for him to loosen up, take the failures for what they were – opportunities to learn, grow, and savor. “You’re just beginning, and being close to the target is a step in the right direction.”
The youth went to demonstrate again. “Watch my stance.” Straight, poised, she inclined her feet into the ground, allowing her weight to disperse. “Take a breath.” Even if he didn’t need to, it was the feeling of anticipation. “Pull back.” The band was taut in her grip, a familiar friend, ready and willing to be unfurled. “Release.” The arrow skimmed forward, fast, swift, slashing, lacerating along the atmosphere, and once more settling its way into the target.
She turned back towards the Ascended, brow arching, but the grin still there. “Try again.”
Melita
